“Good evening, Ma’am,” Bryan says. I almost snort. Uy, polite.
“Oh, please call me Tita Grace,” she replies, leaning over to press her cheek to his. Uy, close. I linger in the background until Bryan remembers that he has dragged me along to be the beacon of light in Jiggy’s dark days. “Tita, this is my friend Rickie,” he says.
“Good evening po,” I say. See, I can be proper and well-mannered if I want to.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Rickie,” she says warmly. Why can’t all adults be like this? Or maybe she was being nice to me because I looked quite decent today—most of the time, grown-ups’ eyes would wander disapprovingly over my skimpy clothes and heavy makeup, and decide, in a span of two minutes, that I was a bad influence who should be kept away from their own offspring.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I reply, actually meaning it.
“Gabriel will introduce you to Lola Lucia later. Meanwhile, you can go ahead and eat. I reserved seats for you over there,” she says, pointing to an empty table a few meters away. Good, she isn’t lumping us in with the oldies (making small talk is difficult enough as it is with people my age), and at least I only have Jiggy to worry about. Speaking of which, where is he? I look around, trying to single out someone who would fit the picture I have conjured in my head (not very tall, not very cute, a bit dweeby, with shifty eyes and sweaty palms). But the only young guests are some pre-schoolers fighting over a remote-controlled car in the middle of the dance floor, and a sullen tween with huge earphones sulking in the corner.
“Thank you, Tita,” Bryan says, like he has just been pointed towards a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow instead of an empty table in a crowded clubhouse. Suck-up-, I mouth at him, and he sticks his tongue out at me. We take our seats and wait for our food to arrive. I am starving. I attack the grilled chicken and pesto pasta the second the server sets the dishes down in front of us. Bryan tries to be all poised and dainty, taking small bites and chewing slowly. I want to tell him to relax and just be himself, that if Gabriel really likes him, trying to impress each other is unnecessary. When we’d eat together, he’d talk with his mouth full and grab food off my plate with his bare hands, but I guess that could be a total turn-off, so whatever.
And then Gabriel spots someone behind me and waves. He yells over the noise, “Over here, Jiggy!” I am too busy eating to turn around. Bryan’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, but I figure he’s just trying to be funny and trying to freak me out. I take my time sipping my iced tea until I hear a familiar voice directly behind me say, “Dude, I told you, from now on, call me Diego.”
I choke on my drink and start coughing. Diego hands me a glass of water and rubs my back. “Whoa,” he says. “Easy, easy.” I want to kick him. There is nothing “easy, easy” about this. Bryan whispers, “Holy shit,” and giggles. Gabriel just looks confused.
When I recover, I blurt out, “YOU’RE Jiggy?!”
Gabriel starts laughing. “You guys know each other?”
“Duh,” I say. Okay, my crush on you has officially disappeared, Mr. Musician. I set down the glass of water. How did this happen? How can Jiggy-slash-Diego be related to Gabriel? Although now that I take a good, hard look at the both of them, they do kind of resemble each other: Diego is the boy-next-door, non-rockstar, less macho version of Gabriel. But seriously, how does Diego know so many people I do? First Jaime, and then Gabriel. In how many more ways are we connected?
“Yes, I know Rickie,” Diego tells Gabriel. “But dude, you have to stop calling me Jiggy, okay? It’s getting embarrassing.”
“Oh, sorry,” Gabriel grins, in a way that tells me he is not sorry at all. “I forgot you stopped responding to that nickname when you entered puberty. Sorry, man.”
“This better not happen again,” Diego says in a fake stern voice.
Bryan laughs. Traitor. And then he and Gabriel turn to each other and start talking about some random actor in a Broadway play I’ve never heard of, as if nothing is wrong. Diego takes a seat beside me. I glare at him, although I know this isn’t really his fault. “So,” he teases. “Do you see what I’ve been trying to do here? I went to all this trouble of disguising myself as Jiggy, just so I can see you again.”
I can’t help it. I smile. “You promise you had no idea about this?”
