"Wait, Tita. Just… give me a second."
I drew in a slow breath, the air catching somewhere between my throat and chest. My eyes dropped to the table, to the faint scratches carved into the wood, to anything that felt solid and ordinary. I blinked repeatedly, as if clearer vision would help me make sense of what Tita Kim had just recounted.
"Jane, what are you doing?" Valerie whispered beside me.
Her voice was tight, controlled. She leaned closer, her brows pinched together in the way mothers do when they scold their children in public, trying not to cause a scene. I knew how I must have looked... frozen, unresponsive, strange. But my mind had gone blank. I couldn't think straight. Every thought tried to form and dissolved just as quickly.
I cleared my throat and forced myself to face the screen again. I shifted forward in my seat, my palms damp against my thighs. My heart thudded so loudly it felt as though everyone in the room could hear it.
"Tita… you're attracted to women, aren't you?" I asked carefully, choosing each word as though it might shatter.
"The way you talk about Alex," I continued, my voice softer now, trembling despite my effort to steady it. "You admire her. Not in a friendly way. You see her as a woman."
Even as I said it, something unfamiliar twisted inside me. It wasn't as though homosexual people were rare or mythical creatures. They existed. I had seen them, known them, passed by them in crowded streets and classrooms. They were not aliens.
And yet.
It felt like their existence was never fully accepted. Only tolerated. Allowed, but never embraced. At least, that was how it seemed to me.
I had seen gay men. Tomboys. They always appeared… different. Not in a bad way. Maybe even brave. Still, I could never quite grasp what compelled someone to love the same sex as naturally as breathing. The thought both fascinated and unsettled me.
It was strange.
"Yes," Tita Kim replied after a heavy sigh. "I like women. More than any man."
Her voice carried no shame, only fatigue. Perhaps even relief.
"Alex was one of the few I learned to love," she continued. "Not the way you love a friend. And definitely not the way you would adore a man."
"Your aunt is a lesbian," Valerie said quietly.
She wasn't asking. The confession had already settled in the room, thick and undeniable.
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
I need a moment.
Alone.
The chair scraped faintly against the floor as I stood. The sound felt too loud. Too sharp. I turned away before anyone could stop me. I vaguely heard Valerie calling my name, panic rising in her voice. Then she told Lily to go after me.
The hallway blurred as I walked. The walls, the framed photos, the warm yellow light overhead. Everything smeared together like wet paint.
I didn't remember opening the door, but suddenly I was outside Valerie's house. The night air rushed over me, cool and biting. It slid beneath my sleeves and raised goosebumps along my arms. The wind carried the faint scent of damp soil and distant smoke. Somewhere, a dog barked.
Above me, the stars shimmered faintly. Distant. Detached. Most of them probably long dead, their light only reaching us now.
I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to focus on something concrete. The layout of the house. The neat arrangement of potted plants. The tiled pathway leading to the gate. I clung to details, as if they could anchor me.
"Jane. Val wants you back in there."
Lily's voice came from behind. I heard her footsteps against the pavement before I felt her hand settle gently on my shoulder. Warm. Steady. She turned me around, guiding me to face her… and the direction I had just fled from.
"What the—why are you crying?"
I blinked.
I lifted my hand and brushed my cheek. My fingers came away wet. I hadn't even realized the tears had started falling. They kept slipping down, silent and persistent.
I want to cry. I want to cry so badly.
"My aunt is a lesbian," I said, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. Heavy.
"Did it shock you that much?" Lily asked.
I heard her, but her question felt distant, as though spoken underwater. My mind couldn't process it properly. It was like reading an exam question over and over without understanding what it meant.
"Yes," I admitted, my brows knitting together. "But I don't even know why I'm crying."
I gestured vaguely toward nothing, toward everything. My thoughts were scattered in all directions.
"Maybe I'm thinking about how people treat gay people. About the LGBT community. And I just… assumed my aunt was mistreated. That she suffered."
"You're overthinking it, Jane."
"You don't understand!" I shouted.
The force of my own voice startled me. Lily took a step back, her eyes widening. The night swallowed the echo quickly, but my chest still vibrated from the outburst.
I sniffled and wiped my face again, my skin raw from the cold and from my own hands. "Just… go back inside. We need to finish the interview so we can continue the project."
I planted my hands on my hips, trying to steady my breathing. Another wave of tears blurred my vision, and I wiped them away impatiently.
