PART 1: The Dot at the Cockfight

Let me start with the part that makes me look bad.

I put a tracking app on my lola's phone, and I did not tell her.

I did it out of love. I know that is what every sneaky person says. In my case, it is also true.

It happened after the scare.

One Sunday, Lola Rita did not answer her phone. Not in the morning. Not at lunch. Not in the afternoon, when I called so many times my own phone got hot.

Lola is seventy-three and has lived alone since Lolo died. She always answers, even during Mass. Once, she answered in the middle of her own blood test.

So I drove to her house. It was locked. Her slippers were gone. The neighbor had not seen her.

I called her friends. I called the barangay hall. I was about to start calling hospitals when a tricycle stopped at the gate and Lola climbed out holding a plate of pancit wrapped in foil.

"Ay, Miko," she said. "Why are you here?"

She had been at a birthday party three streets away. Her phone was in her bag, on silent, under a container of leche flan.

She was fine.

I was not fine.

That night, while she washed the dishes, I borrowed her phone to "fix the Wi-Fi."

I installed the app. I hid it in a folder called TOOLS. Lola does not open folders. Lola does not believe in folders.

Then I gave her the phone back and ate her pancit like an innocent man.

I should explain what I do.

I fix computers remotely. When clients' screens freeze, I talk them through it very patiently.

Machines make sense to me. You tell them what to do. If they don't do it, you restart them.

People do not come with a restart button. I have looked.

Especially Bea.

Bea is the daughter of Lola's best friend, Tita Vilma. I have liked her since high school. In all that time, I have said maybe a few dozen words to her, and most of them were "Excuse me."

What I have done is fix her mother's printer.

Four times.

Tita Vilma calls Lola. Lola calls me. I arrive in my best shirt and fix the printer while Bea walks through the kitchen, says "Hi, Miko," and leaves.

And I say, "Printer."

That is the whole relationship.

Bea became a veterinarian. I became a man who knows a lot about printers.

For a few days, the app was wonderful.

I watched Lola's little blue dot go to church. Then the market. Then home. Then church again.

I checked it the way other people check the weather. Dot at home. Good. Dot at the bakery. Good. Dot at Tita Vilma's. Very good.

I slept better than I had in months.

Then, on Tuesday afternoon, I opened the app and nearly dropped my coffee.

The dot was at the sabungan.

The cockfighting arena. In the next town.

My lola does not gamble. My lola thinks bingo is a little bit sinful.

I grabbed my keys and laptop.

On the drive, I had theories.

She was being scammed. Somebody had tricked her. Somebody had told a nice old woman that roosters were an investment.

I parked badly and ran inside.

The noise hit me first. Men shouting numbers. Men shouting at other men. Men shouting at roosters, who were shouting back.

And in the middle of it all, on a blue plastic stool, sat my grandmother.

She was holding a rooster in her lap like a baby at a baptism.

"LOLA!"

She looked up.

"Ay, Miko," she said. "You're here."

That was all she said.

At the time, I was just relieved she didn't ask how I found her.

"What are you doing here?"

"Official business, apo."

"With a chicken?"

"He's a rooster. Be respectful."

Before I could argue, a man near the pit shouted, "HOY! Catch him!"

A red rooster had escaped. It ran through the crowd, looked around, and chose me.

I don't know why. I had done nothing to this rooster.

It came at my ankles. I backed up. It jumped, flapped once, landed on my shoulder, and climbed onto my head.

Then it just stayed there.

I did not move. I could feel its feet in my hair. I stood in the middle of the sabungan like a man wearing a very angry hat.

Two men by the fence started laughing. One of them said, "My money's on the rooster."

Then somebody behind me said, very calmly, "Don't move, Miko."

I knew that voice.

Two hands reached up and lifted the rooster off my head like it weighed nothing.

I turned around.

Bea.

She was wearing a green vet shirt, her hair tied up. She held the rooster under one arm like a football.

"Hi, Miko," she said.

I opened my mouth.

"Rooster," I said.

That was the whole sentence.

She smiled. Then she looked at my hand. It was bleeding a little where the rooster had scratched me on its way up.

"Come here," she said.