“I promise,” he says. “Gabriel just told me he wanted to introduce me to someone. He didn’t even give me a name. He said it was supposed to be a surprise.”
“Well, it was a surprise, alright,” I say, my smile becoming wider. And then Diego leans close to me to whisper something in my ear. Darn it, he smells really good. I think my heart stops beating for about three seconds. Is he going to ask me if I can give him another shot? Now that Jaime has vanished from the face of the Earth, I guess I kind of could. He says, “You have...stuff...on your teeth.”
I glance at my empty plate of pesto pasta, my cheeks burning, and excuse myself to go to the restroom. Way to go, Rickie. Why is it so easy for me to assume guys like me, or are pining for me, or are not yet over me? And why do all their gestures, even the tiniest ones, mean something to me? I’ll tell you why: Because, until this moment, I have always been right.
When I get back, Diego is smiling at me. “This is awkward, huh?” he asks.
“Tell me about it,” I say, sitting down and resting my chin on my hands.
“Hey,” he says, taking my hands away from my chin and forcing me to look at him, “I’ll make you a deal.”
“I’m not in the mood, Jiggy,” I grumble.
He laughs. “No fair. Will you just hear me out, please?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Actually, you don’t,” he replies, sounding amused. “So, here’s what I’m thinking: Have you ever been just friends with a guy? Bryan doesn’t count.”
“No,” I admit. I could have racked my brain for someone, or just made up a name to give him so he’d get off my case, but it occurs to me that I should at least make an effort to be nice to him, especially since I didn’t exactly treat him right the last time we saw each other.
“Well,” he says. “Would you like to be just friends with me?”
“Are you gay too?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Oh shit, really?”
“No,” he says, laughing. “Of course not. Come on, Rickie. What do you say?”
“Why do you want to be friends with me?” I ask suspiciously.
“Because,” he says. “You’re obviously not interested in me. But, I don’t know, whatever we had, we were okay while it was happening. I think you’re a great girl, and I’d like to get to know you better, this time with no pressure and no hidden agenda. I don’t want to be just ‘some guy you dated.’ And, well, I missed you.”
Nobody has ever bothered to try this with me before. It could go wrong on so many levels, but then again, it could work perfectly, and I may end up proving to myself that I am capable of having a platonic, fully-functional friendship with a straight boy. Might as well take a risk, right?
“Okay,” I say. “Friends?” I hold out my hand, and he shakes it the way he did when we first met.
“Friends.”
Rule number 6:
All’s fair in love and war.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I ask Bryan. We are walking along High Street, killing time before lunch with Gabriel and Diego. It seems the four of us are a mini-barkada now—a gay couple and a guy and girl trying to be friends—however that’s supposed to work.
“Yes,” he says. “I forgot to put on underwear this morning.”
I laugh. “Cut it out. This is serious. You promised me something, remember? When I agreed to go on that date with quote-unquote Jiggy?”
“Doesn’t the fact that Jiggy turned out to be Diego void that agreement?”
“No,” I tell him. “A deal’s a deal. You are helping me with Anna and Chrissy.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
�
�I don’t know. Figure it out. The point is, you promised.”
“Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll talk to them or something.”
Somebody pokes me on the shoulder, and I let out a startled yelp and turn to see Diego grinning. How grade-school, I think, but I smile back. Gabriel comes up to us, apologizing for being late. Bryan assures him it’s okay, and we all head to Oliver’s for lunch. A nervous fangirl shyly stops Gabriel to ask for a photo with him, and the three of us stand back to watch, trying not to laugh as he puts an arm around her and she actually closes her eyes like this is hands down the most monumental moment of her life. Gabriel officially came out of the closet several months ago, and tabloids and chismis shows had a field day, making up stories about male showbiz personalities he supposedly had flings with, and speculating that this would be the downfall of Sorpresa. But through it all, Gabriel remained strong and classy, dodging rumors left and right and promising the public that the quality of their work and the heart of their songs would essentially remain the same. The smoke finally cleared after three months, and fans went back to loving the band for its music and urging everyone else to keep their noses out of Gabriel’s personal life. Still, girls can’t help but be smitten by Gabriel’s good looks, and he has no choice but to entertain (and maybe even subtly flirt with) them, unless he wants to be branded a snob. I sneak a peek at Bryan, standing on the sidelines and smiling. He doesn’t seem jealous, threatened, or insecure at all, and I know him well enough to be sure that he isn’t just pretending to not be jealous, threatened, or insecure. Good for you, B. Moments like these come with the tricky process of dating a celebrity—you better get used to it.
