Chapter 26 - More Than Printing
By twenty-nine, printing was still the business.
It just wasn't the only thing we did anymore.
Not because I woke up one morning and decided—
I need five companies before breakfast.
That was Original Lia behavior.
Current Lia had standards.
Mostly.
Growth came from customers asking for things adjacent to what we already handled.
Julia needed event materials.
Then folders.
Then giveaways.
Then packaging.
Evelyn needed labels.
Then menu boards.
Then branch kits.
Ate Bianca needed packaging.
Other online sellers started asking for the same.
At first, I outsourced everything we didn't produce.
Signage.
Specialty packaging.
Large-format work.
Some souvenirs.
Then I tracked it.
Volume.
Margin.
Repeat demand.
Problems.
Supplier reliability.
Only when the numbers became annoying enough—
I brought selected services in-house.
Not all.
Just the ones that made sense.
Revolutionary concept.
Abigail handled most daily operations by then.
Not flawlessly.
Nobody did.
But well enough that my job changed again.
Less—
Where is this order?
More—
Should we even offer this service?
Less—
Why is the printer doing that?
More—
Does buying this equipment actually improve margin?
Less firefighting.
More decisions.
Much better.
Bea eventually became production lead.
Claire moved deeper into fulfillment and inventory.
Ella became frighteningly efficient at receiving and stock control.
We hired more people gradually.
Enough that I stopped knowing every employee's preferred lunch order.
That bothered me more than expected.
So I started doing something Original Lia would have considered inefficient.
I ate with different teams sometimes.
Not meetings.
Just lunch.
No agenda.
No KPI discussion.
Food.
Complaints.
Stories.
One employee had a cat that kept destroying curtains.
Another was saving for a motorcycle.
Someone was taking night classes.
Ordinary things.
Names attached to lives.
Important.
At thirty, we opened a dedicated packaging unit.
Separate operation.
Same ownership.
Different manager.
Not because packaging was trendy.
Because we had spent almost two years sending enough recurring volume outside to prove we could support it.
Abigail looked at the projections.
"Finally."
I stared.
"You wanted this?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you say?"
"You would ask for data."
"Correct."
"I waited for data."
I smiled.
Excellent.
I had created a monster properly.
Sofia's beauty business grew faster than she expected.
She graduated.
Then—
instead of immediately looking for a traditional job—
she worked on the business full-time.
Mama worried.
Papa asked practical questions.
Ate Bianca supported her.
Kuya Nathan gave unsolicited advice.
Ate Vivian corrected half of it.
Normal.
Sofia came to me last.
Not first.
Good.
She sat across from me one evening.
"Do you think I can do it?"
I looked at her.
"Yes."
"That fast?"
"You already are."
She went quiet.
Then smiled.
I pointed.
"But separate personal and business money."
Her smile disappeared.
"Ate."
"What?"
"Can we have one emotional moment?"
"No."
She laughed.
Ate Bianca was doing well too.
Jewelry had expanded beyond what she'd originally imagined.
Better suppliers.
Better product lines.
More staff.
Still her business.
Still her decisions.
Kuya Nathan and Ate Vivian had added another branch to their food operation.
The Ramos family had somehow become a collection of people who could turn dinner into a strategy session in under six minutes.
Mama remained the only person capable of shutting it down.
"Sunday."
Everyone:
"Okay."
Immediate compliance.
Celeste's tutorial center survived.
Then grew.
Grace became a regular part of it.
More tutors came in.
More subjects.
More students.
Eventually—
another room.
Then a second location years later.
Not immediately.
Thank God.
Celeste had learned patience.
A little.
She still messaged me before major decisions.
Sometimes.
Other times she would message after.
i signed
I would stare.
signed what
lease
CELESTE
numbers are good
SEND
Then she would send them.
Annoyingly—
usually good.
Growth.
She also continued her completely unnecessary compliance updates.
At thirty:
not flirting
I replied—
excellent
Then:
unless
I blocked her for four minutes.
She called me dramatic.
Correct.
Jane and Camille lasted.
That was the other thing that continued.
Months became years.
Camille stopped being—
Jane's girlfriend I've heard about
—and became Camille.
Actual person.
Funny.
Good with Mama.
Comfortable with Chloe.
Very good at remembering birthdays.
Annoyingly nice.
Which made everything easier.
The first time all four of us had dinner together, Jane sat beside Camille.
Chloe sat across.
I sat beside Chloe.
Safe.
Normal.
Camille looked at me.
"So ikaw si Lia."
I stared at Jane.
"What have you been saying?"
Jane laughed.
"Nothing bad."
Camille:
"Mostly."
"Jane."
"She knows about the excellent nose thing."
I closed my eyes.
"Of course she does."
Camille started laughing.
"Sorry."
"No, you're not."
"Hindi."
At least honest.
Dinner went well.
Too well.
Camille was easy to talk to.
Banking.
Numbers.
Processes.
Clients.
Not my exact field, but enough overlap.
Then at some point Jane said—
"Actually magaling din siya mag-organize."
I looked at her.
"Okay."
"And she cooks."
"Good."
"And marunong mag-drive nang hindi mainitin ulo."
"Excellent life skill."
Camille stared at Jane.
"Bakit parang binebenta mo ko?"
I pointed at her.
"Exactly."
Jane laughed.
"No!"
Then—
"She also has very nice legs."
