***Florante's POV***
I hate the fact that the very first thing I do every morning is to wake up.
And I hate it, even more, to know that there's nothing I can do about it.
My life is not my choice entirely.
Neither did I choose to come out into this world. I did not choose to be the son of Ricardo and Felicita Mendoza who were notoriously known as the cat and mouse of the hills back in the days due to their frequent squabble.
But Alas! I was born because my life is someone else's funny idea and apparently my opinion about it did not matter.
I intentionally awakened late in the morning. I might not be able to choose whether I wake up or not but at least on weekends I can choose what time is it going to be.
"Florante you have a phone call..." Nana called out from the sala.
I did not have to ask who might that be because I know it's Larry. He's been calling every day since I called it quits two weeks ago.
I told Nana to have his number blocked but she did not because she enjoyed talking to him on my behalf.
I would hear her giggle like a teenager sometimes, twirling her gray hair with her fingers while speaking with him on the line.
I went down to grab the weights from the sink. Nana is still on the phone with Larry. Her hair is fastened by a curler and its gray strands stood right up to her head like a bee-hive.
"So you're besties with my ex now?" I said sardonically but she seemed totally engrossed and did not hear a thing from me.
They seemed to be talking something about orchids, her favorite flowers. I wonder how did he know about that since I can't remember ever mentioning it to him. But then its Larry the smooth-talker and Nana the bored 72-year-old widow so it should come as no surprise.
I looked at Nana and she's covering her mouth with her hand as if whispering a secret to him over the phone. A gesture she does so often at Church on Sundays after the sermon when the rest of the bored country widows would huddle together to talk about biblical stuff and tidbits of neighborhood gossip in-between.
She's laughing rambunctiously with whatever the hell they are talking about which gets on my nerve.
What business does he has talking to my Nana?
I have to do something to divert Nana's attention so I said: "Nana I'm hungry..."
That failed to get her attention so I squealed "Nana!!"
She held the phone down and replied "Breakfast is in the food-cover dear help yourself..." and take the phone back to her ears in a split-second.
I raised the food cover and gawked at the steaming fried-rice, dried-fish and scrambled eggs.
"Nana I want adobo!" I demanded to try to get her off the goddamn phone.
She puts one hand on her waist and raised one eyebrow at me which is her way of saying that I'm walking on a thin-ice right now.
"Florante nobody cooks adobo for breakfast" she replied exasperatingly emphasizing each word as if I can't comprehend them. And then goes back to the phone again and said "Yeah, yeah that's his favorite food...I can cook it for you should you come and visit me some time--Nana makes the best adobo in town..."
So he's calling my Nana his Nana too? I can't believe this guy!
Frustrated beyond belief, I gavelled my fist against the table and exited the kitchen.
"Florante honey, don't act so comfortable with that attitude of yours, a stick with your name on it is up in my room and it could still be used for a good beating..." Nana said behind my back.
I tic my jaw thinking Larry might have heard it.
I sat on the front porch and lit a cigarette. Outside, fruit-bearing trees have bloomed plentifully and the bees wasted no time pollinating the flower buds, buzzing from bough-to-bough.
The orchard is full of life under the clear-blue summer sky. I wish a storm could melt this sickening tranquility away and make everything as miserable as I am.