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Manila Marriage App

By Jan Elder

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1

With ten minutes to kill before my flight boarded,
I reached into my purse for the letter from Dr. Timothy
Flynn. Smoothing the creased page, I read the words
emailed a few weeks before:

Miss Callahan,

The marriage application you submitted has been
approved. You will be happy to know you passed scrutiny on
all five sections with commendable marks. I am particularly
pleased with the informative answers you furnished on the
essay questions (section four), and the fact that you have
read numerous books in the past year—even if most of them
were fiction—has unquestionably placed you ahead of the
rest of the applicants.

Your PhD in computer science indicates that you are
likely intelligent and gifted in several fields of study. I have
urgent need of such a partner, one who possesses a keen
mind, and a rational outlook on life. I will not put up with
shallow, brainless women.

By return email, please inform me of when you are
available to come to Pacific Rim Theological Seminary,
where I am the church history professor and academic dean.
Sometime in May would be best for me, but June or July will
also be suitable as I am on sabbatical until the end of the
summer. I feel a period of two weeks would be a good length
of time for us to evaluate each other.

I look forward to meeting you at your earliest
convenience to discuss the next step in finding a mutually
beneficial arrangement for the two of us. A round-trip, first-
class airline ticket will be forthcoming when you have made
your plans.

Blessings in Christ Jesus,

Dr. Timothy Flynn

P.S. The photograph you attached of yourself is satisfactory,
although as per the application instructions, I will also
require a picture of your mother. If you would be so kind as
to bring one with you, it would be appreciated.

Phew. The letter had me shaking my head to think
men like that still existed, but most of his letter made
me squirm—which brought up the question what was I
thinking? I pulled Dr. Flynn’s picture out of the side
pocket of my purse and angled it so the light fell full on
his face. OK, so maybe his leading man good looks
softened the bite of his words—a little. He was one of
the finest specimens of manhood I’d ever had the
privilege to behold. Nonetheless…Timmy-boy was a
first-rate, sexist jerk. Stealing one last look at the photo,
I stuffed it back in my purse.

Wasn’t it time to leave yet? I peeked at my travel
companion, Imelda de la Rosa, the mother of my baby
sister, Brianna’s, husband. I’d heard good things about
her over the years, but this was the first chance I’d had
to meet her.

Imelda raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows and
squeezed my arm. “Shay, they called for first-class
ticket holders. You ready?”

Yeah, I was ready, though I still couldn’t figure
out how a seminary professor could afford to spring
for first class. Either he was desperate, or he wanted to
impress me. While I considered those implications, we
boarded the jet. I followed Imelda to our high-priced
seats in the front section of the plane, the melodic notes
of Chopin’s Sonata Number Two wafting in the
background. To top it off, a flight attendant drifted
over with a tray of mouth-watering canapés. My
satisfied smile split into a wide grin. Now this was the
way to travel.

“Shay, dear? Could you help me stow my bag,
please? I can’t quite reach.” My sunny new companion
couldn’t have topped five feet, while I, on the other
hand, had grown much taller.

“Sure. Happy to.” I placed her bag next to mine in
the roomy overhead compartment. The plane left the
ground as gently as a puff of air, creamy clouds
floating past in a bright blue sky. After accepting a soft
pillow from another attendant, Imelda cocked her head
and asked the question I’d been waiting for. “So…your
sister told me you were flying halfway around the
world to marry a perfect stranger. Knowing what a
jokester Brianna is, I knew she must be messing with
me. What’s the real story?”

“That is the real story. Brianna wasn’t kidding.”

“Shay, you can’t be serious.” Imelda knit her brow
and shook a breath mint into her mouth.

“Yep. As serious as an overdrawn bank account. I
filled out an honest-to-goodness marriage application,
and here I am flying over the Pacific. Apparently, I’m
Dr. Timothy Flynn’s frontrunner.” Did that sound as
bizarre as I thought it did? With a touch of defiance, I
fixed my gaze on her. “I bet you think that’s stupid,
huh?”

