The seats were light gray, the color of thin smoke. They were so soft that Val felt like she was an engagement ring, wedged tight in the dimpled center of a cushion. When he had told her to hop in, her limbs moved of their own accord, wobbly and weightless, as if they weren’t hers.
“I didn’t see you go out of your dugout,” he said, cutting a glance at her. “Good thing I caught you outside, huh?”
Val didn’t reply. Her fingers ached from tightly clutching the lengthy strap of her gym bag, which she hadn’t let go of since she first sat down.
It felt surreal, seeing him again. Sure, she had seen him in photos; but seeing him in the flesh within touching distance, breathing with him the same aircon-chilled oxygen lightly scented with lemons, the scene seemed to exist on a different plane of reality altogether.
“Hungry? We can talk while eating.”
Val tried not to stare at him but she couldn’t help it. She drunk in his profile, remembering that she got her nose from him: steeply angling down to a pointed tip. Sharp and uncompromising, just like him.
“Sure,” she said finally.
Immediately after her dad had left them, Val harbored a secret fantasy, inspired by the many afternoon dramas that their household help followed: that a few months later, her dad would appear, unannounced, at their doorstep, looking disheveled and morose, begging her mom to take him back, telling them how he was dying from missing them.
He would be penniless because his boss had found out about the affair, and had fired him on the spot (in Val’s imagination, extra-marital affairs merited a job dismissal). He would tell them that he didn’t love that darn woman, that he would never do such a thing again, that all he needed was them—just them until the end of days.
The scene played in Val’s head for weeks and months, but it never came true. At some point, Val decided to ditch the fantasy and acknowledge that sometimes, life was just too fudged up to make sense.
As they pulled up in front of a five-star hotel, which Val had never seen the insides of, she marveled at how off-the-mark her childhood whimsy was. Her dad was obviously rich—richer than when he was still with them—and still good-looking even with salt-and-pepper hair that gave him a distinguished air. He had gained only little weight through the years and he carried his clothes well: a white polo tucked in taupe slacks.
“They have the best steaks here,” he said as he led her to the lobby illuminated by crystal chandeliers. Music poured out from somewhere above them. Val looked up and saw a string quartet nestled in a terrace, serenading the guests.
“Why, good evening, Mr. Fabian!” The girl who greeted them was dressed in typical hotel staff attire: tight and tailored, everything from her button-down top to her miniskirt. Her legs were encased in black tights, feet hidden in high-heeled pumps. “The usual spot?”
Her dad smiled back. “Yes, please.” He put his arm around Val, pulling her close. “I’m with my daughter tonight.”
Val thought she would flinch, but instead found herself flushing with pleasure from his firm half-embrace. Her insides felt warm as she remembered the feeling of being safe and small in his arms. A bit embarrassed, she glanced at the hotel girl in time for surprise to register in her face. It was gone in a flash and the girl was back to beaming at them while grabbing two menus from the reception table. She led them to two wooden armchairs upholstered in mocha and cream beside a huge window that displayed the outdoor garden lit up by footlights and lanterns strewn on trees.
After they gave the girl their orders, he gazed at Val as he leaned back in his chair. “You got in SFU, huh? That’s quite a feat.”
Val’s felt the irritation course through her veins. Was it a feat because one needed the brains and money to get into Saint Francis and that she had neither? Play nice, she told herself.
“Sports scholarship,” she said. Because she couldn’t help it, she added, “Mom was so proud.”
When he stopped bobbing his head repetitively, like one of those annoying plastic dashboard dogs, he gazed at her. “I offered support, you know.”
When Val gave him a blank look, he continued. “Financial support. Your mom refused.”
She paused fiddling with the silverware, pondering his words. It was so like her mom to refuse financial aid. She could understand the decision, but thought it impractical.
She felt a tug of resentment as she thought how money could let her afford more fancy hotel dinners.
“How is your mom?”
“Good. She’s good.”
“Tough luck on today’s game,” he said as their food arrived, steaming on white plates. The aroma of buttered and grilled meat wafted between them.
Val shrugged as she unfolded the napkin and smoothed it on her lap.
The steak was tender and flavorful. For a moment, Val lost herself in the food. She took a sip of her brewed iced tea before deciding to throw him a question.
“How did you find me?”
