Lifestyle Asia gets a preview of the first chapter of Mae Coyiuto’s upcoming novel Goodbye and Everything After, which follows a young woman who, after neglecting the practice of pagpag, comes face to face with the spirit of her late father—and learns what it means to navigate the tides of pain, change, and love.
“Goodbye and Everything After” is set to be released in February 2026 by Feiwel and Friends, an imprint of Macmillan Publishing Group.
READ ALSO: In Mae Coyiuto’s “Goodbye And Everything After,” Grief Is A Ghost That Follows You Home
I’m wearing black to my mom’s engagement ceremony because I’m mourning my mother’s lost potential. This is a statement, a protest if you will.
For the past month, our world has revolved around the Lilibeth and Derrick ting hun. The soundtrack of our lives has been my mom’s and sister’s calls to people about jewelry, medallions, the perfect noodle recipe.
Ever since Auntie Baby told Ma that women enter the ceremony walking backward to fend off negativity, I’d catch Ma practicing in the kitchen. My mom is already the most superstitious person I know—it’s no surprise that she’d feng shui the shit out of her engagement.
All this fuss for a guy who talks to the moon.
No joke. I once caught Dr. Derrick outside our condo having a full-blown conversation with the sky. I rushed inside to tell Ma, naturally thinking this would be a clear sign that she should stay away from this man, but all she said was, “Derrick is very spiritual.”
Ma has always been superstitious, but at least her beliefs are always grounded by some sense and culture. With Dr. Derrick’s influence, Ma adopted his woo-woo stuff — rambling about the phases of the moon and wearing all the random jade jewelry that Dr. Derrick gets from Ongpin. I wouldn’t be surprised if they plan on getting the moon to officiate their wedding. Since Dr. Derrick is his family’s precious only son, his mom insists on the whole traditional Chinese Filipino engagement.
Which, honestly, I don’t get why Ma has to go through since she’s already been married. Every time I bring that up with my sister, Jackie, she sighs at me like I’m a little kid and says, “That’s beside the point, Nika.”
So, I played the role of good daughter and let go of all my very valid points during the whole engagement prep. My sister has outlined the ting hun program for me an ungodly number of times.
Step one: Dr. Derrick enters with his family. I, the dutiful daughter, guide them to their seats like they’re toddlers who aren’t familiar with the concept of sitting down yet.
Step two: My sister and I are supposed to serve Dr. Derrick’s family orange juice and candy for god knows what reason. Probably some Chinese Filipino tradition that says higher sugar levels mean higher happiness.
Step three: My mom finally graces us with her presence as Auntie Baby escorts her to the living room, walking backward for good luck (unclear if this is luckier than juice and candy).
Step four: Ma comes face-to-face with Dr. Derrick, where they exchange gifts, rings, and have a tea ceremony—practically sealing her fate with the dentist till death do them part.
“Oh, Nika! Hello!” Dr. Derrick stumbles into the apartment carrying a giant bouquet of flowers when I open the door. No surprise that the man shows up to his engagement wearing his same striped purple tie that I’ve seen in every dentist appointment. If he really were a medical expert, he would have observed by now that a striped purple tie clashes with everything—even his dental scrubs.
He wastes more of my time with another attempt at small talk. “What an…interesting dress. They do say that black jade stones can ward off negative energies.”
Too bad it’s not enough to ward off his negative energy.
While staring at the floor, I gesture to where Dr. Derrick is supposed to go. Achi told me I had to guide Dr. Derrick, she didn’t say I had to make eye contact with him.
For the record, I’ve been civil to Dr. Derrick. This was the same dentist who suggested I get braces back in seventh grade, and I was mature enough to not hold that against him. When Ma canceled my dental cleaning after we lost Pa, Dr. Derrick sent over a care package with condolences. Ma immediately prepared to send him her own care package as a thank-you. I wish I would’ve stopped their care-package flirting right then and there.
