"How much would I need to buy so I can hide here?"

The answer, of course, should have been, No such thing. Get out. This is a beer stall, not a hiding place! But there was something about that night that made Feliz a little more adventurous, or a little reckless, and she ended up telling the guy with the guitar that yes, he could hide in her stall if he wanted to.

She said yes, and then she recognized him. Manuel from high school.

And then she really recognized him, as Marriage Booth Manuel.

They had never been classmates. He was always in a different section, hanging out with other people, and even though Feliz kept her social circles small, the faces of a hundred or so people became familiar after a few years.

High school was a long time ago (over twenty years, holy crap), and Feliz was living in a totally different part of the metro. She hadn't randomly seen anyone from high school in forever.
This was a weird night overall.

"Two beers," Feliz said. "Manuel, right?"

"How did you—" He answered with a lot more anxiety than Feliz expected, and then something must have clicked in his memory and he relaxed visibly, audibly, in every sense. "High school. Chemistry? No."

"Marriage booth."

"Feliz." Then a smile. "Feliz Zoleta. My first wife."

She rolled her eyes but felt her cheeks warm up—had to have been the wind and the rain. "That was not binding but now I remember you much better. You say you want to hide here?"

"I mean, if you let me."

"The answer is two beers."

"Which ones?"

"I pick them. Unless something calls to you first."

"Calls to me?"

"Sometimes these things pick you first."

He accepted that really quickly. "Okay, deal."

"Come over then, under the counter."

He blinked, assessing if she was being serious. Unlocking the little door that swiveled out so a person could crouch and go into her stall seemed to have made him believe she was, and then there were two of them in there. It was small, but not so suffocating. Unlike the other food stalls at Nomnom Commons, Feliz Zoleta's spot only sold local craft beer and a few other specialty drinks. She had a big beverage refrigerator, shelving for crates of bottles, and a few random items like cups and coasters. There was only one stool though, because even if she had people occasionally taking shifts for her, there was never more than one person manning O-Beer the Counter. And on Friday nights, it was always only her.

"If you don't mind sitting on the floor—" she said.

"I don't mind," he said quickly.

"And I will be working, so I'd appreciate it if you don't require entertaining."

"Remember marriage booth? I was very behaved."

"We were there for conduct violations. Not so well-behaved."

"Minor conduct violations. And I was quiet the whole time."

"Because Ms. Tan did all the talking."

"I haven't progressed to major conduct violations, don't worry. I won't be a bother and I'll buy as much beer as you want me to."

She...couldn't complain about that? "Okay then."

"Thank you." He sounded grateful, like he really did mean it.

Feliz was being more adventurous and reckless this Friday night, letting Marriage Booth Manuel join her in the stall. She barely knew him. In twenty years he could have completely changed, several times over. And it wasn't like she was a perfectly formed individual that time when they first met.

He seemed a little panicked, when he asked. Maybe tonight, she was also being a touch kinder.

* * *

Friday nights were always busy at NomCom, especially when it was a nice night and not raining. But it was not a "nice night." It was muggy and humid all afternoon, and before sunset, the rain poured in buckets. As soon as that happened, Feliz braced for a slow night, because rain was something that instantly drove away most people who went to their open-air food park on a Friday.

When the bucketloads of rain continued for another half hour, she got the message in the NomCom group chat that Open Mic Night was canceled. That made sense, because why make the scheduled acts show up to perform for no one? But yeah, that just guaranteed that a bunch of food stall owners were not going to be making that much money on what would have been their busiest night that week.

Who would start a second career selling expensive beer at an open-air food park in a storm-prone city?

Me. This girl. Feliz somehow chose this.

The group chat kept going, text after text of reactions and mostly disappointment. Feliz hid her phone in the cash drawer after a few minutes because it was useless being angry at the weather, and she didn't know what else to say. Besides, she had the unpopular opinion that NomCom was really pretty when it was raining like this.

Something about the view from the second floor, seeing how rain poured down in sheets. Made the lights of the food park and the street across them look like little stars. Terrible for business, but pretty.