“You’ve never met this guy, and you know next to
nothing about him. I’m sure you have your reasons,
but why would a pretty girl like you want to marry a
man you’re not in love with?” Her short dove-gray
curls, the exact color of my favorite pair of flannel
pajamas, bobbed with a shake of her head.

“It isn’t about love. Yes, I know this story’s
straight out of the Wild West mail order bride
handbook, and I have often questioned my sanity…”
What in the world was I doing flying to meet a complete
stranger 10,000 miles from home? But then, I figured, why
not? A little excitement would be good for me.

With her almond-shaped eyes and flawless skin, it
was hard to guess Imelda’s age, but she acted like the
kindly granny she was. She put a warm, comforting
hand on my shoulder. “Love has everything to do with
marriage, but nevertheless, I do envy you. If I were
your age, I might do the same thing myself. So tell me.
How did you learn about this mysterious man?”

Now that was a story. I kicked off my new shoes
and crossed my ankles. “It all started as kind of a lark.
A couple of weeks ago, Brianna dropped by after one
of her church services, and I made us lunch. As usual, I
was busy working and she, also as usual, was lounging
at the kitchen table reading some Christian magazine.
While I was busy roasting a chicken and mashing the
potatoes, she found a small advertisement in the
classified section. A missionary was searching for a
wife, and he invited interested women to fill out an
application.”

Imelda’s eyes sparkled with merriment. “My!
Now, that is extraordinary.”

“After Brianna and I quit laughing, she said, ‘Why
don’t you check it out? You fit the criteria. You’re
female, single, between the ages of twenty-five and
thirty-five, and you’re a Christian.’”

My sister was right about my being thirty-one and
single, but the Christian part was iffy. I wasn’t sure
where God and I stood. Sure, I’d given my naïve ten-
year-old heart to Jesus, but by the time I’d hit college,
I’d grown out of that childishness. Still, I was good at
faking it. I knew all the right words and phrases from
listening to my churchy little sister.

I shifted a bit to face my captive audience. “Then
that darling sister of mine had the nerve to remind me
I clearly didn’t have any prospects, I wasn’t getting any
younger, and I hadn’t been on a date in months—all of
which is true. What could it hurt to apply? I figured it
was probably a gag, anyway. And that’s how it
started.”

Imelda rested her elbow on the armrest and her
chin on her palm. “But aren’t you afraid this guy might
turn out to be a psycho killer or something?”

Her kindhearted concern touched me. “Not really.
He’s legit. He sent me a list of several references,
including one from an old professor at Yale, and
another from his seminary president. Everyone I called
spouted effusive praise for Dr. Flynn. And there was a
short, but sweet, bio on his social media page, not to
mention some eye-catching photographs. He’s
gorgeous. The fact that he’s the elusive tall, dark, and
handsome, with the most spectacular silver-gray eyes,
made the decision pretty simple.”

I caught my new buddy bouncing those curls
again.

“Why not? I have weeks of vacation time coming
and I’ve been longing to do something exciting.
Besides, at home, it’s just Clark and me. It was easy to
get away.” Not to mention it could be a blast taking
this man down a peg or two. He needed a big-time
attitude adjustment, and I was just the woman to give
it to him. If only I’d had the opportunity with my last
boyfriend…

“Who’s Clark?”

“My black and white tuxedo cat. Short for Clark
Kent. He’s the only super man I’ve got.” I raised my
hands in a shrug.

An attendant wheeled the beverage cart down the
aisle, stopping next to a yawning Imelda. “What can I
get you both?” Her pleasing, musical voice exuded
cheerfulness. With her slim tan skirt, vibrant flowered
scarf, and sensible heels, she was the perfect flight
attendant.

Imelda asked for cranberry juice, and I ordered a
much needed rum and Coke. The generous attendant
handed me a cup of ice and the entire can of cola. What
I really wanted was extra rum. I poured the rum and
soda into the plastic cup, swirled the ice around the
fizzy liquid, and took a long swallow. Next, I needed
something sweet. I dug in my purse and grabbed a
fresh package of chocolate crème cookies—I was never
without something chocolate. I offered Imelda a
cookie.