Just like a dentist-size toxic mold wearing a striped purple tie, Dr. Derrick continued to seep into our lives. He started popping up during family dinners, Sunday Mass. One time, Ma and Achi were stuck at work when I needed a guardian to sign my report card. Ma had the audacity to suggest I get Dr. Derrick’s signature. Naturally, I forged her signature instead.
Ma didn’t need to tell me they were dating—that report card defined their relationship for me.
And maybe I could’ve lived with that. If Dr. Derrick kept intruding into our lives, I could try to make an effort to hold my tongue, semi-acknowledge his presence when I was in a good mood. But Dr. Derrick ruined all chances of peace when he proposed to my mother.
Achi started calling him Uncle Derrick, but he’s firmly Dr. Derrick to me. Scratch that. From this day forward, I refuse to patronize any of his teeth-cleaning services. I stand by my belief that it’s a huge red flag that a dentist would romantically pursue any of his patients, especially his patients’ parents. Like, whenever he was cleaning my molars and filling my cavities, was he thinking, Ooh, I’d love to shove my tongue down her mom’s molars one day.
Seeing how Ma went through all this trouble to celebrate being engaged to the dentist? This definitely warrants a day of mourning.
Meanwhile, my sister has decided to become the clear frontrunner for ting hun MVP. The rest of the Go family starts filing into the living room, and Achi is playing the role of perfect hostess. Every time she bows at one of Dr. Derrick’s relatives, I sneak a piece from the giant candy box. Achi doesn’t even bat an eye when his family keeps calling her Jacqueline (which I know she hates) instead of Jackie.
I had to do a double take when she arrived in a dress, heels, and lipstick. My sister has always been naturally beautiful but refuses to do anything to accentuate her beauty. Like, a few years ago, someone stopped us at the mall and asked Achi if she wanted to compete in a beauty pageant to be the next Ms. Chinatown.
She refused to do Ms. Chinatown, but this she was willing to get made-up for.
“Nika,” she scolds when she catches me sneaking another piece of candy. I gasp and cover my mouth. “This is bad luck too?”
She snatches the candy box from me and slams it shut. “Don’t you think dressing like that is enough?”
“I wanted to wear my nicest dress,” I say, pretending like we didn’t already have a five-hour long argument about my outfit this morning.
When one turns eighteen, some say that marks a girl turning into a woman. When Achi turned eighteen, she switched from human to robot. Five years later, she still only cares about following Ma’s rules, being on our “best behavior,” and showing society that the Ilagan women are doing A-OK. Of course, she can’t resist lecturing me about my “impulsive tendencies.”
“Nika, when you put on that dress this morning, did you stop and think about the consequences of your actions?”
Of course I did. The consequences were my main motivation for executing said action. Contrary to her opinion, I’m fine with other people thinking, Nika’s being the bitchy sister again. At least I’m the bitchy sister who looks good.
Mourning purposes aside, it’s also very satisfying that black is my color. In her bright red dress with gold circles all over it, Achi looks like a walking red envelope.
Achi skims Ma’s notebook of superstitions one more time. Ever since she took over ting hun planning, Ma’s “book of superstitions” became her bible. “When you serve juice to Uncle Derrick’s relatives, remember you’re supposed to say, Tshia dimmmmmm.” Achi enunciates the words as if she hasn’t been telling me how to say “Please drink” in Hokkien every single waking moment of the past month.
“How come you never teach me how to say bad words in Hokkien?”
Achi grumbles and tells me to let her handle the talking. She goes back to studying Ma’s notebook again and blocks my view when I try peeking. “The notebook is reserved for the planning committee.”
“There are four people planning this ting hun, so we’re all on the planning committee.” I try grabbing Ma’s notebook and she dangles it above her head so I can’t reach. Ugh. I hate it when she uses my height against me.
When Dr. Derrick mentioned that his family wanted to hire a ting hun coordinator to plan the engagement ceremony, my type A sister couldn’t resist volunteering for the job. For the record, no one asked her—and no one asked me if I was okay with getting grouped into “committees” with my aunties.
