Chapter 89 - Not Enough Yet
I knew Lia liked me when we were younger.
That wasn't a secret.
She confessed.
I said friends.
She accepted it.
Then we kept being friends.
High school became college.
College became work.
Life got busy.
And somewhere along the way, Lia liking me became one of those facts that existed in the background.
Like knowing Chloe hated certain food.
Like knowing Lia would insult my PowerPoint transitions and then still ask for the file.
Like knowing if I gave Lia a problem long enough, she would probably start trying to solve it.
Familiar.
Old.
Not something I thought about every day.
Until I saw her again as an adult.
The first thing I noticed was that she was different.
Still Lia.
Still annoying.
Still too confident when she thought she was right.
But—
sharper.
More settled somehow.
She had a business growing out of her family's house.
Then suddenly she had staff.
Then machines.
Then an actual workspace.
I remember going there for a school order and thinking—
When did this happen?
Last time I properly looked, she was the same Lia I knew in college.
Printing things.
Making customized items.
Working too much.
Complaining while still finishing everything.
Then I looked again and there were employees calling her Ma'am.
That was weird.
Funny.
Also attractive.
I didn't tell her that part.
At first.
We had coffee.
Friend coffee.
That was all it was supposed to be.
And somewhere during that coffee, I remembered properly.
Not just—
Lia used to like me.
More like—
Wait.
Lia liked me.
Does she still?
So I asked.
Because apparently I had lost whatever subtlety adults were supposed to develop.
She said yes.
Still.
And I remember feeling something shift.
Not love.
Not destiny.
Curiosity first.
Then interest.
Because the truth was—
I liked being around her.
I always had.
And adult Lia was different enough that suddenly I wondered whether there was something I had never looked at properly before.
So I asked—
"What if we try?"
She looked like I had temporarily broken her brain.
Very satisfying.
The first date was good.
Actually good.
Not friendship pretending to be romance.
Not me forcing something because I knew she liked me.
There was chemistry.
I flirted.
She flirted back.
Better than high-school Lia, thankfully.
High-school Lia's flirting technique had mostly been suffering visibly.
Adult Lia could actually make me blush.
Annoying.
I went home after Date One already wanting another.
That mattered.
Miguel had already existed by then.
Casually.
A few dates.
Nothing exclusive.
Nothing promised.
I told Lia on Date Two because I didn't want to hide it.
I remember watching her face when I said his name.
Just a tiny change.
Disappointment.
She controlled it quickly.
Of course she did.
Then she said she still wanted to continue.
I asked if she was dating anyone else.
No.
Why?
Because she only wanted to date me.
That should have scared me.
Instead, it made my chest warm.
Maybe that was unfair.
Maybe not.
It was honest.
So was I.
The dates with Lia were real.
I wish I could somehow put that into her head permanently.
Nothing was fake.
Not the flirting.
Not the long conversations.
Not the touching.
Not the future questions.
And definitely not the kisses.
The first kiss—
I wanted that.
When she asked if she could kiss me, I said yes because I wanted her to.
I met her halfway because I wanted to.
Then before I left, I kissed her again because apparently I needed to prove the first one wasn't an accident.
It wasn't.
I liked her.
That was the problem.
If I hadn't liked her, everything would have been easier.
Date Five was probably where I made things worse.
Errands.
Groceries.
Office supplies.
Food.
Nothing romantic on paper.
It felt domestic anyway.
We talked about houses.
Travel.
Money.
Children.
Work.
Who would decorate.
Who would complain about decorative pillows.
Lia, obviously.
I could imagine her in a home.
I could imagine myself there.
Not as a plan.
Not as a promise.
Just—
possible.
And because it felt possible, I talked about it.
At the time, I didn't think I was leading her on.
I was trying to understand what the possibility looked like.
There was a difference.
At least to me.
Later, I understood why that difference didn't protect her from getting hurt.
By Date Six, I already knew I was leaning toward Miguel.
Not decided.
But leaning.
I hated that because I still liked Lia.
I still wanted to see her.
Still wanted to kiss her.
Still enjoyed talking to her.
Still caught myself imagining what it would be like if I chose her.
So I kept going.
That sounds terrible when I say it now.
