Krista gripped Blake’s hand so tight, she was afraid she’d break his bones. The nearer they got to the room where she’d meet her father, the faster her heartbeat galloped against her ribcage. She hadn’t thought she would be this nervous.
“Relax, sweetheart. Uncle Jack’s a great guy. He’s going to love you.”
“Promise?”
“Promise, pinky swear, cross my heart,” he teased.
Tita Belen opened the door and poked her head in before turning back to Krista and Blake. “He’s up.” She opened the door wide. “Come in.”
“Go on, I’m behind you.” Blake pressed his lips to her head and gave her a small push forward.
John was sitting up in bed. Even with his skin pale, his eyes cloudy with pain, and numerous IVs all over his arms, he still attempted to smile. “Come, child. I was told you saved my life. Blake, it’s great to see you, son.”
Krista positioned herself beside the bed and laid her hand on top of his right arm, in between two IV lines. “I’m glad I was able to help.” Though she smiled at him, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his scar. It was faint now, not as angry as it was in that photo, but still there.
“Krista; a lovely name. Tell me about yourself, your family.” He spoke slowly, pausing after every other word.
“I was born in Pampanga, in a small town called Santa Rita. My mother and her husband, my adoptive father, moved there from Angeles City when she was pregnant with me. I have two siblings, a sister and a brother.” Krista had tried to prepare for this meeting, but she found herself babbling now that the moment had finally arrived.
“Forgive me if my memory fails me: what did your mother say about how we met?” A look passed between husband and wife after he asked the question. Apologetic on his side, understanding on hers.
“She said you rescued her from three men outside the restaurant where she worked. They were drunk and ...” Krista couldn’t continue. The horror of what could have happened to her mother if John hadn’t come along was too unthinkable.
“Oh, John,” Tita Belen cried out. “She must have been terrified. What’s your mother’s name, Anak?
“Marissa po. She’s about your height. Mestiza. She always kept her hair long, past her waist.” Krista hoped that description would jog John’s memory.
John visibly started, his right hand lifting to the scar above his right eye.
“I insisted on escorting her home. She patched me up.” He looked at Krista, then his wife. “She couldn’t stop shaking. Still replaying in her mind what almost happened. I wanted to show her the act didn’t have to be brutal.” John’s mouth turned down. “We slept. My internal alarm clock woke me up. There was a curfew at the base at the time. Two hundred hours. I didn’t have time to write a note. I was facing being declared AWOL.”
Krista’s heart rejoiced, even as she strove hard not to show it. Her mother had told her the same story, almost word for word. “She tried to find you, but she didn’t have access to the base. She waited until she couldn’t. When she started to show, she married her suitor—my tatay—and they moved to a different town.”
John shut his eyes, as if pained by the memory. “I was deployed for six months. When I returned, she no longer worked at the restaurant. Nobody knew where she went.” Tears seeped from his closed lids. “No one told me about a child.” When he opened his eyes, they were full of regret. “I never knew about you, Krista. Forgive me, my daughter.”
Krista nearly started bawling. She felt an overwhelming sense of joy. There it was. His acknowledgment of her. The one thing she’d prayed for after she found out he was going to live.
She squeezed his arm, careful not to jostle him too much. “There is nothing to forgive ... Father. You were both victims of circumstance. What’s important is now, and how we move on from here.”
“So young, so wise. Must have gotten it from your mother. The only thing I could give you was my good looks,” he joked, flashing the charm that must have been potent when he was younger.
He moved his arm and turned his hand over, asking her silently to hold it. She complied. “Krista, I know I don’t deserve it, and I hope I can make up for thirty years of absence in the near future, but it would please me if you called me Dad.”
“Dad,” she repeated, testing the word out. “Dad,” she said louder, with more conviction. It felt good to say it out loud.
“Thank you.” Her dad relaxed back on his pillows. He was getting tired. They should go.
“Where is your mother now?” Tita Belen asked. Her gaze held mild curiosity, no jealousy reflected there.
“Nanay and Tatay now live in Lucena City in Quezon. They own and operate a roadside café there.”
“Krista, your mother Marissa, is she also a cook?” Tita Belen asked.
“Opo, Tita.” She looked at her dad. “She said she was one when you met in Angeles City.”
“John, you have a type,” his wife teased.
“I did, mahal.” His left hand closed over his wife’s. The look they exchanged was tender.
I did, love. In the past. No longer.
Krista looked back at Blake, who stood behind her as he’d promised. Her eyes shining with hope, she held tight to his hand on her shoulder.
There it was. She knew it. The Irish-American and Filipina couple whose relationship they could emulate. That’s us in thirty years.
***
Krista paced in front of Jack O’Connor’s pictures at the pub. Even though there were enough hands, she and Blake had decided to help with the dinner service. Their conversation had exhausted Jack, so they’d left with promises to return the next day for more catching up.
She also wanted to call her mother, to tell her she’d found her biological father and show her his photo. It was already Sunday in the Philippines. The café would be closed, and her parents would be home after attending mass. They’d relax before Marissa started preparations for noche buena, the midnight meal that was a Filipino Christmas Eve tradition.
Krista had texted her sister as soon as she and Blake arrived at Ryan O’Connor’s. She’d asked Farrah to let her know when she could do a video call with them. That was five minutes ago; no response yet.
Blake opened the door. “Nothing yet?”
“No. It’s Christmas Eve, on a Sunday. Maybe the mass went long.”
