09

A text, received.

Jared: Y rnt u @ school?

A text, sent begrudgingly.

Lina: Flu.

Belying concern; irritating, yet comforting.

Jared: Want us 2 come over?

Delayed; concise.

Lina: No.

Faux nonchalance. Not about the flu.

Jared: U k?

Silence; telling.

*

Her body aches and she feels surgically attached to the bed. She should’ve escaped before Rhoda defused the bomb. It was a relatively simple one, apparently. Rhoda received comprehensive training for it in light of recent events. It took her complete attention, to the extent that she only recognized her little sister after it was deactivated.

Millian only came second in the list of people she never wanted to find out.

It’s already afternoon, and Rhoda is at work, but Selina doesn’t rise. If she doesn’t get up, then no one sees her face. Then no one would recognize her. She wasn’t that distinctive anyway. Maybe they won’t recognize her. Drop the chase when they noticed how young she was. Juan noticed—

Or maybe she could stay in bed for another day. The plan was foolproof. Except… she was hungry. Deathly so.

*

“You’re a selfish child!” Rhoda bellows. Selina fights to disagree. She had believed she was acting for the greater good. That had to be worth something. “What did you expect to happen? You’d play superhero and everything would be alright?” That was the original idea. “You endangered everything I sought to protect!”

The last one hurt. She didn’t mean to threaten anyone. But there were other people who didn’t have that protection.

“You’re supposed to be the better one of us two! The one who goes to college! The one who has a future!” Who’s selfish now? “And you just threw it away!”

Selina inhales deeply on the scent of the soup she was making. Simple mushroom soup. Enough to make her stomach beg. But it will have to wait.

There are only two people in the house. Rhoda was working, doing her best to remove the evidence of Selina’s debacle. Their Grandmother had to go to the bank. That left her alone with Trinidad.

The soup boils slowly. Trinidad looks up at her from across the dining table, whatever book she was invested in falling to her lap. Her eyes glitter curiously. Selina stares back, slightly alarmed, but waits patiently. “Are you Haliya?” the question comes at last. Trinidad hadn’t been allowed in the room during the Argument, but the walls aren’t thick.

Selina bites the inside of her cheek. Trinidad’s stare doesn’t falter. “I didn’t pick the name,” Selina settles on sheepishly.

Her little sister is practically squirming in her seat. “Who else knows?” she whispers conspiratorially.

“Well, before the whole fiasco, just one guy.”

“Guy?” Trinidad furrows her brow, all her judgement on display. She’s thinking of the cousins J. Selina can tell.

“Notorious crime boss I met in the park after a rescue. Right before a—” A thought she has never considered flits before her mind. “A bombing.”

Trinidad narrows her eyes quizzically, in a you’re-pulling-my-leg sort of way. “The guy behind Rhoda’s door. Met him. Don’t tell her that, though,” Selina elaborates. Trinidad’s eyes light up, caught between running to the poster right now and asking more questions. She squirms even more, probably frustrated with the realization that, unfortunately, she only has one physical incarnation. “Are you in danger?” she inquires urgently.

Selina thinks of the Extrajudicial Killings Millian orchestrated, the terrorists, all the hostages that had seen her face, and a certain wanted criminal asking for help down a tree. “Depends,” she shrugs, too hungry.

“Rhoda would say so,” Trinidad says. As if anyone needed reminding. “She’s only like that ’cause she’s worried,” Trinidad feels the need to add. Although this is the first time it’s been verbalized, it feels like a platitude grating on Selina’s ears.

“It’s unfair! We worry for her too,” she finds herself mumbling.

“You wouldn’t have killed her,” Trinidad points out. “How would you feel if you found out your own sister nearly died multiple times by your hand?”

“Like apologizing,” Selina snarls.

Trinidad stares, contemplative. Selina notes that this was the longest conversation they’ve had, as of late. The thought is disappointing. All of a sudden, it feels as though all three years of their age gap has been closed.

“You two are hard to live up to,” Trinidad admits quietly, surprising Selina.

Perhaps she has been selfish.

Despite her efforts, she’s never been good at words. Never knew the right thing to say.

“Do you want some soup?”

