Chapter 99 - Do You Even Like It?
There was a point where people stopped asking me what I did for work.
Not because they understood.
Because the answer kept getting longer.
Printing.
Commercial printing.
Labels.
DTF.
Laser engraving.
Packaging.
Signage.
Food packaging.
Manufacturing.
Holding company.
Acquisitions.
Capital allocation.
Eventually—
"What do you do?"
became—
"What are you buying now?"
I hated that question.
Mostly because sometimes I had an answer.
Mama asked first.
Not exactly those words.
We were having dinner at home.
Actual dinner.
I had arrived before seven.
No laptop open.
Phone face-down.
Excellent daughter behavior.
Then Ate Bianca mentioned that somebody she knew had heard about one of my companies.
Nothing dramatic.
Normal business gossip.
Kuya Nathan immediately asked—
"Which one?"
That should have warned me.
Mama looked up.
"How many do you have now?"
I paused.
"Define have."
Sofia laughed.
"No."
Ate Vivian pointed her spoon at me.
"That is already suspicious."
I sighed.
"Four operating businesses under the holding company."
Mama stared.
"Four?"
"Yes."
Papa looked at me.
"Why?"
Simple question.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Kuya Nathan started laughing.
"What?"
I frowned.
"Why what?"
"Why four?"
"Because they made sense."
Ate Bianca tilted her head.
"All four?"
"Yes."
"At the same time?"
"Not at the same time."
Sofia leaned back.
"That wasn't the question."
Traitors.
Mama asked again.
"Do you even like all of them?"
There.
I stared.
"What does that mean?"
"Like them."
"They're companies."
"Yes."
"They don't need emotional approval."
Ate Vivian laughed.
Mama did not.
"I mean, do you enjoy them?"
I thought.
Original company?
Yes.
Commercial print?
Yes.
Packaging and signage?
Mostly.
Food packaging?
Interesting.
The holding-company work?
Very interesting.
Allocating capital?
Disturbingly satisfying.
Was that the same as liking every individual business?
Probably.
Maybe.
Good enough.
"They make money."
The entire table reacted badly.
Ate Bianca actually put her fork down.
"That was not the question."
"It answers part of it."
"No."
Kuya Nathan grinned.
"You sound like somebody buying properties in Monopoly."
"I do not."
"You do."
Papa asked—
"If one company made money but you didn't like managing it, would you still keep it?"
"Yes."
Immediate.
Everyone looked at me.
I frowned.
"What?"
Sofia smiled.
"That was fast."
"Because management can be delegated."
Mama looked unconvinced.
I returned to eating.
Problem solved.
Apparently.
Three days later, Chloe asked almost the same thing.
Very suspicious.
I accused my family of calling her.
They had not.
Probably.
We were at a café.
Jane beside her.
No business reason.
No favor.
No order.
No emergency.
They had simply messaged—
Dinner?
And I went.
That mattered more than I admitted.
By then, my work had changed enough that plenty of people wanted something when they contacted me.
Introduction.
Advice.
Capital.
Supplier referral.
Job.
Business review.
Could I look at their numbers?
Could I meet their uncle?
Could I consider investing?
Could I recommend someone?
Jane and Chloe wanted noodles.
Beautiful.
Chloe asked—
"How many businesses now?"
"Why is everybody auditing me?"
Jane looked at her.
"Four."
I turned.
"How do you know?"
"You told me."
"When?"
"After I called you a monster."
"That does not narrow it down."
She smiled.
Fair.
Chloe stirred her drink.
"Do you actually like running all of them?"
I stared.
Again.
"What is happening?"
"What?"
"My family asked me this."
Jane immediately looked interested.
"What did you say?"
"They make money."
She closed her eyes.
Chloe looked offended on behalf of the question.
"That is such a monster answer."
"It is a business answer."
"I didn't ask if they're profitable."
"Then ask a better question."
Jane leaned toward me.
"Okay. If all four companies made exactly the same amount of money, which one would you keep?"
I opened my mouth.
Stopped.
Fuck.
That was a better question.
"I don't know."
Jane smiled.
"There."
"There what?"
"You don't know if you like them."
"I like solving them."
That came out before I thought.
Both went quiet.
I regretted it immediately.
Chloe looked at me.
"Solving them?"
"Businesses."
Jane's eyebrows lifted.
"You talk about companies like Sudoku."
"Sudoku doesn't have payroll."
"Exactly."
I took a drink.
Conversation over.
Except they did not understand that.
Chloe asked—
"So what happens after you solve one?"
"It operates."
"And?"
"I move on."
Jane laughed.
Not cruelly.
Just genuinely.
"That sounds terrible."
"What?"
"You fix the company and then get bored?"
"I don't get bored."
"What do you call it?"
"I allocate attention elsewhere."
Jane stared.
"That is billionaire boredom in a suit."
"I am not a billionaire."
"You keep focusing on the wrong word."
Old joke.