But the truth was not—
I knew I wanted Miguel and kept Lia around for fun.
The truth was—
I didn't know yet.
I was trying to know.
And I liked both of them enough that knowing took time.
Lia asked me directly.
Did I want to stop seeing her?
No.
Did I want to stop seeing Miguel?
No.
So she said—
"Then you're still deciding."
I was.
She told me when I knew, I had to tell her.
Even if it wasn't her.
I promised.
By Date Seven, I knew.
Not because Miguel did something spectacular.
He didn't arrive with flowers in the rain.
He didn't save anyone.
He didn't suddenly reveal hidden wealth.
There was no assessment.
No checklist.
No—
Who is smarter?
Who earns more?
Who has better career prospects?
Who is more ambitious?
Who could give me the easier life?
If I had done that, Lia probably would have won so aggressively it would have been embarrassing.
That wasn't how it worked.
I just liked Miguel more.
That was it.
I thought about him first more often.
Wanted to tell him certain things first.
Missed him differently.
When I imagined choosing one person and letting the other go—
I kept seeing him.
There was no logic elegant enough to make that kind.
I knew the moment Lia sat across from me that she already sensed something was wrong.
She kept trying normal conversation.
So did I.
Then she finally said—
"Jane."
And I had to do it.
"I think I like him more."
Her face barely changed.
That was almost worse.
She went quiet.
Then asked questions.
How long had I known?
Was I already leaning toward him on Date Six?
Yes.
Why did I still go?
Because I still wanted to.
That answer hurt her.
I saw it happen.
And I couldn't take it back because it was true.
She told me—
"You didn't have to lie for me to feel led on."
That hurt too.
Because I hadn't lied.
I wanted to defend myself.
Then I realized she wasn't accusing me of lying.
That was the point.
I had been honest.
And she still felt led somewhere.
The houses.
The kids.
The travel.
The kissing.
All of it had built momentum.
For me, those were questions.
For Lia, I think some part of them became expectation.
Not because she was stupid.
Because she already knew who she wanted.
Me.
I was still deciding.
We had been standing in completely different emotional places while sitting at the same tables.
Then she said—
"I wish I hadn't been part of the test."
That one stayed.
I still think about it sometimes.
Because I never thought of her as a test.
But I understood why it felt that way.
I was gathering information about us.
She was already hoping for us.
There was no way to make that equally safe.
Then Lia started crying.
I had known her since Grade 7.
I had seen her upset.
Angry.
Heartbroken over Mara.
Stressed.
Exhausted.
But watching someone cry because of something I had just said was different.
I reached for her hand automatically.
She pulled away.
Not angrily.
Just—
no.
Then she looked at herself somehow, wiped under one eye, and said—
"Fuck. I wore good makeup today."
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was so Lia.
Heart breaking.
Still concerned about practical damage.
Then she cried more.
And somehow that line made it worse.
She had dressed for the date.
Done her face.
Come there hoping.
And I had arrived carrying the end.
I asked if I could hug her.
She said no.
Then—
"I can't have you comfort me through losing you."
I still think that was the moment my own heart broke.
Not romantically.
Not in the same way hers did.
But—
she was my friend.
My oldest friend.
I had hurt her.
Not because I had done something evil.
Still hurt her.
I wanted to hold her.
Couldn't.
She needed the person causing the pain to stop trying to become the medicine.
So I respected it.
When she asked for distance, I gave it.
Completely.
No checking in every few days.
No sending memes because friendship.
No asking Chloe how she was every time I wanted to know.
No forcing her to prove she could handle seeing me.
I told myself—
She asked for space.
Give her space.
So I did.
I didn't call Miguel that night.
That surprised even me.
He knew I was meeting Lia.
He knew I had been deciding.
He didn't pressure me.
Didn't text asking—
Well?
Did you choose?
Nothing.
I went home.
Washed my face.
Sat in bed.
Thought.
Because choosing Miguel did not mean I had to immediately turn Lia's heartbreak into my relationship celebration.
I wanted the decision to be real.
Not relief.
Not guilt.
Not momentum.
So I let myself calm down.
A few days passed.
Then more.
Miguel and I talked.
Properly.
And eventually—
yes.