He chuckled. “Ah, yes. The two-hour long Filipino masses. I’ve been to a couple of those.”
She slapped his arm without much force. He’d spoken true. In her excitement, she’d forgotten about the Filipino Catholic traditions.
There would have been a dramatization of the birth of Christ, starting with a couple playing Mary and Joseph entering Bethlehem, seeking a place to stay the night. The play would end at the stable where Jesus was born. Traditionally, the play continued during the midnight mass, with a full choir proclaiming Gloria in Excelsis Deo.
Krista watched Blake as he sat down behind the desk. He looked good there, the consummate businessman. “What are you going to tell them?” He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms behind his head.
Tired of pacing, she sat. “That I’ve found John. They’d know what it means, particularly my mom.” She hadn’t prepared a speech; she just planned to state the facts.
“If you say ‘found,’ that means you’ve been looking for him. Have you?”
Frowning at Blake, she replied, “Not actively, no. I’ve often wondered, but I didn’t know where to begin. I didn’t know I wanted to find him until I got here and the pieces began to fit.” Krista started to feel irritated with her boyfriend. “Why are you asking this now? You know the answer.”
Blake stood and walked around the desk. He sat on his haunches and held her hands. “Baby, I like and respect Uncle Jack. I’m glad he’s your biological father.”
She could hear a “but” coming on.
“I also like and respect Tito Arsenio. He’s been your father for thirty years, Uncle Jack for only a couple of hours. Just be careful how you phrase your news, is what I’m trying to say.” Blake turned her hands over and dropped a kiss on the center of each palm. He laid his head on her lap.
Oh. Krista absently combed her fingers through Blake’s hair, mulling his words. He was right. She had planned to announce it exactly the way she told Blake. She’d found her father.
Her father had never been lost. Her tatay had always been there for her and her mother. She might have John O’Connor’s genes, but she’d had Arsenio Lopez’s love even longer than she’d been alive.
Krista leaned down to give Blake a brief kiss. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world. Some people don’t even have one, but I have two fathers. I’ve loved the first all my life, and now I’m looking forward to getting to know the second. Thanks for reminding me.”
She reached for the phone when it beeped. “Do you want to stay with me while I talk to them?”
Blake was already on his feet. “Sure. I’ll practice my Tagalog. Maligaya’ng Pasko, po. Tito Arsen at Tita Marissa. Kumusta, Farrah? Kumusta, Alex?” He singsonged the Filipino greetings for Merry Christmas and hello.
“You’re crazy.”
“Crazy for youuuuu,” he crooned to the tune of Madonna’s eighties hit, making her giggle. She needed five more minutes before she could video chat with her family.
“Nanay, Tatay, Merry Christmas po,” Krista greeted her parents when their images appeared. She used Blake’s tablet instead of her phone to call her family, to see them better on the wide screen. Blake waved from behind her and said his practiced Tagalog words.
“Maligayang Pasko, Anak. You’re quite early, ha,” her mother remarked.
“Opo, I wanted to greet you before the networks get too busy with overseas calls. I know you need to get ready soon for the carolers and the neighborhood kids asking for their pamasko.” Once their financial circumstances had improved, since Alex graduated from college, her parents had started the tradition of giving away wrapped presents to children under twelve.
“May balita ka ba, Anak?” her tatay said teasingly, asking her in Filipino if she had any important news to share.
Krista was intrigued when Blake made slashing motions with his finger across his throat, then gestured forward. On the other side, her adoptive father indicated his understanding by raising both thumbs in the air.
Assuming the two were done with their male bonding, Krista spoke again. “Actually, I do have news. I met someone today. I wanted to share this with you right away because this is important to me. He is important to me.” Without giving her parents a chance to speak or herself time to chicken out, she switched the camera to the rear-view, to her biological father’s pilot photo.
“Nanay, I met John.”
Krista watched as her mother’s face paled in shock.
“O, Dios ko. That is John.” She was so surprised, she took the Lord’s name in vain. Marissa gaped at the camera as Krista panned to the other pictures, pausing lengthily at the one with the fresh scar. She visibly jumped when Tatay placed his arm around her shoulders. She tore her gaze away from the photos and turned to her husband. Cupping his face with both hands, she whispered, “Arsen.” A tender smile crossed Tatay’s face. He brushed his lips against her forehead and whispered her name just as softly, “Marissa.”
A lump formed in Krista’s throat at the sight of her parents’ affection. She switched the camera back.
Clearing her throat, her nanay faced her again. “How did you meet him? Where was he?”
She and Blake had discussed not mentioning the stabbing and attempted theft, so Krista replied, “Here, at the pub co-owned by Blake’s parents. John and his wife are the other owners. His full name is John Jackson O’Connor.”
“What a small world talaga, ano?” A note of wonder entered her mother’s tone. “I’m happy for you, Anak.” Marisa Lopez held hands with her husband. “I’m glad you met your father on Christmas. That’s a wonderful blessing.”
Krista’s eyes gleamed when they met Blake’s. “Truly, Nanay. A wonderful blessing, indeed.” Her mother’s reaction pleased her. It didn’t surprise her at all. She knew her love for Arsenio Lopez was deep-abiding. John was a short chapter, Krista’s tatay the whole book. “Enjoy your Christmas, ‘Nay, ‘Tay. Mahal ko po kayo.” Krista signed off by telling them she loved them.