The fangirl scurries off. We sit down for lunch, and Gabriel and Bryan start updating each other about their week so far, which is such a couple-y thing to do. Diego starts talking about a project he’s working on for his film class in school, and I try to pay attention, but after two minutes, my eyes glaze over and all I can hear is blah blah blah.
“Blah blah blah blah blah,” Diego says, snapping me back to reality. “That’s all you’re hearing, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, wanting to shrink into oblivion.
He laughs. “Don’t worry about it.” He doesn’t seem to mind, and it is only at this moment that I believe we can be friends and nothing more. To be honest, I didn’t really buy the whole platonic relationship thing—I thought it was just an excuse to get close to me and eventually worm his way into boyfriend territory. But the fact that he does not take offense at my lack of interest means he really isn’t expecting more than what we agreed on. And perhaps the fact that he does not take offense at my lack of interest says something about his lack of interest. I’m not sure why this realization comes as a surprise to me.
“Well, aren’t you two adorable,” Bryan butts in. “Listen, Gabriel is playing in Katipunan tonight, and you’re coming with us. Anna and Chrissy will be there.”
“Anna and Chrissy are mad at me,” I remind him.
“That’s why you’re showing up to talk to them, Einstein,” he tells me. “I’ve already set the stage for your big reconciliation. Everything else is up to you.”
“You’ll be fine,” Gabriel assures me. “Anna misses you. She told me herself.”
I look at Diego expectantly. If you’re really my friend, you’d volunteer to come, I think.
“I’m game,” he says. “Moral support. Go, Rickie!” And then he remembers, “Oh, I think Jaime’s going, too. He mentioned it the last time I saw him, but I told him I wasn’t sure what my plans were.”
So Jaime and Diego are still friends. How did I get myself into this strange set-up? I have history, technically, with both of them. Diego and I hang out, while Jaime probably hates my guts. I wonder if they talk about me, if Jaime has told Diego the real story between us, and vice versa. I wonder if Diego has forgiven Jaime for that night when we left together, if Jaime has given Diego “permission” to be friends with me now. I wonder which relationship ranks higher in Diego’s priority list: his friendship with Jaime, or his friendship with me?
“Great!” Bryan says. “This is going to be so much fun.” Based on experience, this line is a bad omen, a sign that things are about to go terribly wrong. Bryan said this when we set out to stalk one of his exes, when we decided to crash a college org’s private event because we were all dressed up with nowhere to go, and when we attended a wild party with free-flowing drinks and I got so wasted I passed out on the dance floor. Bryan’s idea of “fun” is a bit of danger and a whole lot of excitement, and I should know better.
But I was the one who decided to end things with Jaime, and I can’t exactly avoid him forever. I can be mature about this—we can move on with our respective lives and co-exist peacefully. When I see him tonight, I can say hi and ask him how he is, and I’m hoping he can be civil enough to do the same with me.
“Yes,” I agree. “This is going to be so much fun.”
I spot Anna and Chrissy with Miguel and Nathan, standing near the bar and laughing over something. Miguel has his arm around Anna’s waist, and Chrissy and Nathan are holding hands. They look like an advertisement for a telecommunications company, all happy and shiny and wholesome. It occurs to me that the four of them have also formed their own mini-barkada, and that there might no longer be any room left for me, The Single Girl, the odd one out. It occurs to me that Anna and Chrissy are living almost-perfect lives, with their good grades and close-knit families and devoted boyfriends, while here I am in a constant power struggle with my family and hopping from one guy to the next without anything real to hold on to. It occurs to me that for so long, all of us have been working to make me fit into their little circle, but maybe now the window of opportunity has passed. After a fight, how much time is considered acceptable for the guilty party to apologize? I may not be welcome anymore, and I may end up making things even worse than they already are, but I at least have to do something.
