CHAPTER SEVEN Emily
CHAPTER SEVEN
Emily
“I n no way did you just kiss a stranger,” Haley says. It’s two in the morning here and two in the afternoon in Manila, and I’m FaceTiming with Haley, Kate, and Bon, my best friends. It’s been days since I kissed the attractive-as-hell stranger and this is the first time we had the chance to catch up.
“I did. I know, it was stupid,” I reply, rubbing my temple in frustration.
“It’s great, Em. You deserve it,” Bon chimes in, slurping her cup noodles. “It’s normal post-breakup behavior. As long as you don’t make a habit of kissing strangers, you’re good. Cut yourself some slack.”
“She’s right, you know,” Kate adds, and Haley playfully smacks her arm. They’re in the same room, and you might be wondering what three twenty-somethings are doing at home in the middle of the afternoon. Bon’s on break from work for her wedding preparations, Kate just finished her shift as a preschool teacher, and Haley’s wrapping up a local production of Waitress.
“What do you mean, she’s right? Have you kissed a stranger?” Haley says, eyeing her twin sister.
“Right. Because I never had a boyfriend, but I just go around kissing strangers.” Kate rolls her eyes. “I simply meant that Bon was right that Emily should cut herself some slack. Rob was an idiot and we all agree.”
“Speaking of,” Bon interjects. “The whole village has shunned him permanently. There’s a we-hate-Rob club. We have jackets and everything.” She chuckles as she takes another gulp of her noodles.
“No, you don’t,” I sigh, rolling my eyes. “Please don’t make this a bigger deal than it already is.”
They all glare at me, so I add, “Okay, fine. I know it is a big deal. I did imagine my life with him, but right now, it’s just too exhausting to think about. And the timing couldn’t be worse. I can practically feel the neighbors’ eyes on me. Ugh.” If there’s one thing I don’t miss about home, it’s the nosy neighbors. We live in a close-knit village where everyone knows each other, where I met Rob and where Bon met Ryan.
I remember when Rob and I started dating, everyone in the village congratulated us. Rob has always been a male version of me in some aspects—studious, overly organized, all that. Everyone, except Manang Linda, was happy for us.
Manang Linda is a legend in our village. She’s an elderly woman with a perfectly coiffed head of white hair, a sharp tongue, and an encyclopedic knowledge of everyone’s lives. She runs the neighborhood newsletters. When she found out about me and Rob, she didn’t bother with pleasantries. She told me that Rob and I won’t last because we were perfectly boring. That we’re two peas in a pod, stuck in the same comfort zone. She said I needed someone to pull me out of my shell, not keep me locked inside it. Someone who would bring out my fun and not reinforce my ability to organize spice racks alphabetically.
At the time, I brushed off her comments. But, in the end, I suppose she’s right. Rob and I were boring. Our daily talks were more like status updates than affection.
Haley brings me back to reality. “Of course there will be eyes on you, Em,” she says. “But they will be pity eyes.”
“Hale, if that’s your attempt to make me feel better, you are terrible,” I say as she chuckles.
“The day we all found out, I heard that bitter bitch Freida say that she knew Emily’s life was too perfect to be true,” Bon says, her voice sharp with defensive anger. Freida is our neighbor who was widowed years ago at the age of forty. Ever since her husband died, she became the epitome of a bitter bitch , as Bon so eloquently called her. “I overheard her, and I…” she pauses, then smiles, fighting off a laugh. “I walked over to Haley so she can tell her to mind her own business.”
We all laugh because Haley has always been our brave savior every time we need someone to handle confrontations. “Bon walked into my room like a child who got robbed of candy,” Haley adds. “Naturally, I stormed off with her and told Freida that you were still living a perfect life, probably more so now that Rob’s not around.” I chuckle with her, feeling grateful. My friends are defending me even when I’m not there. It only just amplifies the guilt I feel about lying to them. My life is far from perfect. So, so far.
“Anyway, you’re not the only one who should be worried about the neighbors. Bon, I heard your brother has gotten really cute.” Haley smirks.
“Ew, disgusting.” Bon makes a face. “If by cute, you meant he now looks like a goon, then fine,” she says.
“And please, Hale,” Kate says as she faces her sister, “You did not hear that. You were the one who started that rumor.” She shoots her a knowing look.
“Why?” I ask, curious.
“I saw Bon talking to him one time, and oh my God, Em, he was so hot,” Haley gushes, her eyes widening with excitement. “Incredibly hot—like a tan and tattooed Hemsworth brother.”
Kate holds up a hand in Hayley’s direction to silence her, leaning into the phone, “Excuse my sister, she’s been reading a lot of fantasy books lately and thinks all men should be tan, muscled, and tatted up to look the least bit attractive,” she says, her voice a playful scold.
“I’m not gonna apologize for that,” Haley replies. “Give him wings and I’m down on my knees.”
We all laugh but Bon waves us off and says, “Enough about Kuya Josh. Emily, you really do deserve to slack off every once in a while, you know. Loosen up and have a bit of fun.”
“That’s exactly what I did, Bon. And now I regret it,” I say. Did I actually regret it, though?
