Page 82 of The Idol

“It was,” I said, smiling faintly. “They became pen pals afterward. Actual letters—stamps, envelopes, everything. Mom kept every single one in a shoebox.”

“You still have them?” he asked, curious.

“No,” I said gently. “They’re long gone now. But I remember some of the stories. She wrote about her siblings, her mom’s cooking, the street markets she went to. And he wrote about working too much.” I huffed softly. “Which he did, even back then.”

Elior nodded, listening like each word mattered.

“After a year of letters and long-distance calls, she moved to the U.S. to try a life with him. Big leap of faith.” My voice softened. “She was brave like that.”

“Like you,” Elior whispered.

“Maybe.” I smiled. “My dad—his name was Robert—he was a good guy, just distant. He traveled a lot for work, so growing up it was mostly me and Mom. And she…” I chuckled under my breath. “She had expectations.”

“Expectations?” Elior asked.

“High ones. She wanted me to be the best at everything.” I took a slow breath. “Sometimes it felt like she was trying to prove something by raising a perfect son in a country that wasn’t her own.”

“That sounds hard,” Elior murmured.

“Nah, it wasn’t all bad,” I said. “She cared. A lot. And she loved me. Even when she pushed too hard.”

I felt him relax a little against me, like he was relieved to hear someone could push too hard and still love you.

“I kept her family name,” I added, biting my tongue when I almost gave him my real name. He’d know it eventually. “To honor where she came from. She wanted that. And… I wanted to keep the connection.”

“That’s great,” Elior whispered.

“She got sick when I was about to graduate college,” I continued. “The cancer was aggressive.”

Elior lifted his hand and rested it gently on my chest, as if trying to soothe me. He had no idea what that did to me.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I wish she could have stayed longer.”

“Me too,” I whispered, although I wasn’t sure whether that was the truth. She knew too much about the true me. “After she died, Dad and I tried to stay close. But we both traveled andworked and it just didn’t happen. Then he died in a car accident a few years after.”

Elior’s brows creased. “You lost both your parents so close together…”

“Yeah.” I swallowed. “It happens.”

He stroked my shirt with the tips of his fingers, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to comfort me but wanted to try.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked gently.

“Sister and a brother.” I shrugged lightly. “We never really connected.Nanay—that means my mom—she definitely favored them.”

“Oh,” he whispered. “That must have hurt.”

I looked down at him, at this sweet boy trying so hard to understand me. “I got used to it.”

Elior’s eyes shone with empathy—the deep, aching kind only someone so starved of affection could offer.

“I’m glad you told me,” he whispered. “I like… knowing you. All of you.”

I brushed his hair back from his forehead, letting my fingers linger. “I like you knowing me.”

He eased closer, pressing his cheek to my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He yawned, then asked, “Will you tell me more someday?”