Maybe she knew it was going to be a tough night for a bunch of people, even if she hadn't processed all of it fully, and that explained why she let the guy with a guitar—Manuel from high school—sit on her floor? Because why else would she have let someone do that? No one had ever asked to do that, and even if someone tried it, Feliz would not be saying yes.

She wondered when she would start to regret this unexpected guest. Five minutes, ten? But an hour had gone by with him sitting without being annoying or intrusive. He hadn't ordered yet but he was looking at the posters behind her that described each brand of beer and how it was made, so she let him do that. Sometimes people took a while to choose their first. She spent that time on her stool watching—admiring—the rain that was ruining their night. He did keep his word about not being a bother, so she tried not to bother him back.

The "marriage booth" during the Foundation Day at their conservative but non-religious Philippine high school was decorated like a fun and romantic gazebo but it never was fun or romantic in its implementation. Foundation Day booths that were set up all over the gym pretty much just represented their subjects and projects. The Literature booth did poetry readings, the Math booth did quiz games. People who had "minor conduct violations" during the quarter could go to the marriage booth, sit through a fifteen-minute marriage talk, and then leave with a cleaner record. Feliz's violation had been "repeated tardiness" and she figured that sitting through an awkward marriage talk was not going to be that bad.

Then a guy joined her marriage booth session. Ms. Tan from Guidance announced that he was Manuel Monterojo and his minor conduct violation was skipping some kind of remedial session, and then he joined her in the gazebo and did sit quietly beside her as they were given a cheerful/scary lecture about marriage, how the Philippines had no legal divorce, and at least one annulment cautionary tale.

"You have to be sure. Very sure. Sure na sure na sure. Imagine this person changing bit by bit right in front of you. Talk about what 'for better or worse' actually means to you. Imagine that the person isn't the worst, but the family is. What then?" Ms. Tan had been very, very serious, and maybe a bit too specific. "Marriage is not a game, okay? You don't have to do it if you don't want to. Understand?"

"Yes," the two teenagers had said at the same time. "I do."

After, Manuel had gently nudged her with his elbow, and said "We said 'I do.' I think we got married." She had laughed in response, and then they never really saw each other again.

It took a lot of willpower and the sneakiest of glances to get a mental picture of him now, while pretending she wasn't doing just that. He was cute in high school, okay? Not someone who kept in touch or became an actual friend after that one time, but of course she remembered Marriage Booth Manuel.

On her first peek, he was looking to his left at the glass door of the refrigerator behind her, probably checking out the bottles on display there. She got to quickly scan his side profile, the impeccably trimmed dark hair, the beard that was growing in. On another peek, Feliz registered the moss-green-brownish crew neck shirt that every guy seemed to have. On her last peek she dared notice his jeans, just...regular blue somewhat distressed jeans.

He didn't have the beard before, but she recognized him because he wore that kind of outfit in school. That was exactly his look, as a teenager. Surely this was a weekend thing? Who still dressed like they did twenty-something years ago?

Oh wait—Feliz checked her current outfit, and confirmed that she was wearing a black tank top and jeans. In high school they could wear regular clothes on Fridays, and she worked that tank top and jeans in all the ways. It carried over to college and her first few jobs; she'd wear one with a cardigan over it, or paired with a skirt when heading out on a weekend. She had used other staples of corporate chic to fit in when going through various positions in her career, but now that her job was beer stall owner she got to decide what the daily outfit was, and the black tank top came back. Like Feliz from high school but a larger size and with more gray in her hair.

This craft beer phase of her life was one that she did alone, and maybe she'd gotten used to not knowing anyone in the room. She'd tried to get some other friends interested, but it didn't take. Most days now she lived as Feliz from O-Beer the Counter, craft beer enthusiast, an entity who'd been existing for only four years max.

How to be a person with a history again?

She spoke first, and just started with the easiest thing. "So did you ever get married, or did marriage booth completely scare you?"

Manuel looked like he had been deep in some other thought, but then started laughing. "I'm unmarried, never tried it. And I think I now know why."