Her dad finished chewing and dabbed at his mouth, smiling dryly. “Where everyone can find anyone—the internet, of course.”
The next question burned her lips. “Why?”
“Pardon?”
“Why did you look for me?” She put down her fork and knife, her meal forgotten. “Why now, after all these years?”
He took a sip of his wine. “I accidentally caught one of your games on TV.” He smiled at her fondly. “It was just right after you scored. The crowd was going wild, and so were the commentators. They were obviously impressed with your skill. I thought I heard them mention the name Fabian. So I continued watching, thinking that maybe I knew you, that maybe you were a relative. Then they replayed your spike in slow motion and after that a close up of your face: eyes closed and fists high up in the air, and I remembered saying out loud: That’s Val! That’s my daughter!”
Gone was the see-sawing of her emotions between delight and resentment. At those words, Val flushed with pleasure.
“I am so proud of you.” His words fell softly, almost like he was talking to himself. “So proud of how you’d turned out.”
Her heart leaped at those words. She longed to give him something in return, to tell him how much she missed him. Before she could speak, she felt the air shift and a pleasant voice drifted from behind.
“Ben, steak again? You have to monitor your cholesterol.”
Her dad got to his feet, eyes crinkling generously at the corners. “Freddie,” he beamed, extending his hand. “You only live once so you have to enjoy good food while you still can.”
His friend chuckled. “True, true. That’s why I just had dinner here, too.” His eyes strayed to Val. “Your daughter?”
“Yes!”
Maybe she imagined it, but he was too quick in his reply. “This is Val. Val, this is my colleague, your Tito Freddie.”
She stood up to shake his hand.
“You obviously got your dad’s height.” He observed wryly, looking up at her. “So did you enjoy Paris, young lady?”
Val smiled uncertainly. “Paris? I don’t—“
The man went on, still smiling. “Your dad told me all about it, you know. He wasn’t sure if it was an appropriate gift for an eighteen year old. But he said that you were obsessed with Paris so I convinced him to book one of those youth group tours, like I did with my Rachel when she had her debut. It comes out cheaper because the tour guides get discounts from the local attractions, including the Eiffel Tower. Best of all, they’re certified by the Tourism Board.”
He paused, giving Val a big wink. “So you have your Tito Freddie to thank for talking your dad into it.”
Her dad started talking about something else but Val was still reeling from her discovery. She sat down, dizzy with confusion.
His dad’s friend was leaving now, saying something to Val and waving goodbye. She looked at him blankly.
Her dad sat down, face rigid and his eyes, which were smiling just a few moments ago, looked dull and weighted down. The server approached their table, asking him if they were enjoying their meal and if they wanted to order dessert. Her dad waved her away.
“A daughter?” Val choked out, the familiar ache of betrayal throbbing in her throat. “You have another daughter?”
At the next table, a toddler wailed. Its cries echoed across the dining hall, merging with the sounds of the orchestra, the tinkling silverware and the steady hum of chatter.
“With whom, dad?” The tears threatened to fall. Still, her dad refused to meet her eyes and Val was filled with a horrible thought.
“With her?” She whispered. “You’re still with her?”
Her dad raised his eyes to hers and she felt the impact of the truth, almost knocking her over. Val did not avert her eyes because looking away meant that what he did, what he was still doing, was forgivable. Forgettable. Val could never forgive, much more forget, his sin.
“Honey,” he pleaded and faltered in his daughter’s gaze. He tried again. “Sweetie…I love you.”
What was love, anyway? It was nostalgia, nothing more. It was realizing that he missed her only after seeing her live via satellite, fierce and unstoppable on the court, adored by the crowd. It took a TV program for him to remember that he had another daughter—his first one—floating somewhere out there, forever scarred by him.
“How could you, Dad?” She croaked out. “How could you?”
Her dad didn’t answer. He was staring at his wine and rapidly blinking his eyes.
Val wanted to run away again, but she was just too tired. Instead, she fished out the last bill from her wallet: a five hundred-peso note folded in half, and plunked it down on the table.
“Drop me a message when you have the answer.”
Her mind was a whirl of emotions and sensations as she got up and slowly walked away. But one of them stood out as her sneakered feet trod on the carpeted floor: how sure and solid her legs felt as they led the way out the revolving glass doors of the hotel.