Chapter XXV: Waltz
A school year has ended and it's Mark's Recognition Day
The classroom is packed with parents, teachers, and restless children fidgeting in their uniforms. Colorful ribbons hang on a cord stretched across the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may we call on the parents of Mark to come forward," the teacher announces.
Meric squeezes Ben's hand as they stand, weaving through the rows of chairs. Rico and Mercy crane their necks from the back of the audience.
Mark, small but proud, climbs the stage in his neatly pressed uniform. He beams as a teacher pins a ribbon on his chest: Most Courteous.
Not top ten, not academic excellence. Just "Most."
Still, Mercy clasps her hands together. "Ay, apo! Look at him!" Her voice wavers with pride. "Even if it's only a 'Most,' he is still my grandson!"
Rico chuckles. "You'd think he won valedictorian."
"Hush, you," Mercy scolds, but she's smiling too. Her eyes glisten as she watches Meric and Ben pose with their son onstage, the family complete in the simple glory of a ribbon.
Mark waves his award like it's a championship medal. The audience claps. For Mercy, it is enough.
Back in Saddeg, the recognition joy fades into the daily grind. Every morning, Mark winces awake not from alarm clocks, but from his paternal grandma Dalen's booming voice.
"Yoshi! Nakasadsadut ka! (You're so lazy!) Bumangon kan ken simpaem ta katrem! (Get up now and fix your bed!)" she yells—not at him, but at his cousin.
Still, the shouting ricochets through the thin walls of the house, rattling Mark's eardrums.
Meric rubs her temples. "I can't take this anymore, Ben. Every day, it's like a radio station stuck on the same angry channel. Haan ko kayat ti kastoyen. (I don't like this anymore.)"
Ben sighs. "You're right, Ma. We need our own place. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere just for the 3 of us."
Meric nods. The idea takes root.
One weekend, Ben drives to Pantay Este to see Elric. He notices a small house beside Elric's—painted white with faded red trim. A handwritten sign still hangs: Fried Chicken Special.
The place looks half like a home, half like an abandoned carinderia. Ben tilts his head. "Hmm. Could we... rent this?"
Just then, Elric's wife steps outside, wiping her hands on a rag.
"Ben!" she calls. "Looking for a place?"
Ben nods. "Ah Manang, we're thinking of moving out of Saddeg. This one... the Arceli's house... do you think it's good?"
Elric's wife chuckles. "Good? Maybe for frying chicken, not for raising a family. But listen—Arceli still owns another property. Much better. Come, I'll tell you."
Ben's eyebrows rise. "Another one?"
She leans closer, lowering her voice like she's about to reveal a treasure map. "In Bayubay Sur, Tuanong. Apartment units. Clean, bright, and near Guardino."
Ben strokes his chin. "That... sounds promising."
A week later, Ben and Meric ride on a motorcycle, bumping through the rough roads of Bayubay Sur.
They turn into a narrow eskinita, passing laundry lines, barbed wire fence, and barking dogs, until a compound opens up.
There it stands—a mint-green apartment building, fresh paint gleaming in the sun. Children play in the courtyard, and a sari-sari store hums at the corner.
Meric's jaw drops. "This... this feels different."
They meet the building manager, a kindly woman with reading glasses perched on her nose. She walks them through one of the units: white-tiled floors, a small balcony, a sink that doesn't drip.
"Look at this, Ma," Ben says, opening cabinets with exaggerated flair. "No termites! Luxury!"
Meric laughs. She can already picture Mark doing his homework at the table, herself cooking in the small kitchen, Ben coming home for lunch.
The decision is instant. "We'll take it."
Boxes are carried. Bags are unzipped. The apartment slowly transforms into home.
Mark skips from room to room. "This is mine! This corner is mine! Can I put my toys here?"
Meric smiles. For the first time in months, there is peace.
Every day, Ben comes home from the government facility at Guardino during lunch breaks. Instead of eating alone, he now shares warm meals with Meric and Mark. Rice, adobo, laughter.
"See?" Ben grins, spoon in hand. "Better than fried chicken."
Meanwhile, back in Caluipat, Mercy sits in her bamboo chair, watching TV while minding the Bensmert Store.
Onscreen, Ryzza giggles and dances in her colorful dress. Mercy chuckles. "Ay, this little one. So lively!"
But as Ryzza twirls, Mercy's memory spins back to 2004.
The Hermosa City Fiesta is buzzing with lights, music, and the smell of grilled corn. The Balikatans are set to perform a dance number.
"Meric, you will dance," Mercy declares.
"What? Me?" teenage Meric protests.
"Yes. You're flexible. Look at those moves!" Mercy claps her hands as Meric awkwardly practices, twisting her arms and legs in rhythm.
"Mang, I look silly!"
"You look like your Lelong Melo," Mercy says proudly.
Meric freezes. "Wait, what? Lelong Melo? He... danced?"
"Ha! Nalaing nga agsala ni Lelong mo. (Your grandfather is good at dancing.) Not just danced. He was the finest ballroom dancer in his time! Elegant, graceful. That's why your Lelang Tory adored him."
Meric rolls her eyes. "Mangbalbalatong kan sa met, Mang, (You best be joking, Mang)."
But Mercy smiles knowingly. "You carry his blood. Dance with pride."
The flashback fades just as Rico, sitting nearby, starts playing the harmonica.
Mercy glares. "What are you doing?"
Rico grins mischievously. "Serenading my best customer—you."
She shakes her head, half laughing.
Her thoughts drift to Mark. She remembers when he first touched the lyre and, without instruction, played the hymn for Hermosa's Patron saint.
Ti gaget mo inkam pagsarmingan, (Your obedience, we will reflect,)
Ti ayat mo di maartapan, (Your love is uncomparable,)
San Pablo, Daniw mi indengam, (St. Paul, listen to our poem,)
San Pablo, patron mi. (St. Paul, our patron.)
A gift, perhaps, running in the family.
Later, Mercy heads outside with her hat and gloves. She prunes, waters, and rearranges her garden. The soil smells rich, the plants bloom with each careful touch. Gardening, for her, is both prayer and therapy.
Meanwhile, Meric's pastillas business is blooming. No longer just for the Bensmert Store—her sweets now reach wholesalers, groceries in the Hermosa public market, and even a hotel across from it.
Each wrapper carries not just sugar and milk, but the pride of a family building something from scratch.
At the apartment, Mark makes a new friend. Her name is Tin-Tin, a girl his age living in the unit two doors down.
"Wanna play?" she asks, holding a rubber ball.
Mark nods eagerly. Soon, the hallway echoes with laughter and bouncing games. For the first time, Mark feels at home among children outside of school.
One afternoon, the bell on the store door jingles. Mercy looks up and gasps.
"Conching!"
Conchita "Conching" Avila, her old friend from the Ina Poonbato devotees steps in, wearing a bright scarf. They embrace warmly, chatting in the sala like no time has passed.
Rico runs the store while the two women reminisce—about feasts, pilgrimages, and old memories of Hermosa.
After Conchita leaves, Mercy sits quietly. Her heart aches with longing. She thinks of Meric, Ben, and especially Mark.
But Rico's stubbornness still weighs like a wall between families. His selfish pride means the reunion cannot happen—not yet.
The days stretch on—some loud, some sweet, some heavy with memory.
Mark flourishes in his new school life, Meric balances motherhood and business, Ben works with quiet strength.
Mercy and Rico keep Caluipat alive with prayers, pedicures, and stubbornness. Yet always, at the center of their hearts, is Mark—the child who ties them all, the reason their stories continue to bend but never break.
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