Same, but she absolutely knew she could trace it back to that day, that talk. "I think Ms. Tan from Guidance had some stuff to unpack and then when she did, made it her mission to let us all know about it. You were going to be on Open Mic Night, huh? I didn't realize you did that."

"It's that obvious?" He tapped the guitar that he propped up partly on him and the wall, in its protective case. "Yes. And you never saw me play guitar in high school? I did it for a minute."

"I barely saw you after that one time. Did you join a band?"

Manuel shook his head. "I didn't. I started to learn and then I had to stop. I only picked it up again this year."

That made sense because Open Mic Night was meant for amateurs, and they discouraged anyone using it for their own careers if they already had careers. That meant Friday nights were kind of chaotic, with ninety percent of the performers cringe-worthy in some way. But it was the kind of chaos Feliz was oddly entertained by, and O-Beer the Counter did so well on Open Mic Nights. Nervous energy and an atmosphere of generosity meant people bought expensive beverages, lots of them. "I'm sorry your first ever performance got rained out."

"Oh don't be sorry. I'm relieved. I really would rather be here deciding what beer to order."

"Have you had a Manila Caramel before?" she asked him.

"No, but that's one of my top picks. I haven't tried any of the brands you've got."

"Oh." Another thing she enjoyed about this? Getting people to try new things. "Do you actually drink beer? Because I have ciders, and non-alcoholic drinks too."

"I drink beer, I just—I haven't tried any of those. I didn't realize there were this many brands now. And which one do you want me to try first?"

"Manila Caramel. Dark lager, a little bit sweet. And it's my favorite."

"Does your fave beer grant the courage to live a life without regret?"

"Sir, this is only a beer." Anyway, she had already popped the tansan off a bottle of Manila Caramel and handed it to him. "It can't actually save our lives. But unofficially," Feliz leaned in. "It might have some power after all, if it made someone leave a comfortable career and...spend practically all her savings on a beer stall."

He accepted the bottle, wrapping his fingers around its full body rather than its slim neck, turning it slightly in his hand to read the label. "Powerful stuff then." He raised the bottle to his nose. "Oh, that smells good."

"Tastes even better."

"I should pay for this." He handed her the token with his prepayment and she swiped it, handed it back. Then he brought the bottle to his mouth and took his first sip.

And Feliz felt that jolt of excitement all over again. It was silly, but it was one of those signs that told her she was meant to do this. Imagine being this excited, and hopeful, to have someone like a thing you like.

Feliz still remembered when she tasted Manila Caramel for the first time. To some people, a beer was a beer was a beer, and often it was like that for her too. Then on a rare day, one taste would reveal that this was somehow magic, and amazingly, it didn't have that effect for every single person. How could something completely change her life, and be nothing to someone else? How could her absolute favorite be just like any other beer to another person? What a strange and mysterious thing, to find a favorite. Every time she tasted it, the memory of choosing it came back.

"This is excellent," he said, and she hoped he wasn't just saying that. But she did have excellent taste, so it was the logical thing to say. "You've already turned my night around."

So. He kept leaving the door open to talk about things that weren't beer. Technically she wasn't a bartender but some customers treated her like one, in the manner of striking up conversation as if she had wisdom to share. Feliz didn't mind it when it was short, not creepy, and leaned into things she actually did feel wise about. But those people were also strangers, and the interaction could be a whole lot of nothing and no harm done.

Anyway, she asked. "Do you feel the courage to live life without regret?"

Manuel smiled like she said the wittiest thing, and she really hadn't. That wasn't even her A-level flirting yet.

A tray of something landed on the counter, right beside her, and her gasp of surprise was drowned out by Mari's arrival. Mari, of Charlie's Turon, a stall downstairs that sold turon.

"You weren't replying!" The tray she'd brought had six pieces of what looked like different flavors of turon. "Can I get a Biyaya ng Bulkan for this?"

"Oh my god, yes. You don't need to jump-scare people." On slow nights, some NomCom stall owners offered to trade their products rather than have to dispose of them, and Mari knew she could always get a beer if she brought turon. Maybe an unconventional pair but it just worked for Feliz.

"Oh my god, Ate Feliz, you have a man in your stall."

"Yes, I do. Mari, this is Manuel."

