Any Day with You: Chapters 14–28

Balmy gray fills the sky. Locals call this June Gloom. It’s overcast, perfect to film in because the camera won't pick up harsh shadows.

We try to get more shots of Trey sauntering down the beach.

Usually we’d circle until something opens up—or until Dad gets mad and says with a hmph, “Fine, I’ll pay for overpriced valet!” and Mom gets annoyed he didn’t do that to begin with.

The man approaches us, though his grimace has disappeared.

This climax scene is what’s going to cinch our spot in the contest.

"Puh-leeze. Am I not the only legitimate baker in this family? Okay, outta my way,” he huffs, throwing the cake mix box into the recycling bin.

Uncle Roy starts doling out orders—soon the counter is covered in natural ingredients like flour, eggs, butter, sugar, and vanilla; we start measuring and pouring, sifting and beating.

I turn off the oven, slip on some mitts, and carefully pull out our delectable props.

"Sometimes it may seem like Celestino does things on a whim, but his choices are always intentional.”

He lets out a huge BURP.
BAKUNAWA (sheepishly) Excuse me.

Dad helped me call the city about permits and they said we didn’t need one for a school or camp project, that sometimes they have overzealous beach security.

Suddenly my hands feel clammy.

Ours still has the most elaborate makeup and an exciting story that’s never been done before.

Sometimes seeing a vast blue sky overhead gives me that same feeling as when I dip into the cool ocean, or when I can see the sprawling city on a clear day after we’ve hiked to the top of a canyon.

We go back and forth with more questions and answers: how scared he felt, how he did it because he wanted to defend his homeland from fascism, how those hard times changed him.

We round the corner and enter a street of cafés and shops like we’re in downtown LA—only when you look behind the buildings, you see that they’re just façades with nothing behind them.

"That’s where the fight part comes from,” Mom says. "They’d 'attack' the food, kind of a free-for-all until every last grain of rice disappeared.”
"Although I prefer to think of it less as a fight and more as a humble feast with loved ones,” Tatang adds.

Instead of trying to reshoot our scene, we cut everything together, added catchy music, and turned that part into a montage where we didn’t need the original audio.

Inside I'm fireworks, but I say, "Not too shabby."
"We’re...pretty dang awesome,” Abby says, equally calm.

"My goodness, none of you are on Filipino time! Nice job, family!"
"As a punctual person, I am completely offended by that,” Uncle Roy says.

"What if you do a test run? After Christmas we can reassess whether you really want to make the move a permanent one.”

“Probably resting. I think he said he was feeling a little under the weather,” Cynthia says.

My stomach churns but I remind myself: this is for Tatang.

All kinds of people mill about to celebrate the rare occasion when the sun disappears.

He hands me and Mom a pair of flimsy paper shades and helps Toby with his.