I wanted a relationship with him.
So we became one.
I was happy.
Genuinely.
That did not erase the guilt.
Apparently adults could hold several emotions at once.
Very inefficient.
Sometimes I wondered whether Lia regretted all seven dates.
At the breakup she said she didn't know if she was glad we tried.
I understood.
Still hurt.
Because I didn't regret them.
I liked her.
I liked the dates.
The kisses were good.
The conversations were good.
The stupid grocery argument was good.
The hypothetical house was good.
I could remember those things warmly while still knowing I had made the right choice for myself.
That felt unfair.
Like maybe I got to keep the good memories while Lia got a wound.
So when she disappeared from my life for almost a year—
I let her.
And then her business exploded.
I mean—
exploded.
Not literally.
Thankfully.
First there was another machine.
Then another.
Then a bigger workspace.
Then another company.
Then industrial equipment I did not understand.
Then more employees.
Then interviews.
I opened social media one day and saw Lia talking about business systems like she had been born forty years old.
Then another feature.
Then another.
Young founder.
Rapid growth.
Production expansion.
Employment.
Two companies.
I watched one interview twice.
Not because I missed her.
Maybe partly.
But mostly because I couldn't understand how somebody got rejected and apparently responded by increasing manufacturing capacity.
I told Miguel—
"I think this is how Lia handles heartbreak."
He looked at the screen.
"What?"
"She buys machines."
Miguel considered.
"That seems expensive."
"Apparently profitable."
Very Lia.
Heartbroken but with ROI.
Almost a year after Date Seven, Miguel and I went to the mall.
I needed work clothes.
He needed a few things.
Normal day.
Then I saw Lia.
With Celeste.
Of all people.
My brain immediately went—
Wait.
Celeste?
College Celeste?
Flower Celeste?
Almost Celeste?
Then I actually looked at Lia.
She looked—
good.
Very good.
Pretty.
Polished.
Expensive.
Then I saw her shoes.
Eventually.
Because Celeste made sure everyone saw the shoes.
Apparently Lia was receiving some entrepreneur award that night and had gone shopping for formal clothes.
Celeste had taken control.
Understandable.
Lia had somehow built two companies without improving her willingness to shop properly.
Then I saw the price of the replacement shoes.
I almost choked.
"Lia."
She immediately knew.
"Don't."
"That's how much the shoes cost?"
"Yes."
Mas mahal pa yata sa monthly salary ko.
Rude.
Not Lia.
The shoes.
How dare they.
Miguel looked at the price and suddenly understood my emotional state.
Celeste remained completely unreasonable.
"They're good shoes."
They should have been capable of filing taxes at that price.
Then Celeste dragged us into makeup.
Worse.
Foundation.
Concealer.
Powder.
Blush.
Setting spray.
Lipstick.
Every time I picked up another product, I felt personally attacked by the tag.
At some point I looked at the basket total and realized—
Mas mahal pa yung shoes and makeup combined kaysa monthly salary ko.
Possibly by a lot.
I told Lia.
She looked equally offended.
Good.
At least wealth had not destroyed her ability to understand numbers.
Celeste just kept saying—
"Good makeup."
Like this was a complete economic argument.
Maybe to her it was.
Then we got coffee.
That was where everything became ridiculous.
Celeste asked about me and Lia.
I asked about her and Lia.
Apparently—
almost.
They both liked each other in college.
Celeste gave flowers twice.
Nothing happened.
No dating.
No kiss.
Then Mara happened and Celeste backed off.
I remember staring at Lia.
"Would you have dated her?"
"Probably."
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Lia looked like she wanted the floor to open and accept her.
Miguel was having an excellent time.
Traitor.
Then our seven dates came up.
Of course they did.
I explained.
Miguel already knew most of it.
Celeste listened.
No judgment.
When I said I chose Miguel because I liked him more, she just understood.
"That happens."
Exactly.
That simple.
That painful.
Then I remembered the makeup line.
I should have kept my mouth shut.
Didn't.
"She said, 'Fuck. I wore good makeup today.'"
Lia immediately looked betrayed.
Celeste didn't even hesitate.
"That's valid. Good makeup is expensive."