"Manuel Monterojo," he said, waving at our guest. "I was supposed to be at Open Mic Night."

"Oh. Were you? Sorry about tonight. Sucks for everyone." Mari didn't lose a beat making conversation, but her eyes were on Feliz, silently asking all the questions. "The forecast said only fifteen percent chance of rain tonight and still!"

Yeah, that was the general sentiment of the NomCom merchants group chat. "What did you bring me today, Mari?"

"Two of the regular, and these two have langka, and these two have cream cheese."

"Fancy." Feliz comped her the brand she asked for. It was Mari's favorite, a pale ale that was strong, fruity, and bitter. Mari would come around to pick that more often even though any brand would have been hers to try.

"Yes and obviously not going to be sold at all tonight."

"I'm sorry," Feliz said. "I hope it's better tomorrow."

The NomCom sellers would say that during bad nights, but that was a thing they told each other, like "have a nice weekend" or "enjoy your day." "I hope it's better tomorrow" applied to so many things, even though the food park seller's enemy on most days was the weather.

"Enjoy my turon, Ate Feliz. Nice to meet you, Manuel."

Mari, by the way, was twenty-five years old. Already a serial entrepreneur and reminded Feliz a lot of the energy she used to have at that age, not that she missed it. At least Mari was calling her Ate and not Tita, and at least Feliz had her cozy stall on the second floor and products that only needed to be stocked into a refrigerator and served cold, as is.

Maybe if she were younger, and operated at full charge constantly, and spent too much time in a hot kitchen, Feliz would be more frustrated at the rain. Right now it was about energy and she didn't even have enough to spare to hate it.

The great thing about people with energy was how they spread it around in useful ways, like delivering turon one floor up.

"You like langka?" Feliz asked Manuel.

* * *

There were lots of reasons to legitimately hate it when it rained like this. First of all, it wasn't even a storm or typhoon. It was just one of those times when the downpour would be enough to cancel plans, tie up traffic, get your shoes muddy. The worst of it was over within an hour, but the rest of your day was completely rearranged. Feliz did not hate money, by the way, and would love to make more of it. Still, she liked it when the food park slowed down a little. When the conversations were hums and background chatter, rather than yelling. When the park slowed down she could almost swear that she could identify what was cooking at Luv U Sizz next door based on the sound of the sizzling, and exactly when muscovado-sugary treats from Azucarerra de Papi downstairs were taken off the heat. Sometimes new people dropped by NomCom on nights like this because they were stranded, but it was still slow, all things considered.

"What do I say when the security guards come looking for you, Manuel?" Feliz said.

"That's not—" He smiled, was a little sheepish. "That's not going to happen."

"You're not hiding from the guard?"

"I'm not hiding from anybody."

"Hide was the word you used though."

"I'm not hiding from a person, I'm hiding from—I don't know." Manuel shrugged. "It just felt like it was going to take all night to get home and I'd rather stay here."

"Where do you even live now? NomCom is so far away from Parañaque."

"Oh, I live in Makati now."

They shared a moment of understanding what that meant, trying to go back to Makati from NomCom on a night like this. "Staying here was the better choice. I guess I'm not kicking you out then. Who are you in touch with from our batch?"

"There's a group that I see every year, at weddings, stuff like that. But if they've stayed in the south, I don't see them."

"Oh, you're right, weddings. People who never did marriage booth with Ms. Tan, I guess. I keep thinking I never see anyone from high school anymore until I'm reminded that I do see people at weddings. If I choose to go. It's always so weird going back." She went to maybe two weddings of friends from high school and then skipped every other invitation. "You look like such a flashback though."

"I was thinking that this whole time I was sitting here, but about you."

"You know what I mean, right? It's like I can recognize you even with two decades piled on top."

"Same."

The way he smiled, and then took another long drink, but kept his eyes on her. Something was going on with him, but something was going on with everyone.

"Why did we never hang out in high school?" he asked.

"We were never in the same section." As if that mattered, but back then it seemed like a real boundary that kept people apart. "And I was lazy and didn't bother to make other friends. What were you going to play tonight?"

