THE WAY we girls get giddy every time we plan a sleep-away or whatever you want to call sleeping together away from home, you’d think it was something that happened often.

In truth, very seldom do we get past the planning stage and, in the three times we did, I didn’t make it; all the four others did—cousins Ninit and Sylvia and friends Nening and Bea, with whom we cousins share a bond as thick as blood.

Bea’s and our family have been friends for four generations, and Nening, whom we met in Madrid in 1955, has become closer to us through the years, so close that the friendship has extended to our children.

In fact, Nening and her late husband, Tony, found themselves surrogate parents to two of my sons, Rob and Tex, who spent much time with them following the breakup of my marriage to their dad.

Tex was always most encouraging whenever he overheard us cooking up an escapade. “Go, Ma. You are so lucky to still have such dear friends around, healthy enough to go away together to have fun.”

When I told him I was definitely going, he said he wished Mona and he could come, too!

Rob, my older son, the worrier, usually checked the weather, and was right: “Doesn’t look good, Mom.” Classes had been suspended that week, even in Lipa, where lies our destination—Malarayat. The storm was leaving, but another was on its way.

 Sentimental journey

There seems no perfect time ever for anything, really. It seems ridiculous now, for instance, that Ninit, Sylvia, Bea, and I waited nearly 50 years to make our sentimental journey back to Madrid, where we met Nening at the Instituto Teresiana’s Colegio Mayor de Padre Poveda, where all five of us were colegialas. That’s how long it took our children to grow up and marry and have children of their own.

Two weeks into our trip, Dad had a stroke he would never recover from. Good thing Vergel urged me to go on—Dad would hang on for another six months yet.

With life so short and unpredictable, I decided to go with the girls on this fourth sleep-away but, out of guilt, told Vergel of my decision only the day before. He was still asleep when I started packing. Nening and Ninit would be coming from Quezon City together, pick up Sylvia and me in Makati, and together we’d go to Bea’s in Parañaque, and from there ride in Bea’s big van to their house in Malarayat.

The two girls were running late. By 9:30, as Vergel and I were having breakfast, Sylvia called and between giggles reported that Nening and Ninit had kept chatting in the car and been well on their way to Bea’s before realizing they had forgotten all about us. Sylvia told them to proceed on, and that we’d follow.

Bea’s husband, Ric, met us at the door, announcing with a straight face that the three girls had gone ahead—to Malarayat! But then, that’s Ric, and not to be believed. He himself was looking forward to his own boys’ sleep-away after golf at Malarayat, too, the next day.

The weather was dreary, but in the car, after we had prayed the rosary, the eating spree began. We had planned lunch in a restaurant nearby, but the weather kept us indoors. We feasted instead on Sylvia’s kare-kare replenished with talbos ng kamote picked from Bea’s garden and partnered with Lola Enchay’s bagoong, which only Sylvia learned to do faithfully. Bea’s cook fried some lumpiang togue, and for dessert there was Ninit’s homemade apple pie.

Nobody knew how to work the cable TV, so we asked the caretaker to act as our “remote” so we could watch the only DVD there was—Il Divo in three concerts: Barcelona, Madrid, London. We watched until we had to get ready for the 4 p.m. Mass at St. Carmel. But Mass had been rescheduled for 6 o’clock.

Highlight

We settled for a visita iglesia to offer prayers for another dear friend, Gigi, whose birthday it was that day. Lack of time and the rains kept us from going to the provincial market, for me the highlight of any out-of-town trip.

Soon we were back picking up Il Divo where we had left off, over chips and smoked-sardine pâté on French bread and hot coffee. More Il Divo until dinnertime at 7:30. It was Ninit’s paksiw na lechon and tortang talong. After dinner I remembered the Asti Spumante I had chilled. We drank and toasted to memories, all the while reminiscing and laughing until about 9:30. It was time for a bath to prepare ourselves for the contracted hour-and-a-half massage at 10 p.m.

Everything had been fine until we separated. There was a huge spider in its massive web high above my door. I could enter my room only after a maid took it out. We had also been warned about green snakes who liked to frolic in the garden in the rain. Now I wished Vergel were with me, especially since I had been assigned a room to myself. Sylvia and Nening preferred to share one, while Bea, who could not sleep alone, asked Ninit to join her in the master’s bedroom.

Despite the soothing massage and the Asti, I was wide awake. I called Vergel close to midnight. Somehow I wasn’t surprised to find him still up. He, too, had a great day with friends at a fruitful meeting after which he played great tennis. We both had spent a great day with our closest buddies. Out of habit, we both couldn’t sleep, so like two teenagers, we talked on the phone until almost dawn.

For breakfast, among other things, there was my mom’s tapa now made by my sister-in-law Susan. At the cost of one sleepless night, I had a full day of nostalgic laughter and sisterly fun with my favorite people! Doubtless, the others didn’t sleep much either. Girls’ night out is not about sleeping anyway, when you can talk the night away.