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Raissa has cleared up her schedule as much as she could, anticipating for this week.
Alas, there are some things you can’t change.
Today, she trusts Jo to promote her book on a meet-and-greet, alone. Today, she will be heading into many very important lessons about thermodynamics. Today, after months of being separated by continents and four days of being together like glue, she and Jo will be apart.
The aching in her heart as she goes into the hall is far stronger — far more prevalent in her muscles, the way she breathes — than the anxiousness brewing in her gut.
She comes to her dorm late in the night. Raissa would have loved to stop by Jo’s booth during the day, but there had been no opportunities for it. All she will likely get is a sleeping Jo on her bed, and being able to snuggle up with her for the night.
So, imagine the way her heart flutters when the light is on and gentle warmth greets her face.
“Raissa!” Jo’s already at the door, rushing at her with crushing pressure. She can’t help but gasp, and can’t help but immediately wrap her arms around Jo with just as equal force.
“Jo.” When she pulls back to look at Jo in her eyes, the most prevalent thing in her dorm is something that smells like home. Like clockwork, her body releases all the tension that had settled throughout the day. She doesn’t know what does it, but she feels all the more lighter — like when Manang’s wings carry some of her weight. “Hi. Ano…”
“Are you ready?” Jo’s already whisking her off, though, yanking her by the arm and leading her further into the room. When she yelps, Jo even seems undeterred by it as she sets her down on her desk chair. It’s making little sense, but this is Jo, and things that don’t make sense with her usually have its meanings come to light relatively quick. Raissa just has to trust her.
Raissa gazes into her eyes, seeing only the wide giddy smile plastered on her face. “Jo, ready for what?”
“This.”
Jo spins her seat around, letting her be face to face with her desk and the food set on it.
A bowl of sinigang na hipon.
“I know you haven’t had Filipino food in a while here,” Jo begins to talk, and though Raissa's intent on listening in, her hands already wrap around the bowl and take in the pleasing gentle heat that emanates from the ceramic. “So I thought, ‘Hey! I should cook some up and bring them to you! Make your Californian life a little more Filipino!’ Eh?”
Raissa can’t even say anything to her, with her lips trembling and tears brimming in her eyes.
“Raissa?” Jo turns herself aside to look, and Raissa can't stifle a giggle when she sees the panic on her face at the tears. Though that makes Jo a little more relieved, from the way her raised eyebrows rest, it doesn't minimize the worry in her at all. "Hey, you okay?"
"I'm okay," Raissa says. "Just… salamat, Jo."
They stay that way for a while, Jo staring into Raissa's eyes as she stands beside her, Raissa drifting between Jo and the food she's loved her entire life. In the silence, Jo reaches out to wipe Raissa's tears away, and she kisses her forehead too.
"Come on." Jo smiles at her. "You don't want it to get cold, right?"
Raissa doesn't wait after that. She digs in, expecting the taste of Lola Fatima’s cooking. Throughout her childhood years with Jo, it’s become synonymous with the day of her meeting her best friend. A refreshing saltiness meeting her each time, so much like the sea breeze whenever they hang out on the beach.
But it doesn’t taste like that. It tastes like her party at five, at home, as the rain pours on overhead. Tangy acid on her tongue, calm washing over her as petrichor stays in the air, tinted with light acidity. Despite the thunder rumbling, there is a hand brushing at her hair, softly singing to her happy birthday.
“Is this…” Raissa sniffs, “…my mom’s?”
“She taught me her recipe.” Jo nods, and whether she knows what it means or not, she starts brushing Raissa's hair.
Raissa doesn't know whether to keep on eating or to start bawling outright.
She does both.
It's just right. Jo has recreated the taste perfectly, and after the longest time — asking her mother through the phone on how she could make it, when she realizes that there's no way for her to get it homemade through normal means; months upon months of trying to find the right ingredients in California, dejectedly slumping in her dorm room every time she comes back empty handed — Raissa can enjoy the cooking of her family once more.
As she blubbers her gratitude through spoonfuls, her spare hand finds its way to Jo's.