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"Of course it does! You said you picked up the guitar again this year. What did you learn to play? What made you sign up for tonight?"

Instead of answering, Manuel tipped the bottle and took another long drink. If he thought he was distracting her by shifting her attention to his neck then—then it worked a little bit but it was a slow night and they were talking now. She raised an eyebrow and waited for his answer.
"You do realize you signed up to perform those songs in front of a food park full of people, right?"

"Would you believe that it's more nerve-wracking when one person asks? Because strangers at least will just move on maybe. Not care."

Okay, to be honest, some nights she couldn't remember a single performance on the stage, and wouldn't have recognized the performers if they showed up and asked for a beer. The fickle spotlight did easily fade.

"Is that what you regret? The chance to perform and be...forgotten?"

"I just remember... I just remember being a teen and all I wanted to do was learn how to play. I borrowed an older cousin's guitar and just learned from—" He blinked, and grinned. "Wait, I don't have to explain it to you. I learned from Song Hits."

Feliz's eyes narrowed. "How dare you. But yes, I know what you're talking about." Meaning he learned to play from those little magazines that had song lyrics and chords and sometimes detailed instructions for playing them. Those things were no longer in print—many things were no longer in print—but that particular type of publication was archived in the previous century by now. "And you stopped? Why did you stop?"

"Math." He said it like he had named a villain. "I was failing math. Learning guitar was one of the things I had to stop so I could get through the extra tutorial hours and pass. And then math never stopped being difficult, so I kept having to go to more tutorial hours...anyway suddenly I'm forty fucking years old and I'm wondering if I missed out on something because I gave up on it too soon. You know what—my conduct violation was when I skipped a math tutorial to play guitar."

Well, there it was. She laughed, and then he laughed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm only paying for beer. You're not supposed to be my therapist."

"And we're not really married, either. But it's fine, I really understand where that came from."

"People regularly reveal feelings to you here?"

Feliz nodded reassuringly. "Often, but I tune most of it out. Some people just want to say it out loud, maybe, and it helps."

"I spent most of this year teaching myself again, and tonight would have been the thing I did to get it out of my system. But it's canceled. And I'm relieved? I'm aware I sound messed up."

"Reminding you that I opened a beer stall at thirty-eight-ish and I did not expect to do that at all."

"Did anything prompt the change?" he asked.

Life? Was there any other answer? Feliz had just had enough. But someone could wake up every day and think they'd had enough. What he was asking was what made her do something about it. "Definitely seeing my thirties tick by had something to do with it. I just wasn't where I thought I wanted to be."

"And this is where you want to be?"

Her eyes tracked the dimensions of her shipping-container-shaped stall, the stacks of beer, the smell of grilling food, the air heavy from fresh rain. It wasn't much, but it was everything? Then she laughed, because she had changed so much in a few short years. "Yes, I am. With the disclaimer that I reserve the right to change my mind. But right here is a good place."

"That's encouraging."

"What happened to your life without the guitar-playing, Manuel? I hope it's not terrible."

"It isn't. I have an okay career, I guess."

"Doing what?"

"Fast-moving consumer goods."

"Oh." She snorted. "You're one of those guys. You work for the big corporations. The 'man.'"
"I never worked in beer, but I know, I know."

If he had been a Big Beer guy, he would have represented someone she was supposed to push back against. But in a way, they were all part of the larger machine that consumed every art and craft and trade in its path. "Twenty years working in that field make you feel a little bit soulless?"

"Or a lot."

"I guess the urge to risk it all happens to everyone, even guys like you."

"I have a younger brother and he apparently became big on YouTube as an artist, and none of us knew it when he started. He was always bouncing around from place to place and I thought we'd always need to help him out in one way or another. Because that's what I knew life was like, that I had to have a job like mine, so I could always make sure he and everyone else was okay. And then I find out that he's got it all figured out. In his twenties. Pottery on YouTube, of all things."

"Wow. Some of the wildest things become legit careers over there."