I put my fork down.
"Jane."
"What?"
"Stop selling your girlfriend to me."
Chloe immediately folded over laughing.
Camille covered her face.
Jane looked scandalized.
"I'm not selling her!"
"You've listed features."
"I was joking!"
"Organized. Cooks. Drives. Very nice legs."
Camille raised one hand.
"May warranty ba?"
I laughed.
Jane:
"CAMILLE."
Chloe was useless now.
Completely gone.
I looked at Jane.
"Next you're going to tell me excellent nose."
Jane looked at Camille.
Then at me.
Then—
"Well—"
"JANE."
Camille laughed so hard she had to put her drink down.
After that, it became another running joke.
Whenever Jane praised Camille too much—
I stopped her.
"Not interested."
"I didn't offer."
"You're doing product presentation."
"She's my girlfriend!"
"Exactly. Stop marketing her."
Camille eventually joined.
One afternoon—
"Lia, I made cookies."
I took one.
Jane:
"See? She bakes."
I stared.
"Stop upselling."
Camille whispered—
"Premium package."
I nearly choked.
Jane hated both of us.
Justice.
And no—
I was not secretly falling for Camille.
She was attractive.
Sure.
Nice.
Smart.
Easy to talk to.
Also—
Jane's girlfriend.
Category closed.
Simple.
Very useful invention, boundaries.
My own dating life remained almost nonexistent.
I had gone on a few dates over the years.
Nothing serious.
One woman talked about herself for almost the entire dinner.
One woman was lovely but wanted children immediately and I—
did not.
One woman and I had great conversation but absolutely no romantic chemistry.
One kissed me after the third date.
Nice kiss.
Still nothing.
Apparently attraction could not be manufactured through excellent operational execution.
Annoying.
At thirty-one, Chloe finally asked—
"Do you actually want a relationship?"
We were eating fries.
I thought about it.
"Eventually."
She stared.
"That sounds fake."
I laughed.
"Why?"
"Eventually is what people say when they don't want something enough to do anything."
Rude.
I looked at her.
"You've become wise."
"No."
"Good."
She stole one of my fries.
"Do you?"
I thought again.
"Maybe."
That was the truth.
Not now.
Not urgently.
But—
maybe.
Jane later asked the same thing.
Different day.
Same annoying friends.
"Jowa?"
"What about?"
"Do you want one?"
I shrugged.
"Would be nice."
Jane stared.
"Would be nice?"
"What?"
"You talk about relationships like extra storage."
"I do not."
"You do."
"Fine. Yes. I'd like one eventually."
She smiled.
"Good."
Then—
"Camille has a friend—"
"No."
She started laughing.
"You don't even know her!"
"Stop selling women to me."
"She's pretty!"
"NO."
"Polished."
"Jane."
"Excellent—"
I pointed at her.
She stopped.
Barely.
By thirty-two, I had more money than twenty-four-year-old me would have known what to do with.
Properties.
Investments.
The main business.
Packaging.
Partnerships.
A growing management team.
Still nowhere near Original Life's final scale.
But enough.
More than enough.
And the strangest part—
I was not tired.
Not the old tired.
Not the kind that sat in my bones.
Not the kind where sleeping eight hours didn't fix anything because the problem wasn't sleep.
I worked.
Sometimes hard.
Sometimes late if something genuinely mattered.
Then I stopped.
I went home.
I traveled.
I attended birthdays.
I went to family dinners.
I had coffee with friends.
I knew Camille beyond—
Jane's girlfriend.
I knew Grace because Celeste eventually dragged me to the tutorial center anniversary.
I knew Abigail's husband by then.
I knew Bea's child's name.
I knew Claire had gone back to school.
I knew Ella bought the motorcycle she'd been saving for.
People had continued happening around me.
And this time—
I noticed.
One Friday, Abigail entered my office.
Actual office now.
Small.
Door.
Window.
Dangerously respectable.
"Ma'am."
"Yes?"
"Monday meeting moved to Tuesday."
"Okay."
"Julia approved the new packaging."
"Good."
"Evelyn's expansion order starts next month."
"Okay."
Then she put a folder down.
"Everything else, handled."
I looked at her.
"That sounds suspicious."
She smiled.
"Go home."
I checked the clock.
4:18.
"It's early."
"Yes."
"Are you firing me?"
"No."
"Then?"
She shrugged.
"Wala ka nang kailangan gawin today."
I stared.
Years ago, that sentence would have made me invent work.
Now—
I closed the laptop.
"Okay."
Abigail nodded.
Like that was normal.
Maybe it was.
I got home before five.
Mama was there.
Papa was outside.
Sofia had stopped by and was eating something at the table.
She looked up.
"Early."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Finished."
She stared.
Then smiled.
"Wow."
"Don't."
She laughed.
I sat beside her.
No tape this time.
No packing.
Just food.
My phone buzzed.
Jane.
Photo.
Camille holding something she'd cooked.
Caption:
look
I stared.
Then replied—
JANE STOP SELLING YOUR GIRLFRIEND TO ME
Immediate response:
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Then:
she made lasagna
I DO NOT CARE
Camille apparently had Jane's phone because the next message came—
premium package
I laughed.
RETURN TO SENDER
Then Chloe entered the group chat.
very nice legs included?
I put my phone face down.
Some things—
apparently—
did not need scaling.