"I'll follow in a second."
Lily hesitated. I felt her presence linger, as if she were deciding whether to argue. Eventually, her footsteps retreated toward the house.
When the door closed behind her, the silence pressed in.
I raised my hand to my head, fingers tangling in my hair as though I could physically ease the tension building beneath my skull. My chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm. Each breath felt too shallow.
I stared at the door.
Something inside told me that when I walked back in, I wouldn't just be finishing an interview.
I would be stepping into a truth that might change how I see my aunt. Maybe even how I see the world.
And I wasn't sure I was ready for that.
.
.
.
"I'm sorry about Jane."
Valerie's voice came out softer than she intended, nearly swallowed by the low hum of the electric fan spinning above them. The laptop rested at the center of the dining table, its screen casting a bluish glow over the scattered yellow notepads and uncapped pens. The faint smell of brewed coffee lingered in the air, sharp and comforting at once. On the screen, Kimberly Morales sat upright in her own living room, a muted beige wall behind her and a framed certificate hanging slightly off-center. She looked composed, as though she had already braced herself for this exact moment.
Kim gave a small smile, the kind that did not quite reach her eyes but carried patience in its curve. She lifted her cup of coffee carefully, steam rising in thin, wavering threads before brushing against her cheek. The ceramic tapped lightly against the saucer when she set it down.
"I… we don't know why she reacted like that," Valerie continued, fingers curling and uncurling around the edge of the table. "We're so sorry if it offended you."
Kim gently shook her head, once to the left, once to the right, slow and unbothered. The lamplight beside her softened the planes of her face, turning the faint shadows under her eyes into something warm rather than weary. "No, don't worry about it, hija," she said, her voice even and grounded. "I understand her intention. Anyone would want to be alone after learning something surprising. Especially when… it feels a bit familiar."
Her words thinned at the end, dissolving into the quiet space between them. The silence did not feel empty; it felt full, as if something unspoken had settled gently into the room. Kim's gaze drifted away from the camera for a moment. Her pupils lost their sharp focus, and her lips pressed together in a restrained line. She was remembering something. The kind of memory that sits just beneath the surface, waiting for the smallest ripple to rise.
Valerie noticed the shift. She swallowed, the air in her throat suddenly dry. The electric fan clicked as it rotated, pushing warm air across her arms. For a second, the only sound between them was the faint static of the video call and the distant bark of a neighbor's dog outside.
Then Kim straightened, as though she had folded the memory back into its place.
"Why don't we continue?" she offered, her tone gentle but decisive.
Valerie blinked, caught off guard by the steadiness in her voice. She grabbed her phone from the table and set it aside, the plastic case scraping softly against the wood. "How? I mean, Jane isn't here to ask about your life."
"You can ask the questions too," Kim replied without hesitation. She adjusted her glasses, the metal frame glinting under the light. "This is for a group project, isn't it? Let's do it. Resume the interview."
There was something practiced in her certainty. Adulthood had carved that into her, the need to move forward even when emotions lingered unfinished. In places where she had worked, hesitation often meant mistakes. Mistakes meant consequences. She had learned to choose firmly, to trust her judgment before doubt could weaken it. It was not stubbornness. It was discipline formed by experience.
She leaned back slightly, fingers wrapping around her coffee cup again. "Even if Jane isn't exactly my niece, I should still put in the effort to help her," she added, her thumb tracing the rim of the cup absentmindedly. "Doing this interview is the least I can do, especially when she's preoccupied with what she just learned."
The words settled into Valerie more gently this time. The earlier tension in her shoulders eased. She realized that what had happened did not have to define the entire afternoon. Kim was not angry. She was not wounded in the way Valerie had feared. She was simply… understanding.
"All right," Valerie said, her voice steadier now.
She moved to Jane's seat, the chair legs dragging softly against the tiled floor. The cushion was still faintly warm, as if Jane had only stepped away seconds ago. Valerie picked up the notepad, feeling the slight roughness of the paper beneath her fingertips. The ink from previous notes had smudged faintly along the margin. She clicked the ballpen once, twice, the sharp sound echoing in the quiet room.
She cleared her throat, inhaling the lingering scent of coffee and paper.
"Can you tell us more about your graduation from La Salle?" she asked, finally looking straight into the camera, ready to listen.