"And I know for a fact he doesn't regret anything. He walks around like he just loves exactly where he is and of course I find out he's getting several thousand dollars off his channel and it's given him some confidence to get the job with some non-profit that he really wanted. It just feels...I thought all of us would always have that one thing we didn't get to do and we'd just have to live with it."

Did she believe that too? Feliz vaguely remembered thinking that way. "That is sad. But realistic. You're not alone in feeling that, but...yeah maybe acting on it even a little can help? You did a good thing for yourself this year. I'm sure even your brother has something he still needs to work out. It's just more...mathematically probable."

"I'd love it if math were on my side."

"I'm sure it is. And if you want another go at the stage...I think they reschedule people who miss their slot, if the event was canceled. You might want to do that. Even if you're relieved that it didn't happen."

"How's the crowd at these things?"

"Oh, you know. Generally welcoming. But if you're terrible, you'll probably feel it. I am very supportive of everyone brave enough to go up there though, because I understand. What were you going to perform tonight, Manuel?"

His eyes darted to the guitar next to him, then back to me.

"Do it," I gasped.

* * *

Some songs were packed away in her head like an old sweater, the kind she would never give away even if she never wore it again. Not only was the first song Manuel played familiar—within the first four words she was transported right through a portal and back into her teens.

"Someone" by The Rembrandts had been a hit song, one she heard everywhere when she was younger, but it was probably a few years later when she really paid attention to it for the first time. And because Feliz had been a teen with all the feelings, somehow she thought it was for her.

She felt it all again, as if it was that day. There was a way for a vocalist to come into that with just the right hook and grit to the voice and this guy sitting on her floor had done just that.

The way to do that song right was to dig deep, dig back decades, and then impossibly reach the right register that when deployed would unlock a long-forgotten teen memory.

Feliz suddenly felt vulnerable. But also from a safe place of being wiser. Whew, a ride.

Once upon a time, this song was all over Metro Manila, as popular love songs tended to do. Because there was radio and not much else, and there was a prime time to radio, and daily countdowns reinforced the popularity of the "top ten," and even when you didn't pay attention then you'd eventually absorb it in the PA systems of malls, restaurants, the public bus, the too-noisy neighbor. Most of those songs meant nothing to her but they were grafted onto her regardless. Sometimes—in the case of this song—it did mean something.

And then it occurred to Feliz that she would make out with Manuel if he asked. Like right now.

She cleared her throat and tried not to let that show in her face so much.

It was refreshing to see someone lean into this choice (that would be '90s Cheese maybe), and think of performing this in front of actual people in the twenty-first century, even if it wasn't cool. Or was it cool now? These windows for acceptable nostalgia were cyclical but also short and cruel.

"Are you remembering the cafeteria at lunch?" he said when it was over, and Feliz definitely was thinking that.

"And what's your next song?"

The next song was like a sequel to an inside joke, a reference to a radio war that seemed really important to Feliz when she was younger but no one probably remembered anymore. "More Than Words" by Extreme, or "Someone"? It was the debate of the day, every day, for a time back in school. Temporarily settled when the daily countdown on the radio declared the winner. How was it decided? Supposedly through phone-in votes. Who was actually voting with their freaking landline phones on a school day? It didn't make sense, but the cafeteria at school played the countdown broadcast at lunch, and somehow, on some days, one song won over the other.

Feliz had always been rooting for "Someone." The other song just seemed so insincere to her.
Or, she just never heard it in the right way.

Now that she was paying attention because one guy was singing it just for her, it...wasn't so bad after all? Not condescending. Not loaded with the memories of other high school guys who played and sang this song in her real life.

NomCom had acoustic nights, recitals, holiday concerts...Feliz never really lacked for music in her life as long as she worked there. But she didn't have the simplicity of just having someone play a guitar nearby, like what high school and college effortlessly offered.

He mentioned the cafeteria because he was there too, even if they never talked to each other. Suddenly she missed something that was long gone.