Auntie Grace and Auntie Baby have been friends with Ma since high school, and they grew even closer when they all had babies at the same time. They joke that they were always fated to find one another since all their names started with Marie: Marie Beth, Marie Grace, and Marie Francesca (side note: People call Auntie Baby “Baby” because she’s the youngest in her family, not because it’s short for Francesca). Together, they call their friend group the Marie-tres.
They’re not only Ma’s best friends, they’re Ma’s number one enablers. The reason why it took forever to schedule this ting hun is because Auntie Baby kept finding new ways why every single date of the year was bad luck. When Ma told her Marietres that she wanted to get engaged on a “lucky” date, Auntie Baby went on and consulted all the feng shui experts around the country. The only date that Auntie Baby’s several sources agreed on was August 8, 2088 (I was fine with putting off this whole wedding idea for another few decades, but of course, my sister had to butt in and ruin the fun).
I love my aunties. Ma doesn’t have any sisters, so Auntie Baby and Auntie Grace have always filled that void. Auntie Grace’s daughter, Kayla, even became my best friend.
It’s Auntie Baby’s son who I could use less of.
My theory is that his ego was built in from the genesis of his actual name, Moseph. Like, naming him after one biblical name wasn’t enough. Apparently, his parents couldn’t decide between Moses and Joseph, so they decided to squish them together—hence giving him double the biblical superiority complex.
“Auntie Baby mentioned that Seph needed help setting up. Told her that you would be the point person.”
Achi waves at Auntie Baby, who’s standing by the kitchen, and gestures that I’m coming over. To my misfortune, Seph is right next to her and waves right back.
“Oh, I really don’t like you right now.”
“Go on,” Achi says, pushing me forward.
I grumble, “Can’t believe this is how you treat your only sister.”
As I make my way past the couch toward the dining area, I can feel the stares and even gawking from Derrick’s family. When they become harder to ignore, I hold on to the hair tie on my wrist, straighten my posture, and walk with even more confidence in my dress.
“Annika!” Auntie Baby lights up when she sees me. There’s a slight crack in her cheeriness when she eyes me from head to toe. “What a . . . dress.”
“Thanks, Auntie,” I deadpan, ending the window for small talk. “Achi said you needed help?”
“Oh, yes. Jackie put me in charge of the entertainment committee!”
I hold my tongue from pointing out that she’s the lone member of said committee.
She turns to Seph. “Can you show Seph where to set up? Your mom agreed that it’d be wonderful if he can play some background music when she enters the room.”
Not even the occasion of my mom’s engagement can stop the star of Moseph King from shining.
“What if the two of you do a duet? That would be such a great shot for the ting hun video!” She beams at me and adds, “You know, Nika, they also give awards to couples at prom too.”
It’s not enough that I have to put up with this guy’s presence—I also have to tolerate Auntie Baby’s not-so-subtle hints about going to prom with him. As president of the Saint Agnes Alumni Association, Auntie Baby is also very active in the parents’ prom committee. She’s made it her mission to secure my attendance, and to hint that I should bring her son along with me.
Based on our history, I’m pretty sure Seph isn’t a fan of going to prom with “Bad Luck” Ilagan.
During the summer after Pa passed away, I was supposed to be Gabriella to Seph’s Troy for High School Musical. I never made it to the show. Ma and Achi were already in the car, ready to take me to the theater, but I couldn’t budge from the bathroom floor. It was like every time I thought about my lines, or singing in front of a whole audience, my chest squeezed tighter and tighter—to the point that I had to cling to the edges of my sink so I could remember how to breathe. My head still felt like it was floating when I lied to Ma and said I was sick. Achi insisted I go to the theater the next week to explain why I didn’t show up. As I made my way to the entrance, I saw Moseph talking to the other Trumpets theater kids. They were saying how my surname Ilagan actually means “to avoid” in Tagalog. I heard someone laugh and say that it made sense since I choked on opening night. Then another guy made some joke about how they should avoid saying my name so it doesn’t bring bad luck to the show.