Her eyes shone at the sight of the treat. She helped
herself, nibbled the edges, and licked her cookie-coated
lips. “Please, go on with your story. What I’m
wondering, though, is what if you don’t care for him?”

“Dr. Flynn is expecting me for two weeks, but I
can leave any time.” I caught Imelda gazing at me
askance. “Don’t worry. I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.”
At least I hoped I would be. I’d been trying to still
my restless heart since I left my apartment in Maryland
that morning. I didn’t tend toward anxiety disorders,
but who wouldn’t be nervous?

“I’m dying to know what questions he asked you.”
Imelda’s faint laugh lines crinkled at the edges. “Did
he sound nice in his letters?”

Now how was I going to answer that? Some of his
questions were so chauvinistic they’d raised my
hackles. That was one of the reasons I was determined
to do this. I didn’t plan to marry the sexist hunk, and it
might serve him right if I jetted in, enjoyed an
invigorating two-week vacation, and jetted out again. I
didn’t even have to kiss him—although I might want
to, if he was as hot as that picture.

A tiny pang of guilt crept up on me. Maybe I was
being unfair, and maybe I’d end up giving him his
money back, but, at least, I’d experience a new part of
the planet, see some sights, and maybe buy some gifts
for my family. Nudging away the twinge of remorse, I
pulled another cookie out of the cellophane, and ran
my tongue around the smooth white center—pure
sugar bliss.

“The first few questions were what you might
expect—my age, where I live, my background, and if I
was a good, traditional Christian woman.” Hey, I
believed in God, so I didn’t feel too bad bending the
truth. “Some of the other questions made me laugh.
My favorites were ‘Is your weight commensurate to
your height?’ I must say, I had to give him credit for
not asking the exact poundage. In his ‘deal-breakers’
section, he asked if the applicant was partial to
NASCAR or professional wrestling. I was tempted to
tell him I was a champion mud wrestler who raced
souped-up vehicles on the weekends.”

Imelda’s tinkling laugh reminded me of a wind
chime in a gentle breeze. Lovely. I wish my laugh had
that delicate feminine sound. Mine boomed—more
akin to an air horn. At least that was Brianna’s
assertion. Sisters could be so caring and supportive.
“I wish you luck. If this whole thing doesn’t turn
out to be as wonderful as you hope, you can always
stay with me.”

Aww. What a kind offer. If everyone was as nice,
we’d all be in good shape. “Now tell me about you.
Brianna told me you grew up in Quezon City on the
island of Luzon, and you go back every couple years to
visit your family.”

Imelda described the beauty of her native land and
gushed over her grandchildren’s exploits. She’d been
planning this trip for months. How lucky was I that
she was willing to come with me on my adventure?
Brianna, two years my junior, called it a “God-thing.” I
considered it a happy coincidence.

A few hours later, we feasted on lobster tails
slathered in drawn butter and super-moist banana
cake. Stuffed to bursting, we luxuriated in our comfy
first-class chairs as the flight attendant passed out
steamy hot towels. I could get used to this!

“Be back in a minute, honey.” Imelda moved out
of her seat and into the aisle.

When she returned, she pointed toward the
restroom. “There’s no one in line if you need to go up
front.”

Thankful for the information, I slid by and started
up the aisle. The first class lavatory was immense
compared to the shoeboxes in coach—my usual mode
of travel. I peered into the mirror, and two red-
rimmed, sleep-deprived eyes gazed back. Overall,
though, not bad considering. I splashed some cold
water on my cheeks and brushed out my seat-flattened
hair.

As I made my way back down the walkway, I
made eye contact with a weary young mother. She
gave me a feeble wave as she balanced a fussy baby in
the crook of her left arm. The poor woman was doing
her best to quiet the baby while struggling to eat her
cold, half-eaten entrée.

Taking pity on the harried mom, I paused to assist.
Who could resist a snuggly little baby?—especially one
with such pretty, golden-brown skin. “Need some
help?”

