"There's no child named Crispin in their registries."
"What?!" I exclaimed. Crispin visibly flinched at my outburst. He peered up at me with tear-streaked eyes. I knew then he was about to cry.
Cursing to myself, I got down on one knee. "Hey, don't cry."
Crispin sniffed, snot dripping from his nose. Stephen got down and offered a hanky to the boy. As Crispin blew his nose, I looked at Stephen for an explanation.
"What do you mean their registries had no child named Crispin?"
"Well, the police are still updating their list."
"Have they tried checking in with the *DSWD?" I asked.
"No. They said it'd take a week."
"Well, what about searching for the kid's parents?"
Stephen sighed, like it was his own problem. "Nope. Apparently they can't find the kid's parents without a warrant. And, they said they're too busy to handle the case."
My mouth opened in disbelief. Glancing at the officer at the podium who leaned back and yawned, I couldn't help but feel anger. Useless cops.
"What are we supposed to do then?" I asked out loud, looking at the boy who continued to cling onto me.
"Well, they said they'd refer the case to the nearest DSWD office. Then, they'll probably take the child to orphanage."
"What?!" At my outburst, several heads turned to us. The officer at the podium even gave me the stink eye. What is he, five?
"What's wrong?" Stephen asked.
"What's wrong is that they are sending this child who was separated from his parents to an orphanage." I hissed. "Why can't they find the parents? They can at least try to act more invested in the well-being of this country's citizens."
"Woah, woah—calm down." Stephen brought his hands up. He glanced at the officer at the podium and nodded his head. Then, he stood up. "Come on. Let's take this talk outside."
Stephen led us outside and went to a nearby canteen. It was getting late. The sky was already turning dark orange. And here I thought I would be able to come home early for once.
"What do you want?" Stephen asked. I contemplated my options for a bit, looking over the choices for dinner.
"I'll have a budget meal with *adobo and *munggo." I handed the man a crisp fifty pesos bill.
"What about you, Crispin?"
Crispin looked at Stephen then at me, and simply hid his face in my coat. Great. He back to acting shy.
"I guess we'll share." I responded with a forced smile.
"Alright. Go sit there while I get our orders." Stephen pointed at the innermost table. I nodded in response and proceeded to take the child with me.
While we waited, I couldn't help but study Crispin. His unkept hair was curly dark brown. And when he's not crying, I could see that Crispin has a shocking pair of gray eyes—almost blue.
Wow. This kid must have at least one parent who's a foreigner. If that's the case, it's no wonder the police doesn't have any record of him in their registries. For all we know, his parents are actually tourists.
I mean, he's dressed nicely. And he has this pristine white skin that my girl friend would die to have. It's not like Jose Rizal has a monopoly of the name Crispin, right? No parent would be twisted enough to name their kid after a character in a book, meant to be a victim of injustice—meant to die early.
Right?
All this speculating is making my head hurt.
Stephen arrived just in time with our food to keep me from overthinking any further. As he sat down, the man folded his hands in prayer and closed his eyes.
"Amen." He whispered. I decided to ignore him.
We ate our meal in silence, with me spoon feeding the little kid as he refused to eat by his own hands. I'm beginning to think this kid really is a foreigner. When I was five, my mother would flip if I asked her to spoon feed me and would rant about how old enough I already am.
"So, what's going to happen?" I asked.
As soon as we were done eating, Stephen crossed his fingers and stared at me with a serious look on his face.
"I'm thinking of contacting my office to look into Crispin's parents." Stephen started.
"Your office?"
"Oh, right. I haven't exactly introduced myself properly." Stephen smiled sheepishly. "I'm Stephen Mercado. I'm a lawyer who's working at a firm in Quezon City. I live here in Makati with my wife at an apartment complex." He outstretched his hand for a shake.
Hesitantly, I shook his hand. "My name is Alex Reyes. I work as a writer and I also live in Makati. You can call me Xela."
"Xela Reyes?" He looked surprised.
"Yeah?"
"No wonder you looked familiar." Stephen chuckled. I looked at him, confused.
"Have we met before?"
Stephen looked even more surprised. "Wait, you don't remember me?"
I shook my head.
Stephen smiled widely. "It's me, Stephen!"
"Yeah... right." I trailed off, still getting nothing.
"James Mercado."
At the mention of my ex's name, I flinched. "Wait, you're related to James?"
"I'm his brother!" Stephen exclaimed with a hearty laugh.
My jaw dropped. "You're his brother?!" I slammed my fists at the table, surprising Crispin.
"Yeah! We even met during my wedding. You know, before the—oh. Right. You guys broke up." Stephen looked at me sheepishly.
My blood was boiling. This is great. Just great.
"I'm sorry. I forgot guys broke up five years ago." Stephen apologized.
That's right. My boyfriend and I broke up, on his brother's reception after the wedding. What kind of jerk does that?
"It's fine. I've moved on." Lies. I haven't been able to move on. Nevertheless, I forced a smile.
I lowered my hands, hiding them from sight. Of all the people to meet, why did it have to be the brother of my ex? I couldn't help but clench my fists.
"Mommy?" I jolted in surprise when Crispin placed his hands on top of mine. As I stared into his worried little face, I could feel my anger slowly disappearing. I squeezed his hand, then faced Stephen.
"Back to the topic. What are we going to do with Crispin?"
Stephen's sheepish smile disappeared, replaced by a serious expression. "Right. Like I said, I'll communicate with my firm to look into his parents."
"Alright. Try to look into tourists or foreigners who lost their kid." I suggested.
"What, why?"
I gestured at Crispin. "Look at his eyes."
Stephen squinted. "Oh wow, his eyes are gray."
"Grayish-blue." I specified.
"You might be on to something." Stephen jotted it down. "Now, the matter of where he stays until we find his parents still stands."
I avoided his gaze.
"... I know you don't want him to stay in the orphanage." Stephen said it softly, as if speaking to a child.
"So, why not take him home?"
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DSWD - Department of Social Welfare and Development: orphanages is within their jurisdiction.
Adobo - a type of dish where the meat (usually chicken or pork) is cooked in soy sauce and vinegar
Munggo - this refers to mung beans from a plant with the scientific Vigna radiata