Lia looked like something inside her had left the building.
I didn't understand why.
Still don't.
She stared at Celeste like Celeste had just recited prophecy.
Then muttered something about the universe being lazy.
Weird woman.
But I remember thinking—
That line hurt so much when Lia said it at Date Seven.
Now she was wearing good makeup for an award.
Not crying.
Getting recognized for something she built.
Good progress.
I liked seeing that.
Eventually I heard about Audrey.
Not from Lia directly at first.
Through Chloe.
Then Lia confirmed.
She liked her.
Good.
I meant that.
I was happy for her.
There was relief too.
I'm not proud of that part.
But there was.
Like—
okay.
She's moving.
She found someone.
Maybe I didn't permanently damage something.
Which was selfish.
Her healing wasn't supposed to absolve me.
Still, I felt relief.
Then about a year later—
Audrey dumped her.
When Chloe told me, my first thought was—
Oh no.
My second thought was—
How many machines is this going to cost?
Terrible.
I know.
Then I watched Lia's business grow again.
Another printer.
Then another.
More volume.
More accounts.
I stared at an update one day and started laughing.
Miguel looked over.
"What?"
"I see the pattern."
"What pattern?"
"Lia gets heartbroken and increases production capacity."
He stared at me.
"That cannot be causally related."
"Tell her that."
Very efficient coping mechanism.
At least the numbers apparently justified everything.
Of course they did.
Lia would never let heartbreak ruin margins.
Time moved.
Miguel and I stayed together.
Not because choosing him had magically made everything easy.
We fought.
He annoyed me.
I annoyed him.
His phone continued refusing to die completely despite being functionally useless.
His commute remained terrible.
My work remained tiring.
He helped his family.
I helped mine when needed.
We learned how to be together outside of dates.
Then, eventually, marriage stopped feeling like a hypothetical and started feeling like the next thing we genuinely wanted.
No grand revelation.
Just—
Should we?
Yeah.
Okay.
Us.
We started saving.
Slowly.
Very normally.
Painfully normally.
My teacher salary was my teacher salary.
Miguel made somewhere in the thirty-thousand range depending on allowances and the month.
His money already had places to go.
Contribution at home.
His younger brother.
Commute.
Food.
Bills.
Savings.
Mine had bills too.
Family.
Daily expenses.
Then wedding fund.
Then move fund.
Because we also wanted to rent a place closer to work after marriage.
Not luxury.
Just somewhere that could reduce his ridiculous commute and give us our own space.
Deposit.
Advance rent.
Basic furniture.
Moving costs.
Appliances we didn't already have.
Marriage had a surprising amount of administrative expenses.
Very romantic.
We made spreadsheets.
Lia would have been proud.
I did not tell her.
Miguel was actually better at tracking some of it than I expected.
One night he said—
"If we keep this pace, maybe ten more months."
I looked at the numbers.
"Wedding or move?"
"Yes."
I laughed.
That was the problem.
Both.
We could afford both eventually.
Just not comfortably at the exact same time.
So we adjusted.
Smaller wedding.
Nothing extravagant.
Still ours.
Still good.
No issue.
Then Miguel's mother had an emergency.
Nothing cinematic.
No tragedy.
Just one of those things families dealt with because life did not check whether you were saving for a wedding before creating expenses.
She had to be admitted unexpectedly.
There were hospital costs.
Medicines.
Tests.
Things needed immediately.
His family pooled money.
Miguel covered a large part because he had savings.
Our savings.
Technically his portion of what we had been building together.
He called me before moving anything.
"I need to use some of it."
I didn't even need to ask why after he explained.
"Use it."
"Jane."
"Your mom is in the hospital."
"I know, but the wedding—"
"Can wait."
"The apartment—"
"Can wait."
He looked miserable.
Not because he regretted helping his mother.
Because ordinary people had to calculate what helping someone cost somewhere else.
That was reality.
I hated it.
Still simple.
"Use it," I repeated.
So he did.
His mother got better.
Thank God.
The financial damage remained.
Not ruin.
Important.
We weren't homeless.
We weren't starving.
Nobody had destroyed our future.
The savings account was simply much lower than it had been.
Months of progress—
gone into something more urgent.