*

No one notices. Of course, there are still some unsettling looks thrown her way, but she’s not the only one that falls under the general description of ‘long-haired female of average height’. Entire schools worth of people are subject to speculation. The typical equatorial physique is something lucky to have at one’s side after all.

Selina finds herself sitting in an obscure restaurant that she has never given much attention to before. There aren’t much people around, and she doesn’t understand why it seems so fancy yet. She’s not even sure what they sell.

“Have an order yet, ma’am?” the girl at the counter-- ‘Wynn’ is what her tag reads—asks. She’s neither rude nor genteel. Just natural.

Selina stares at the menu displays over their heads. Ice cream looked to be in her wallet’s reach. “Are those all your ice cream flavors?” she asked.

“Gelato, ma’am. Chocolate Chip is sold out.”

Selina gives her a level look. “Gelato,” she repeats. What’s the difference? Wynn offers a nearly imperceptible shake of the head to show that they’re on the same page. Something else catches her eye near the corner of a wall. A wanted poster. But, like, for jobs. And she was just the right age.

“Are you still looking for waitresses?” she asks instead. Wynn looks only a trifle surprised when she nods. “The manager’s out back if you want me to get her.”

Selina shakes her head. Not yet. “Is the pay worth it?”

Wynn smirks. “Wouldn’t see my ass here if it wasn’t. Wouldn’t mind the company for Christmas break.” She leans forward, pressing her forearms on the counter and doing away with formalities. She raises her eyebrows expectantly.

Selina decides to drop the professionalism too. She looks at the poster again and smiles. “My name’s—“

“Selina Andoque?”

The two freeze to look at the door where another customer has waltzed in. Selina doesn’t recognize him. And yet he looks at her as if he knows more than the name. She feels her heart drop and her spirit seep away. “Um.” She glances at Wyn who seemed to return to her occupation personality. “Who are you?”

“Ernest Robert Thurin,” the stranger says, answering nothing. “If I’m not interrupting anything, would it be alright to speak with you?”

“Actually…” Selina drawled, but the man went straight to the counter and ordered a plethora of fancy names that Selina was sure he wasn’t planning on finishing alone. He was suspicious. But she was hungry. The decision was made.

“Let’s have a seat, shall we?” he offers genially. They sit by the window, Selina scrutinizing him all the while. Neither of them speak until the first order, baked mussels, is served.

Selina forces her stomach to quiet down from both hunger and anxiety. “How did you find me?” she glowers up at him.

“It wasn’t easy, but I am very persistent,” Ernest says, putting a mussel on her plate for her. He could be Carigtan, she thinks. But he was too tall, and his nose too sharp. It wasn’t only his stature that imposed. His clothes were incongruous with their drab surroundings. He seemed to belong to the capital, if not anyplace richer.

“What do you want?” she says next, for the lack of any better query.

Ernest’s light eyes meet hers. “To thank you,” he says very seriously. “You saved my life. I know my sudden intrusion warrants your distrust, but this is truly all I intend.” Selina cannot shake the nerves in the pit of her tum, but considers his sincerity. She doesn’t remember seeing him in City Hall. Her memories of that are blurry now, even if it’s only been a week or less.

She decides she trusts him enough to eat a mussel.

“Why did you meet me here?” she continues, cherishing the warm melted cheese on her tongue. Two plates of garlic rice come next, along with sizzling gambas. She can’t force herself to slow down.

“Admittedly, I wanted to approach you in your university, but you weren’t present. I decided to send someone ahead to your home, but you had left by the time I was on my way there. Luckily, some of my subordinates spotted you entering this establishment. I wanted to thank you as soon as I could, as I plan to return to Kaptan tomorrow.” The words tumble out so elegantly that Selina is already horrified at his conversation prowess.

That wasn’t the only thing that horrified her. This man was important. Societally. And she had managed to attract his attention. He found her within a week. He had people watching her house! If anyone else that powerful and persistent wanted to find her, her only luck was that they wanted to thank her too.

She peppers her gambas, perturbed. “Ernest Thurin,” she repeats.

“That’s me,” he smiles. Then digs into his coat pocket (Who wore coats in Carigta?) for a card to hand her. ‘Thurindustries’ it says. She chuckles. “So… you really just want to thank me?”