Then the song was over, but she didn't want it to be. "And then what's the next one?"
He started "To Be With You" by Mr. Big. And that was it. Somehow a person she hadn't seen in twenty years showed up at her place of work to troll her. Like he had come over to Open Mic Night to taunt her by unlocking her best, most cringe-worthy memories. By the end of his song Feliz had maybe, probably, started to sing along. She was thinking of offering him free beer. She was going to give him the rest of the turon. She couldn't stop thinking about kissing him, of pulling him to a corner of the gym like they were back in high school and—

Girl, please stop. She laughed as she applauded him, using the movement to snap herself out of this.

"Thank you," Manuel said, oblivious to the thoughts that ran through her mind in such a short time. "That was—that was fun."

"That was a trip. I would have enjoyed your performance so much."

"You don't have to say that."

"I'm not lying! Open Mic Night is rough, and I often don't see anything on stage that's meant for me. This is—this is my cursed walk down memory lane. Oh my god."

"It was the time. We couldn't escape those songs."

"And you know how strange it was to go to college, and everyone was obsessed with other bands? We didn't go through a Nirvana or Eraserheads or Wolfgang phase. I swear I went through my freshman year pretending I knew they existed. We were the baduy school, Manuel."

He laughed. "So you're telling me it's good I didn't get up on stage tonight."

"I'm saying there's a fan for every kind of artist." Feliz cleared her throat. "And at our age it's okay to be baduy. I mean—true to yourself. Younger versions of us spent so much time worrying about not being cool enough, and what did that get us, really?"

"A questionable soundtrack to our formative years."

Feliz did not disagree.

Someone waved in front of Feliz's face and she realized that it was a customer—an actual customer asking for attention. By the time she was done selling a pair of Pili Pales, Manuel had put the guitar back in the case and finished his first bottle.

"I'll have another Manila Caramel please," he said. "And I'll get out of your way now."

Oh—but did he have to? But yeah the weather had cleared up, and if he wanted to make it back home before the traffic got worse... "All right." It took a bit of shuffling, she had to move the stool to make room for him to get out from under the counter, and he circled deftly around her legs before sliding out and then through to the outside. He asked for his guitar case to be handed over the counter to him, and she almost put up some resistance. "And your beer. You're drinking it now?"

"No," he said. "Taking it home. Thank you for offering shelter tonight. And saving me from revealing my kabaduyan to everyone with a social media account."

"Stop. I just said we're not baduy. You made me happy tonight." She handed him the cold bottle, swiped his payment. "It's nice seeing someone from before, apparently."

"I'm glad I saw you here, Feliz."

And then he left.

* * *

"Manuel Monterojo" had indeed been on the program of the Open Mic Night that had been canceled, and two weeks later when NomCom scheduled a new one, the name was not there.
Should she...get in touch? Let him know that there was a chance to perform again? Didn't he know that? Why didn't he sign up again?

So what? Feliz did not even admit to herself that she was hoping she'd see him at the next one, but the Instagram announcement without his name gave her feelings. Of disappointment. Of, surprise surprise, feeling crushed.

Feliz, what's that about? She was not in high school, waiting for a cute guy to walk by before class. If she wanted to see him all she had to do was—

The point was she knew what to do, but didn't do it.

Until that time when she didn't have to do it first, because the IG account of O-Beer the Counter received a message from mmonterojo on the Friday of the next Open Mic Night.

mmonterojo: Hello, can I get a message sent to Feliz through here?
obeernomcom: I don't have anyone running my social media. It's me, I'm Feliz. Hello, Manuel.
mmonterojo: Awesome. I was thinking about what you said, that our memories are set to the soundtrack of white-guy bands. It made me sad. And it made me think of other songs to learn. Are you working tonight?
obeernomcom: Yes, it's Friday night and Open Mic Night. I'm working. Are you dropping by?
mmonterojo: Can I?
obeernomcom: Of course. Come over.

And because his account was just there, Feliz started scrolling.

* * *

"How much do I pay to hide here with you again?"

When Manuel showed up this time, he didn't look like a college kid. He was Friday corporate casual all the way, even had one of those jackets, the kind that people who worked in freezing offices wore and then sometimes forgot to take off when they left the building. She saw him line up behind her customers and wait until he got to the head of the line to even say anything.