She cleaned my hand with a wipe from her pocket and put on a bandage. Her fingers were cool. I forgot every word I have ever learned, in two languages.

"Thank you," I said, to the rooster.

Behind us, Lola was watching with the peaceful face of a woman at Mass.

On the drive home, I gave her a very serious speech about scams, gambling, and strangers.

Lola listened to every word.

"Sige, apo," she said at the end.

Then she fell asleep with her mouth open.

Two days later, I opened the app.

The dot was at a tattoo shop.

PART 2: Who Was at Dragon Tattoo

After two nights reading about sudden changes in older people, I had worse theories.

Dragon Tattoo had black windows and a skull wearing a crown painted on the door.

I pushed it open, ready to rescue my grandmother.

My grandmother was not there.

Bea was.

She sat on a bench while a very large man with a dragon tattoo prepared a buzzing machine.

Bea looked up.

"Miko?"

"Where's my lola?"

"She went to buy merienda." Bea lifted her tote bag. "She left her phone with me."

The dot was in Bea's bag. I told myself Lola had simply forgotten her phone.

"This is my brother, Dindo," Bea said. "It's his shop."

Dindo nodded. He had the face of a very kind bear.

"You're the printer guy," he said.

Bea covered her mouth.

"What are you doing here?" I asked her.

"Getting a tattoo. A small one." She held out her wrist. "A paw print. For work."

"Oh."

"Your lola said you might come by. She said you're good in an emergency."

My legs decided I should sit beside her.

Dindo cleaned her wrist. He picked up the machine. It buzzed.

"You can hold my hand if you want," Bea said.

So I held her hand.

Dindo touched the needle to her wrist.

And then I was on the floor.

I remember the buzzing, then the ceiling, then Bea's upside-down face. My head was in her lap, her hand on my forehead.

"Okay ka lang. Breathe. Good boy."

It was the voice you use on a scared puppy.

"Did I faint?" I asked.

"You fainted," said Dindo.

"Did she faint too?"

"She didn't faint," said Dindo. "She's the vet."

Bea finished her tattoo while I lay on the bench with a cold soda on my forehead. She did not need anybody to hold her hand.

Then Dindo's payment tablet froze. He tapped it. He shook it.

"Every day," he said. "Every day, this thing."

"Can I see it?" I asked.

And for the first time in my life, Bea watched me be good at something.

I fixed the tablet, then the Wi-Fi, then Dindo's booking app. I talked the whole time. Full sentences, with verbs.

As long as I was talking about Wi-Fi, I could talk to Bea.

She sat on the counter, swinging her feet and asking questions. She even laughed at my terrible password joke.

Soon I was telling her about Lola's scare and all my theories.

"She's acting so strange," I said. "I'm worried about her."

Bea bit her lip. She looked down at her new paw print.

"Your lola is a very special woman," she said.

"She is."

"Very... organized."

I nodded without understanding.

The door opened. Lola came in with a bag of turon.

"Ay," she said. "You two are still here."

She did not sound surprised.

That night, Bea texted me first.

How's your head?

After nearly an hour of writing and deleting replies, I sent: Fine. How's your wrist?

She sent a picture of the paw print and a rooster emoji. I stared at that rooster for a long time.

On Friday, I had dinner at Lola's.

Over sinigang, after my second bowl, Lola asked, "Why do you keep looking at your phone?"

I put it face down.

"I'm checking on things."

"What things?"

"Work. You. Everybody."

She was quiet for a moment.

"You check on everybody, Miko," she said. "Who checks on you?"

I laughed. I thought it was a joke.

After dinner, she took her phone out to the porch. I was washing the dishes. The window was open.

"Oo, Vilma," she said. "Saturday. At the airport."

I stopped washing.

"No. He can't know until the last minute. He'll make a whole speech."

Then a pause.

"I know. After Saturday, my job is done."

I stood at the sink until the water went cold. Airport. Saturday. After Saturday, my job is done.

Had she been asking who checked on me because she was getting ready to leave?

On my way out, I passed her bedroom.

There was a suitcase on her bed.

I couldn't bring myself to ask. Instead, I went home and watched the dot all night.

Early Saturday morning, it started moving.

Toward the airport.