I approach them, trying not to appear too eager, trying to act like I didn’t miss them too much. Nathan sees me first, and gives me a small, encouraging smile. I stand there, on the outskirts of their wholesome shiny happiness, and finally muster the courage to say, “Hey, guys.”
Chrissy and Anna look at each other. “Hey, guys,” I say again. Deciding to just dive right into it, I tell them, “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about Jaime sooner. I liked him, but I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I’m sorry. I should have said something to you first.” They both remain silent, and I wonder what else I have to say to make them forgive me. And then, by some miracle, they envelope me in a big hug, crushing me and making me laugh. Miguel says, “Ayos. Friends na ulit,” and Nathan heaves a huge sigh of relief.
When we pull apart, Anna says, “I’m sorry, too. I overreacted. Jaime’s not even worth it.”
Chrissy adds, “We heard you guys were dating. And then we heard about Jaime and Olivia, and we were so worried about you. We wanted to talk to you, but we weren’t sure how.”
Okay, pause. “Jaime and Olivia?” I repeat.
Anna looks confused. “They’re a couple again. You know how they are, they’ve broken up and gotten back together so many times people have lost count. You know Olivia would never give him up.” She frowns. “Wait, you didn’t know? Then why did you guys stop dating?”
“I...I thought...he said it was over...I didn’t...it’s a long story,” I stammer.
“What an asshole!” Chrissy sounds furious. Being best buds with Anna also makes her the worst enemy of anyone who dares to hurt her friend—she was unbelievably angry when Jaime broke up with Anna, and she was the mastermind behind that whole revenge plot that was supposed to put Jaime in his place. She has always been extremely protective of Anna, and now that she is getting mad on my behalf, I can’t deny that I am slightly touched. But I am also slightly scared; I don’t want to make a scene tonight. Chrissy points toward the entrance. “Look,” she says. “There they are.”
Jaime a
nd Olivia have just walked in, like they belong together, like they have always belonged together, like there has been nobody in between the many times they have broken up and gotten back together. They look like their on-off relationship is something to be proud of, like it is simply proof that nobody else will do. Olivia is clinging to Jaime’s arm, looking triumphant, and I wonder if I looked like that too when Jaime and I were dating—is he the prize we are all fighting for here? And if he’s with her now, and if this is all nothing but a game, then does that mean I have already lost?
“You really liked him, didn’t you?” Anna asks softly.
I nod. She understands how Jaime operates, and she knows it is difficult to let go of him because when you take away the fact that he is always leaving to go back to Olivia, he seems so wonderful and perfect. Maybe I wanted him to fight for me, to try harder in making me see that with the right person, exclusivity is not such a bad thing. Maybe I wanted him to show me how committed he was to me, so I can eventually see myself being committed to him as well. Maybe I wanted him to take our temporary moments together and turn them into something that is built to last. When people say they don’t want to get into a relationship, it should never be taken at face value because it is never really the whole truth. It is usually a vast collection of issues and fears and complications, forced to the surface to conceal one tiny hope lurking underneath it all: that someday, somebody will come along to discover and accept and strengthen that feeble hope.
“Talk to him,” Anna urges. “You need closure. This isn’t fair to you.”
She’s absolutely right, this isn’t fair to me. But if I go up to them, would that be fair to Olivia? She has already won this battle, and maybe I should just leave it at that. Maybe they really do belong together, and maybe in some twisted way, other people will always have to be unwilling instruments in reminding them how right they are for each other. Maybe it is not a matter of what is and isn’t fair—maybe it isn’t even supposed to be fair. Maybe I should just give up and let it go, because Jaime obviously has.
Every Girl's Guide to Flings (Every Girls Guide) Page 5