That was what savings were for, technically.
Still hurt looking at the number.
We tried recalculating.
Could still do the wedding if we delayed moving.
Could still move if we made the wedding much smaller.
Could borrow.
Could use credit.
Could ask family.
Could stretch.
None of those options felt good.
So finally Miguel looked at me and said—
"Delay?"
I looked at the spreadsheet.
Then him.
"Yeah."
It hurt.
Not because I thought he didn't want to marry me.
He did.
I did.
Nothing romantic had changed.
We simply didn't have enough yet.
That was all.
No punishment.
No cosmic consequence for choosing Miguel.
Just money.
Ordinary money.
We postponed.
We didn't tell Lia.
Why would we?
She wasn't our bank.
She wasn't our emergency contact.
She wasn't some billionaire solution waiting in the background because my fiancé earned less than she did.
I had chosen Miguel knowing his life.
His salary.
His obligations.
His commute.
His family.
I didn't regret that.
And Miguel would probably rather walk from Manila to Bulacan than ask Lia for money.
Pride.
Also dignity.
Mostly both.
So we adjusted quietly.
Lia found out anyway.
Of course.
Not because Chloe betrayed us.
Not because I called dramatically.
Casually.
Months later.
We had started seeing each other normally again by then.
Not constantly.
But enough.
Coffee with Chloe.
Occasional group dinner.
Sometimes Miguel.
Sometimes not.
Friendship had returned carefully enough that I stopped measuring every interaction.
One afternoon, I had another school order with Lia's company.
Again.
Apparently adulthood had turned one of my oldest friendships into repeated procurement.
Mae handled almost everything.
I only went to the facility because I was nearby and the samples were ready.
Lia was there.
Of course.
She came out of her office holding a folder.
"Client."
I stared.
"Friend."
"Client today."
"Rude."
She handed me the proof.
I checked it.
Good.
Obviously.
Then she noticed something.
Maybe my face.
Apparently everyone had faces.
"You tired?"
"A little."
"Work?"
"Life."
She nodded like that answered enough.
Then—
"How's wedding planning?"
Fuck.
I had forgotten she knew.
Chloe had mentioned the engagement at some point.
"It's okay."
Lia looked at me.
That woman had become offensively good at hearing incomplete answers.
"When?"
"We moved it."
Her expression changed.
"Why?"
I shrugged.
"Not enough yet."
"What does that mean?"
"Money."
There.
Simple.
I kept looking at the samples.
"Move plus wedding got too tight. Then Miguel had a family emergency. We used savings."
Lia went very still.
I noticed.
Immediately.
That face.
Billionaire solution face.
"No."
She blinked.
"I didn't say anything."
"You have the face."
"What face?"
"The one where you solve things."
"I was listening."
"Lia."
"I'm literally standing."
I narrowed my eyes.
She looked innocent.
Terrible actor.
I added quickly—
"We're fine."
"I didn't say you weren't."
"We just delayed."
"Okay."
"His mom needed help."
"Okay."
"We're rebuilding savings."
"Okay."
"Do not."
Now she looked offended.
"Do not what?"
"Whatever your brain is doing."
"My brain is standing quietly."
"That is not how brains work."
She almost smiled.
Then looked at me again.
No pity.
Good.
Just—
thinking.
Which was arguably worse.
I pointed the sample folder at her.
"We did not tell you because we are not asking you for anything."
Lia nodded.
"I know."
Something about how calmly she said it made me suspicious.
"You know?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"Yes."
Pause.
Then—
"How much longer are you expecting to delay?"
I stared.
There.
Fucking founder.
"Lia."
"What?"
"That is a financing question."
"It is a timeline question."
"Same face."
She smiled.
Small.
"Current information."
I groaned.
Of course.
I should have known.
The woman had survived two breakups and somehow converted both into equipment.
There was no universe where she heard a cash-flow problem and simply forgot it existed.
I hugged the sample folder to my chest.
"No billionaire solution."
Lia leaned against the counter.
"I'm not a billionaire."
"That is not the important word in that sentence."
She laughed.
And for some reason, despite everything—
so did I.
Because I knew that face.
Lia was already thinking.
And apparently our delayed wedding had just become current information.