“Oh!” Relief flooded her features. “Could you
hold her for a minute while I finish this off? Every time
I try to take a bite, Malaya starts to cry.”

“Sure. I have a nephew her age back in the States.
Babies are cute, but they sure can be exhausting, huh?
Hand her over.” I loved playing auntie to my middle
sister’s little boy, Ethan, and I was proud to say he
adored his Aunt Shay-Shay. Whenever Lily needed a
break, I was there. I couldn’t get enough of that boy.
The mother handed off Malaya. Holding the babe
close, I shifted my hips back and forth to rock her. She
smelled like powder mixed with the slightest whiff of
mashed peas. As I stared into the kid’s deep brown
eyes, a smile lit up her face. Right before she spit up—
on my expensive new blouse—and my sophisticated
linen shoes.

I’d been right about the peas.

Mom screeched in horror, fumbled in her diaper
bag for a clean cloth, and tried to sop up the mess
oozing down my neck.

“Hey, don’t worry. That’s what babies do.” I gave
the child back to her mom and scraped regurgitated
baby food off my blouse. Next, I tried scrubbing off the
blobs of goop on my shoes to no avail. Great. I’d spent
hours seeking the perfect pair.

Mom sniffled, and a sheen of tears glistened. Now
I’d gone and done it. I’d made her cry. Malaya couldn’t
help it if peas didn’t agree with her. The putrid
vegetables didn’t agree with me either. I schooled my
expression to dispel any possible hint of annoyance.
“Really. It’s OK. Give me another cloth and that
precious baby of yours and, please, finish your meal.”

Her chin stopped trembling and, this time, she
pushed a terrycloth bib into my hand and tucked into
her meal.

“Go on, now. Eat up.” Holding the adorable baby
once again, I cooed and cuddled. It didn’t take long for
the lobster to disappear, and Malaya rested once again
in mama’s arms.

My sodden blouse and ruined shoes were beyond
repair. There was no way to make pricey pea-green
sling-backs presentable. Besides being unsalvageable,
my left shoe squished. I had a change of clothes in my
carry-on, thank goodness.

To my dismay, inside the small bag I found a
partially open shampoo bottle, a pair of soapy Nike’s,
two drenched shirts, and wet, dappled blue jeans. At
the very bottom, I felt one dry top—my fuchsia cartoon
character nightshirt. It was better than nothing, and
would have to do.

Heading back toward the lavatory to change, I
spotted our considerate flight attendant signaling me.
She’d witnessed the entire debacle. Disappearing into
the cockpit, she returned in triumph with a pair of red
flip-flops. Men’s flip-flops. “The captain sends his
compliments,” she announced with delight.

They were way too big, and hardly a positive
fashion statement, but I’d take what I could get and be
grateful for it. I thanked her, and scuffled back down
the aisle to a softly snoring Imelda. With her head
tilted to the side, she exuded cuteness.

Back in my seat, I grabbed the crime novel I’d been
reading and tried in vain to finish chapter two. It was
no use. Abandoning the book, I concentrated my
attention on the spectacular glow of the sunset outside
the window. The sun pitched into the water with the
speed of time lapse photography and, in short order,
the lights dimmed, a sure indication it was time to
snooze. With nothing to distract me from my reveries,
my insides were jumping like a grasshopper on
amphetamines. I did my best to relax, envisioning
bubbling brooks and fields of wildflowers.

Several sleepless hours later, the engines throttled
back, and the plane began its descent. The seatbelt sign
chimed, and the loud speaker crackled. “Ladies and
gentlemen, this is Captain Tomás. We’ve begun our
approach and will be touching down at Ninoy Aquino
International Airport in approximately ten minutes.
Please fasten your seatbelts and stow your tray tables.
The temperature outside is a humid ninety-seven
degrees with no chance of rain.” He paused to take a
breath. How many hundreds of times had he made this
speech before? Some people had all the fun. “Thank
you for flying with Philippine Airlines and welcome to
Manila. Please enjoy your stay.”

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