PART 3: Who Was Really Leaving

I have never driven like that.

I have never parked like that either. I am still sorry about the cone.

Inside the terminal, I ran. Past the balikbayan boxes. Past a family taking a group photo. Past a guard who shouted, "Sir! Walking only!"

The dot said she was near the check-in counters.

Then I saw her.

Lola was sitting beside a pillar with the suitcase at her feet.

Tita Vilma sat on one side of her. Another tita I didn't know sat on the other side, holding a bag of pandesal.

"LOLA!"

Every head turned.

I dropped to my knees in front of her. I did not plan to drop to my knees. My knees did it.

"Lola, please don't go. If you're sick, we'll fix it. If you want to move to Canada with Tita Weng, we can talk about it. If it's money, I have money. Please. I'll visit more. I'll stop checking my phone. I'll..."

"Anak."

Lola put her hand on my cheek.

"Not me," she said.

She pointed over my shoulder.

"Her."

I turned around.

Bea was standing in the check-in line with a small suitcase and her tote bag. She was staring at me. So was everyone in the line. So was the guard.

I turned back to Lola.

"She's leaving?"

"She's leaving," Lola said.

"Where?"

Lola ignored this.

"So," she said. "What are you going to do? Put an app on her phone too?"

Tita Vilma covered her face. The other tita offered me a pandesal. I don't know why.

I stood up.

I walked to Bea. It was the longest walk of my life, and I have walked through a cockfight wearing a rooster.

She waited.

The whole line waited.

"Hi," I said.

Good. A word. A real one.

"Hi, Miko."

"I didn't have to come over," I said. "I could've fixed your mother's printer over the phone."

"I know."

"I like you. I've liked you since high school. I'm very bad at this. I'm better with machines. You can restart a machine. I can't restart this. I just... please don't go. Or go, but come back. And then have dinner with me. Please."

It was quiet. Somewhere, a baby was crying. The man behind Bea was filming on his phone.

Bea looked at me for a long moment.

"Miko," she said. "It's a seminar in Cebu. Four days."

I closed my eyes.

"Four days," I said.

"I'm back Wednesday."

The man behind her lowered his phone.

"Pare," he said, with great sympathy.

I wanted the airport floor to open and take me.

Then Bea laughed and took my hand. The one with the rooster scratch.

"But yes," she said.

I opened my eyes.

"Yes?"

"Yes, dinner. Wednesday. Pick me up."

Behind me, the titas cheered like somebody had won at bingo.

It took me a second.

Then I turned around slowly and looked at my lola.

She was peeling a pandesal, very calm.

"Lola," I said. "How long have you known about the app?"

She took a bite.

"Since the second day. My battery kept dying. The boy at the phone stall showed me."

"And you didn't delete it."

"Why would I? Every time my dot went somewhere strange, you came running." She shrugged. "So I made it go where Bea was."

"The cockfight?"

"Bea works there on Tuesdays."

"The tattoo shop?"

"Her brother's."

"Your phone in her bag?"

"I needed you two alone."

"And the suitcase?"

Tita Vilma raised her hand. "Longganisa. For Bea's cousins in Cebu."

I turned to Bea.

"You knew?"

"Your lola called me after the cockfight," she said. "She asked if I still liked you."

I could not speak.

"Still?" I said finally.

Bea's cheeks went pink.

"And my mother broke that printer the last two times," she said. "On purpose."

Tita Vilma did not look sorry at all.

Then they called Bea's flight. She squeezed my hand, picked up the longganisa, and walked toward the gate.

At the corner, she turned and waved.

I waved back like an idiot for a very long time.

When I finally sat down beside Lola, my legs were shaking.

"You could have just told me," I said.

"You could have just asked her," Lola said. "In high school."

I had no answer for that.

She patted my knee.

"You check on everybody, apo. Your mother. Your clients. Me. You never let anybody check on you." She looked toward the gate. "So I did."

My eyes went hot. I looked down at the floor.

Then I took out my phone and opened the app.

"What are you doing?" Lola asked.

"Deleting it."

She put her hand over my screen.

"Leave it. And put one on your phone, too."

"Why?"

She patted my cheek.

"For the wedding planning."