It was so incredibly obvious that Moseph was the one who started the whole thing. I mean, he’s the only person who calls me Ilagan. And it’s not like I’m holding a grudge. I’m great at letting things go! The reason why I didn’t join Trumpets again was because I got busy with more important things. Plus, why should I even care what Seph thinks about me? His opinions are the least of my concerns.
Once Auntie Baby leaves us, Seph unfortunately opens his mouth. “Nice dress, Ilagan.”
To an uninformed outsider, Seph’s comment might be misconstrued as a compliment. I, however, an insider with tons of experience, know it’s an opening to what he really wants to say.
“Maybe you can get a prom date at this ting hun.”
See?
“Not going to prom, Moseph,” I tell him. “Based on all the shameless selfies you’ve been posting, I’m guessing you don’t have a date yet.” I tsk and tilt my head. “Couldn’t get anyone to say yes?”
“Taking my time with my options. Did you notice all the moms who have been visiting the condo? A lot of them were asking Ma if I’m free to take their daughters to your prom.”
“Makes sense,” I say, nodding. “Even hell has lots of visitors.”
The sides of his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunches when his lips quirk up. Every time he gloats or shows off, he always adds in an obnoxious smile.
“So where should I set up?”
I gesture to where he’s standing. “Knock yourself out.”
His brow furrows. “How are the acoustics in this area? I’m playing the dying every day song and I don’t want anyone to miss the buildup to the chorus.”
“Do you mean ‘A Thousand Years’?”
He’s always been the worst at song titles.
“I’m sure the ‘famous’ Seph King can play in any environment.”
“Ilagan.” Seph clutches his chest, matching my sarcasm. “You think I’m famous?”
He smiles.
I smile.
Having a conversation with Seph King actually makes me grateful when Achi calls me to get the pitcher of orange juice from the kitchen.
Yet when I budge open the kitchen door, I see that Auntie Grace and Auntie Baby are already huddled by the ref. Another reason why Ma’s barkada is called Marie-tres: The three of them are pro-gossipers, Marites personified. Even when Ma refuses to sign up for any form of social media, she’s still up to date because of my aunties’ network. Auntie Baby has sources far and wide, so she allegedly knew that Prince Harry and Meghan Markle got engaged, even before it was announced to the public.
As soon as they’re looking away from the door, I sneak inside and crouch down by the kitchen island. Achi always scolds me for eavesdropping, but I’m pretty sure she’d want to get first updates about the Royal Family too.
My ears suddenly perk up when I hear my name in their conversation.
“Does Beth know that Annika was going to be wearing that dress?”
I hear Auntie Baby sigh. “Hay, you know naman Annika. Didn’t Beth say that she wishes Nika could act more like Jackie?”
My fingers fiddle with the hair tie on my wrist while I keep listening. Granted, I enjoy chismis way more when it doesn’t involve me, but this is old news. I’ve always known that Achi was Ma’s favorite—no surprises there.
Then the gossip gets more interesting.
“I made excuses for her in front of Derrick’s relatives,” Auntie Grace says. “Told them that the girl’s been through a lot and they should pray for her.”
“Beh khan tshiu pa tapos ang judgy na,” Auntie Baby scoffs. “The amah was telling Derrick that she hopes the girls would look proper for the ting hun. She’s worried about Jackie and Nika when she’s the one with a single fifty-year-old son.”
Knew it! I knew that Derrick and the whole Go family was sketchy. This is the kind of chismis that’s healthy for the soul.
“But Beth does look happy, doesn’t she? It reminds me of Beth and Ton back then.”
“Grace, you can’t compare. That was first love and iba naman ang glow ng prom king and queen.”
Wait. My parents went to prom together?
. . . My parents were prom king and queen?
“Nika!”
My body knocks over a stool when Achi bursts into the kitchen. “What’s taking you so long?”
Auntie Baby comes over and bends to check my hiding spot. “Why are you crawling on the floor?”
“Uh . . .” I stand and smooth my dress. “I was looking for the orange juice.”
“You mean this one?” Auntie Grace points at the pitcher directly on the countertop.
