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“Mijo, bakit hindi mo nagalaw ang pagkain mo? You don’t like the food? You should try this paella, Mijo, ako ang nagluto nito.”
“Lo siento, Mamá (I’m sorry, Mamá). Wala akong gana,” he leans forward and reaches for the bottle of wine to fill his glass.
“Hm, sa pagod ‘yan. Malalim na ng mata mo, na-i-stress ka ba ng Interpol? Your Abuelo is in Mallorca as we speak, enjoying his sobrasada (cured sausage) and La Rioja Alta (Spanish red wine) with his amiga, of whose name I have not yet known. The good thing is he won't be bothering you until next year—so you’ve got plenty of time for peace and quiet.”
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