Still good.
Then she softened.
Not romantically.
Just Jane.
"You're okay though?"
I looked at her.
"With what?"
"All of it."
I knew what she meant.
Not specifically business.
Life.
Work.
Four companies.
Constant deals.
No relationship.
No obvious personal disaster.
Just—
me.
"Yes."
Actually.
"Yes."
Chloe studied my face.
"Not lonely?"
I thought about that one longer.
Sometimes.
Of course.
But loneliness and singleness were not identical.
I had family.
Jane.
Chloe.
People I liked.
Work I liked.
A brain that refused to shut up.
Enough.
"Sometimes."
Jane nodded.
No pity.
Good.
Chloe asked—
"Want to date?"
"No."
Immediate.
Both laughed.
"What?"
Jane shook her head.
"Nothing."
"I've dated."
"We know."
"I'm not against dating."
"Okay."
"I just don't want to."
"Okay."
That was it.
No intervention.
No blind date.
No—
You need someone.
Good friends.
They let the answer stand.
That mattered too.
The condo happened because of traffic.
Not emotional independence.
Not dramatic adulthood.
Traffic.
I had meetings in three different places too often.
Home remained home.
I still wanted family dinners.
Still wanted Sundays.
Still wanted random noise from Mama and Papa and Sofia.
But driving back every night after late meetings had become inefficient.
And occasionally dangerous when tired.
I refused to die from commute stupidity after already dying from a random site accident.
So I started looking.
Rent first.
That was the plan.
A one-bedroom condo in Manila.
Close enough to major facilities and offices.
Not giant.
Not luxury penthouse.
Just private.
Quiet.
Secure.
Parking.
Decent kitchen.
Desk.
Bedroom.
Actual separation between sleeping and working if possible.
I told Jane and Chloe because apparently condo viewing had become a social activity.
Huge mistake.
Jane walked into the first unit.
Looked around.
Then—
"No."
I stared.
"You've been inside twelve seconds."
"Kitchen."
"What about it?"
"Ugly."
"I don't care."
"You should."
Chloe opened a cabinet.
"This is weird."
"What?"
"Why is this shelf so high?"
"For tall people."
All three of us went quiet.
I looked up.
Fuck.
"I can use a stool."
Jane stared at me.
"Or choose a condo made for your species."
"Fuck you."
She smiled.
Friendship.
Excellent.
The second unit had better layout.
Bad parking.
No.
Third had good parking.
Terrible natural light.
No.
Fourth was more expensive than I planned.
Of course it was also the best.
One bedroom.
Small separate workspace.
Good windows.
Reasonable kitchen.
Secure parking.
Near enough to work.
Quiet.
Nice building.
Jane looked around.
"This one."
Chloe nodded.
"Yes."
I looked at the price.
Both watched my face.
Jane immediately said—
"Don't."
"What?"
"Do not say 'numbers justify it.'"
I said nothing.
Chloe laughed.
"They do?"
"Possibly."
Jane closed her eyes.
"Of course."
I bought it.
Not rented.
The numbers justified it.
I did not tell Jane the price.
Growth.
I had learned.
She asked once.
I said—
"No."
She said—
"Fine."
Also growth.
Very proud of us.
The condo became something I had not expected.
Private life.
Not secret life.
Private.
No staff.
No machines.
No client samples unless I brought them accidentally.
No family business conversations unless I answered the phone.
No production sounds.
No inventory.
No equipment brochures on the dining table.
Mostly.
I bought a couch.
A proper bed.
Dining table for four even though I lived alone.
Jane asked why four.
"People exist."
"Wow."
"Fuck you."
She and Chloe came over often enough that the dining table made sense.
Not every week.
No schedule.
Sometimes pizza.
Sometimes takeout.
Sometimes Chloe appeared with food and announced she was hungry as though the condo was a public facility.
Jane once left a mug.
Not intentionally.
She forgot it.
I stared at it the next morning.
My brain—
dangerously—
produced old domestic imagery from Reset 3.
Seven dates.
Groceries.
Hypothetical house.
Pink stapler.
Wedding.
Miguel.
I stood there holding a mug in my own kitchen.
Then laughed.
"Brain damage."
I washed it.
Put it in the cabinet.
Next time Jane came over, she found it.
"My mug."
"You abandoned it."
"I forgot it."
"Same thing."
She used it again.
No meaning.
Just a mug.
Good.
My friends did not ask me to buy companies.
That became more noticeable because everyone else did.
One evening Chloe came over after work.
Jane arrived later.
I was still reading an acquisition memo when they walked in.
Jane put food on the table.
"What are you doing?"
"Work."
"Company?"
"Maybe."
She pointed.
"No."
I looked up.
"What?"
"No buying during dinner."
I stared.
"That is not a rule."
"Now it is."
Chloe nodded.
"Condo rule."
"You do not own this condo."
Jane took my laptop.
I stared at her.
She placed it on the far counter.