“You didn’t see each other again?”
“No. And that’s exactly why I regret it,” I say frustratingly. “Because now I can’t redeem myself. He probably thought I was the kind of person who usually does things like that. But no. That was the one time I didn’t do something calculated.” Of course I leave out all my escapades where I pretend to be a different person, they don’t need to know about that.
I don’t even know why I’m so frustrated when I’m the one who suggested that we have a mysterious night.
“And what’s so bad about that?” Haley challenges.“You can go to that construction site and tell him, but you don’t have to do that, Em. Maybe it’s okay that you do the casual thing for now. You’ve been tied up with Rob ever since you were old enough to like a boy, and now you deserve to fly,” she says, extending her arms in a representation of flight.
“As overly cheesy as it is, I agree with Haley,” Bon says.
“Of course you do,” I grumble, chuckling to myself.
The next week flew by so fast. I spent the next few days doubling up on my shifts and catching up on clients so I’d have enough money when I go back home for Bon’s wedding. I needed to save every penny—not just for the travel but also for the all-important pasalubong. Because, let’s face it, going home empty-handed is basically asking to be disowned by relatives.
Her brother Joshua also hasn’t contacted me yet, but that’s okay. I’m confident I’ll figure things out once I’m back in Manila. If he’s a no-show, I’m not above bribing a taxi driver to get me where I need to go.
Now, it’s the day before my flight, and Jenny, my roommate, insists on dragging me out for dinner. “You’ve been working like a mule,” she says, waving off my protests as she books us a table at a fancy restaurant with live music and overpriced water. I have to admit, it’s a welcome distraction. Between the relentless grind and my near-obsessive thoughts about a certain construction guy, I’m overdue for a breather.
The restaurant is all dim lighting and soft jazz, the kind of place that makes you feel underdressed no matter what you wear. Jenny sips her wine, watching me with a knowing look. “See? You needed this,” she says smugly.
She’s not wrong. My mind has been in overdrive, especially every day at the café. Each shift feels like a test of willpower. I keep catching myself glancing out the window, hoping for a glimpse of him. But then reality sets in, and I remind myself that the guy screams trouble; an obvious playboy who uses his charm as a weapon. I’m too vulnerable—and frankly, messed up—right now to even consider getting tangled up with him.
“Alright, fine, I do need this.” I take a sip of my wine, ignoring her prideful smile.
“I feel like ten days is too long,” she says as our orders arrive, both served in those absurdly oversized portions. She’s having lasagna, while I go for spaghetti. I can’t help but think that this spaghetti doesn’t come close to how my mom used to make it—sweet, with slices of hotdogs mixed in. All the other nationalities probably hate the Philippines for our love of pineapple on pizza and hotdogs in spaghetti, but honestly? They taste better.
“You gonna miss me?” I tease, trying to keep the mood light.
“Yes! And after that, you’ll only have a week left until you leave my place,” she says with a pout. I almost choke on my food at her words. I totally forgot that my lease is about to be up, and I told Jenny I was fine finding a new place. I think I even told her I already found one.
“Do you want to extend? I can tell the next tenant to—” she starts, probably catching the shift in my expression.
“No, no. I already found one,” I lie, forcing a smile.
This is easy, I tell myself. Let’s say there are a hundred available apartments in New York City. Half of those are too expensive, so that leaves me with fifty. And then half of that? Too far from work or in neighborhoods I wouldn’t feel safe walking alone at night—so now I’m down to twenty-five. Of those, half probably have issues like a closet masquerading as a bedroom or roaches as permanent tenants. That leaves about twelve.
Maybe six would actually have decent natural light, and from that, three might have the elusive combination of in-unit laundry and a building that doesn’t look like it’s from the last century. And out of those three, how many will still be available by the time I get around to looking? One? If I’m lucky?
I am screwed. But I make a mental note to call apartments even when I’m in Manila. Who am I kidding? I pull my phone out and set an actual reminder because I’ve had enough mental notes that got flushed down my rotten brain.
As I tap away on my phone, setting the reminder with a sense of urgency that borders on panic, I can feel Jenny’s eyes on me. I can only hope she’s buying my act—that I’m just being diligent, not desperately trying to avoid the impending disaster of homelessness.
“Are you sure you’re okay Em? You seem stressed,” Jenny asks.
“Stressed is my version of okay, Jen,” I remind her with a chuckle.
Thankfully, apartment talk did not resurface for the rest of the evening. As we return to our apartment, I go over my list of things I need for my flight. Yes, I always list things on my phone. Important things, irrelevant things, rambling thoughts, all kinds of stuff. In fact, I think my Notes app holds more secrets about me than my memory ever will. So if I ever wind up mysteriously murdered, do me a favor: don’t worry about solving the crime. Just delete my Notes. Seriously, it’s a matter of posthumous dignity.
Once I finish, I go to bed and allow myself to calm the panic in my brain. I’m ready to leave behind the daily grind and immerse myself in the warmth of old friendships and familiar faces, even for just a short while.
I may be confused, hurt, and misdirected for now, but at least I would be home.