The weather had been great that day. No rain, clear skies, a pleasant evening, and NomCom was packed. Feliz had been busy since the food park opened. She'd also spent some time hanging out at his Instagram, and actually understood his state of mind two weeks ago a bit more.

Tonight she could risk being playful. Still kind, but lean toward playful. "Manuel, please. It'll cost you."

He held up the token for NomCom payments. "I'm ready. Swipe away."

"You think I want your money? I want songs. And an explanation. But I'm still busy as you can see, so you'll need to wait."

"I don't mind waiting," he said.

"Under the counter," Feliz instructed him, swinging open the little door so he could go through.

He didn't just sit on the floor; he did help her too. He refilled the refrigerator, rearranged the crates, left the stall to buy the choriburgers from Chori, Chori they had for dinner. Peeked several times at the resumed Open Mic Night from the bridgeway but mostly just listened from the stall, as he helped her. It was near midnight when they had a reasonable amount of time to talk without interruption.

Feliz almost wished it was weird that she wasn't alone in this stall. She was so used to occupying this by herself; some part of her should have rebelled at sharing the space.

But it wasn't weird.

"Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday, when you were here?" she demanded.

Manuel shrugged. "It didn't matter."

"Your fortieth birthday. It does matter! You didn't get a cake, you just had like two beers—"

"And turon."

"—and you were on my floor the whole time. You must have been so miserable. I wish you'd told me."

Feliz didn't need to scroll through Manuel's social media that far back to find something that made her stop and gasp. A photo of a guitar, on the very date of the Open Mic Night that had been canceled, and over a dozen comments greeting him a happy birthday.

The caption had been: Finally at forty. Learned to play this. Found someone willing to listen. A good day.

"If you found out because of my Instagram, I did say it was a good day."

Feliz liked that day, but she liked rainy, miserable days. She wouldn't have subjected another person to it. "It could have been better. You could have had a proper dinner in another stall. I would have treated you."

"All unnecessary. I had a great time, exactly as it was."

"But why?"

"Feliz, come on. I already imposed on you. I wasn't going to ask for anything else. As far as I'm concerned, my birthday was perfect."

"What a strange thing to say. It was just—I didn't even know."

"Why do you say that? I think you'd be the one who'd understand."

They'd been side by side at the counter. She was sitting on her stool in her usual spot, he'd been standing up beside her, occupying that space no one had before. She'd been getting used to someone being there, and he shifted the tiniest bit and the fabric of his sleeve brushed her bare arm.

"I was comfortable," he said. "I didn't need to put on a face, go through a list of conversation topics. I sang and you joined me. It should have been an objectively terrible night but you made me comfortable. And you were just being you."

Oh. "Okay," she relented. "But things can always be better."

"It's not necessary."

Feliz ticked off a list with her fingers. "Cake. It isn't necessary, but a fortieth birthday with it is better. There's a good one at Kilig Cafe, and I got one for you."

"What, where?"

"It's the little pink box at the back of the ref. Number two, songs. Do you have new songs for me?"

He grinned and lifted his phone. "I recorded myself playing the set, because I didn't want to take the guitar to work. Eraserheads, True Faith, and Side A."

"Awesome. Number three, kissing. I propose kissing someone to make your fortieth birthday party infinitely cooler, since you've already had lots of cool points deducted by inviting no one and singing cheesy '90s songs."

"Feliz. Are you sure?" Manuel sighed, and then he smiled, playfully. "Sure na sure na sure?"

"That I would like to kiss you? Yes. I should have said the kiss was number one," Feliz muttered.

The stall was very small. It took absolutely no effort to turn toward each other, for him to cup her face in his hands, for her to run her fingers through his beard. Up close she could see the gray in his beard, his sideburns, the top of his head, until she couldn't because they were kissing. A lovely kiss, by the way, the kind of kiss she liked at the end of a long day—just smoothly becoming the next kiss and the next and the next. When they parted slightly, she felt a little giddy.

"Happy birthday," she said.

"Okay, you're right. This does make my birthday so much better."

"But are we sure though? We should keep testing."

"Tasting?"

"Both."

They kissed again, and again.

He was right, she was familiar with this feeling. The magic of finding a favorite.

The End