His already affable face splits into a wide, sunshiney grin that strangely makes Selina think of dogs. “If you would receive my gratitude. If not for you, my wife would find herself a widow, and my two children half-orphaned.”

Selina decides she can trust that. Maybe revealing her face wasn’t so bad after all.

They chat throughout the meal. About Ernest’s two kids, about Selina’s two sisters. Turns out, Ernest’s appetite rivalled hers. He talked about his distressing business meeting that morning, and Selina talked about how distressing it was to be a fugitive. Although she left out important names and the bit about the secret tunnels. She didn’t trust him that much.

By the time their stomachs were overly sated, and all the leftovers were packed in plastic bags (“My family would like to eat too, you know.”), they had been talking about politics.

“I didn’t vote for him myself, of course. You’d think the capital would be safe, but there are plenty of killings going on there too. I think the deaths in Kaptan make up at least thirty percent? I’m afraid I might not be accurate.” Ernest glances at his phone screen and returns it to his coat pocket.

“They say he’s got his personal firing squad even before he got elected,” Selina adds, taking a swig of her mango juice. She makes a face. It has alcohol in it. “I don’t like alcohol.”

“Leave it,” Ernest waves a hand dismissively. “I believe the rumors. There’s a lot going on that seems too coincidental. That being said,” he downs the last of his champagne, “I do think you should be more careful.”

Selina slumps. She looks over her shoulders to make sure no one is eavesdropping. The place is packed already. They’ve been eating for a long time. “I’m not even sure I’ll continue my… course of action. My sister disapproves, but…” She gestures randomly with her hands, hoping to convey a message.

Ernest nods. “Whatever you decide, I support you. You have noble intentions, and I find you an intriguing individual.”

“You’re not that bad yourself, sir!” Selina raises the glass of spiked juice that she tries to finish in small sips just to keep it from waste.

He chuckles. “If you find you need help, however, you have my card. I will offer you any means of assistance. A life debt isn’t repaid with just one meal, after all.”

“Make it two, then,” Selina laughs. “I’m kidding, by the way. Thank you so much for the meal. I was starving when you came by.”

“It’s the little luxuries. Ready?”

They stood with bloated tums, and parted on the friendliest of notes. Watching him drive away returned a cloud of gloom over her head and a weight in her gut. She was headed home. That meant Argument: The Sequel. She heaves a low sigh that resounds in her throat.

“Guessing you don’t need that job anymore with a guy like that behind you, eh?”

Selina startles, turning to face Wynn and her little smirk. “Oh!” she remembers. She cups her chin thoughtfully. “Actually…”

*

Once she arrives, it is already late. Everyone has eaten and her sisters have gone to sleep. That is a small relief, until she remembers the only person who could have persuaded Rhoda to go to sleep. She turns on the lights to the dining room, and there she was:

Her grandmother stayed up. Selina feels a stab of guilt realizing she made her wait for hours. She didn’t mean to take that long.

Selina waits for an explosion, but Grandma seems contented with just sitting down. Her eyes wield a pitying look would make anyone regret their life choices. Selina is familiar with its effects. One can’t expect any less from grandmothers. No matter who sleeps, the Argument is still alive within these walls.

She thought Grandma would be the one to shout. She usually is, but never for the wrong reasons. Maybe she’s realized there’s been too much of that.

“She’s right,” is all her guardian says. Selina realizes after a second that she is talking about Rhoda. Rage flashes within her.

“But… I can’t just stay here, cooped up! And— And— If I listen to Rhoda—” She has to stop. Her voice isn’t steady.

There were people she didn’t get to save.

Grandmother hums softly, the quiet after the storm. “Rhoda is right that you were reckless. That you put yourself in harm’s way.”

“But I already knew that! I had to!”

“I know, darling. You saved a lot of people.” She stands to smooth her hands down Selina’s arms. Her hands rest atop Selina’s, squeezing lightly, eyes twinkling the way that grandmothers’ often do. “I’m proud of you.”

Selina finds a lump in her throat and cannot speak. She does not move away from the embrace. She closes her eyes and feels a weight lift from her chest.

It felt better than any thank you meal Thurin could offer.