“Ah, there it is!” I quickly grab the pitcher before this looks any more incriminating. Walking past Achi and my aunties, I push open the kitchen door. “Proud member of the juice committee. Tshia dim, tshia dim!”
Once I get through the difficult ordeal of serving people juice (and dodging Achi’s accusations that I was eavesdropping again), Auntie Grace tells everyone to settle down and get ready for Ma’s entrance.
Moments later, Ma emerges from the bedroom in the red dress her Marie-tres helped her pick out. I sometimes forget how utterly stunning my mom is—and her shoes accentuate her leg muscles even more. Ma has such toned legs that her calf muscles already pop when she’s wearing flats.
I shouldn’t be shocked that she was prom queen in a past life.
The music starts as Ma begins her grand entrance. Even if Seph always makes his weird smoldering face when he plays the guitar, I hate to admit that he isn’t totally out of tune. Auntie Baby is extra careful when she guides Ma backward down the steps leading to our living room. I can practically hear Ma muttering a prayer under her breath.
“Why aren’t you Ma’s lucky lady?” I ask Achi.
“Auntie Baby knows more about these things.”
According to tradition, the woman who assists you in this ting hun entrance is supposed to be a “lucky” lady. Meaning: married, has kids, and ideally has parents who are still alive. So I guess with that criteria, Achi and I are zero for three.
And while Auntie Baby had the misfortune of having Seph for a son, she frequently mentions how “magical” her whole ting hun experience was with Uncle Francis.
Ma keeps walking until she reaches the center of the living room that has the prepared gift table covered with a red satin cloth. Auntie Baby spins my mom around three times and finally faces her in front of Dr. Derrick. While all this is happening, Dr. Derrick’s auntie keeps sneaking glances at me.
“Bo le so,” she mutters, very loudly so everyone within the vicinity can hear.
I expected better, to be honest. When Auntie Baby and Auntie Grace were gossiping about Dr. Derrick’s judgy family, I envisioned getting way more lethal comments from them than “She has no manners.” God, this family can’t even come up with good insults. The Gos are becoming an endless cycle of disappointment.
Although, I do wish she didn’t say it while I’m right next to Achi. It’s like having an annoying life-size angel on my shoulder when I only want to listen to the devil. All the comebacks I have in my head unfortunately have to go to waste.
I keep expecting Achi to lecture me about the dress or read off another superstition listed in Ma’s notebook that I’ve broken, but she remains completely quiet while Derrick’s parents go on with the gift ceremony. It’s only when Ma and Derrick exchange gold bangles and wear them on their wrists that she says something.
“Ma didn’t think this would happen,” I hear her say. “What?” I scoff. “Her marrying our dentist?”
She shakes her head and pauses. “Feeling happy again.”
It takes all my willpower to hold back from screaming that this is not Ma’s happily ever after. Believe me—I really, really tried to be mature, be the kind of daughter Ma wants me to be. When Dr. Derrick proposed to Ma, her first question to Achi and me was, “Are you okay with this?”
What was I supposed to do? Say no when she and my sister were jumping for joy?
The tea ceremony begins with Dr. Derrick carrying the tray of teacups. Ma pours the tea and serves a cup to each of Dr. Derrick’s parents. Auntie Baby mentioned that this action symbolizes Ma communicating that she sees them as her parents too. Serving tea translates to: Now I call you Mom and Dad.
When his parents call for photo taking, Dr. Derrick’s family is all smiles and laughing like we’re witnessing some Disney fairy-tale wedding.
My wrist has marks from how hard I’m gripping my hair tie, but none of it calms me down. I can’t—I can’t do this. I can’t sit around here and pretend like I’m okay with Ma settling for this. That this is the life she wanted, that this is the guy she’s using to replace Pa?
Before they call Ma’s family for pictures, I get up from my seat and bolt straight to my room. I don’t care how many bo le sos get thrown my way again.
Like what Auntie Baby said, Dr. Derrick will never compare to my dad.
This excerpt was published in our December 2025 issue.
Photos courtesy of Mae Coyiuto
