Fairy Tale Fail

by Mina V. Esguerra

  The church he brought me to was at the campus of my university. It had been five years since I graduated, and I hadn't been back in a long time. We didn't go to the same school, Don and I, but I did tell him about how I liked spending time at the church. Being in there gave me a sense of peace that I couldn't explain. It was like a sanctuary to me.

  I may have told him all of that, but I didn't think it really sank in for him until then. (Is this it? Adjustment period over?)

  "What a great idea," I told him.

  My university's church was spruced up a bit since I had last been there. Even the pews felt new, but maybe it was just my imagination. I looked at the Stations of the Cross – beautifully rendered on stained glass – and said my prayers.

  Don had finished his first and gone out ahead of me. I took one last look at the church – my church – and walked out to the parking lot with a smile on my face. He was standing next to his car, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the harsh summer sun. Seeing him like that on my own college campus was surreal. Don was a big, imposing guy, not the kind I would have dated back then.

  "Thank you for that," I gushed. "It's so great to be here again."

  "We have to talk," Don said, without taking his sunglasses off. "You said you wanted to talk about us, right? I thought we should do that now."

  "Now?"

  How many times had I thought of this? Too many in the last few weeks. Don and I had been arguing a lot, on things big and small. I'd ask if we could talk about "us" but he never found the time to do it. Well, it seemed like he finally did.

  "You're right," he said. He wasn't even looking directly at me, but I couldn't be sure because those damn lenses. "We haven't been in sync lately."

  Did I say that? Maybe I did, but he wasn't supposed to agree with it.

  "We just have to stop arguing and really talk," I said, not acknowledging that whole "sync" thing. "Instead of just sticking to our positions and debating about them all day."

  "That's what we're doing today then, just talking."

  "No fighting?"

  "No fighting," Don said. "We can go through all of our issues. And then if we still don't agree, then we can just... choose to go our separate ways."

  And that was how my boyfriend broke up with me. During Holy Week. At my beloved university church.

  Chapter 4

  Charisse was not the type who would ever go through a bad breakup (seriously, she would see it from a mile away and preempt it) but she sure knew how to deal with the morning after. On Good Friday, I was camped out on her couch. I couldn't face my family throughout the holiday so I said I'd stay at Charisse's until Easter, and showed up on her doorstep with a bag of clothes and nothing else.

  She, on the other hand, was ready. We had bags and bags of chips, Thai food takeout, tequila, and Supernatural, Prison Break, Gossip Girl DVDs on queue.

  "What did he say?" Charisse asked.

  "I fail at relationships," I said, dramatically.

  ***

  Don did not explicitly say "You fail at relationships," by the way, but he might as well have.

  The Supposedly Perfect Couple had several fights that were in constant rotation. On that Maundy Thursday, he decided that we were going to talk about all of them. And settle them, once and for all.

  "Do you want to keep going?" he asked me.

  "What do you mean, keep going?"

  "This is only the first church. I've planned for us to go to seven."

  "You're kidding, right? No way am I going to another church after what you just told me. We talk about everything now."

  And at that, Don started with, "I'm just really bothered that you're not more ambitious at work."

  Ugh. My friends hated this argument in particular. What was Don doing questioning my career choices, right?

  Looking back, it was very relevant. Because deciding where to stand on this had consequences for our future together, and even though it sounded like my career was none of his business, maybe it should be.

  My stand, which did not change despite the many arguments, was that not everyone wanted to be a CEO. I was fine at my job, as fine as someone could be writing brochures and website copy about wealth management and financial derivatives (snore), but it was just a paycheck to me.

  I knew I was meant for other things.

  Don didn't understand that. And not just that, he seemed to think less of me because of it.

  "I just think it's a waste," he continued. "A waste of your expensive education."

  More people had arrived at the church to do their Holy Week traditions, but we were still standing there, next to his car.

  "My parents paid for it, not you," I sputtered, something I had never said before. "And why do you consider it a waste? I do well enough, don't I? What should I be doing?"

  Don shrugged. "It just seems like you're not trying hard enough."

  "So what would make you happy?" I demanded. "What's it going to take?"

  "You shouldn't be doing it for me," Don said, shaking his head, as if frustrated at the child who just wouldn't learn. "You should do all that because you want it for yourself."

  "But I don't," I insisted. "My priorities are different."

  "Then that's a problem," he said, turning his head. The sun reflected off his glasses and into my eyes.

  The next argument was about how he felt that I "didn't have a passion."

  "Oh shit, not that again," I groaned, pushing myself off the curb. "Why, why do you think that I have no passion? I tell you everything. Every little thing that makes me happy, that annoys me, that passes through my mind I tell you. I told you my dream to visit a new country a year, and I wanted to do that with you. And you still think I'm not passionate about anything?"

  "Do you realize how much that costs, Ellie? I know you don't make that much. It bothers me that you're not thinking about your career, and you don't think about your savings too."

  "I make enough! You're worse than my mother."

  He did promise no fighting, but ironically, his calm manner was more grating to me than if he had been screaming. While accusing me of being passionless, Don was being exactly that. I felt angry, my heart was pounding, I was ready to fight for us, but he was just there, calmly telling me the things I was doing wrong. I wanted him to at least look regretful, if he wasn't going to shout.

  "Whining isn't passion," he said, still deadpan. "It just surprised me to discover that you complain all the time. You weren't like this when we were friends."

  That was another card he liked to use – "when we were friends." It was like the months that we were in the same barkada – but not dating – was some sort of magical period that he wanted to go back to. "When we were friends," according to him, I was fun, spontaneous, independent, interesting.

  "When we were friends," I argued, I did not care about him at all. Didn't want to hang out with him alone, didn't care if he got home safe at night, didn't want to share my hopes and dreams with him.

  "That's another problem," Don said, jumping to the third argument before finishing the second one. "I just feel all this pressure to… I don't know… be the kind of boyfriend you expect me to be."

  Ugh. He made it sound so... dramatic. And clingy.

  "Because I wanted us to go out more than once a week? Because I keep suggesting things we should be doing together as a couple?" I said, becoming shrill. "Shit. I'm sorry for wanting to spend more time with you. I didn't realize it would put so much pressure on you."

  "When we got together, you remember what we talked about?" he asked. "I said this was going to be tough, because I consider you a good friend. And I didn't want anything to happen to ruin that."

  I bit my lip. I did remember that. I was so smitten at the time that I didn't think as logically. We really had no idea what being in a relationship was going to do to us. But I was a romantic who thought it didn't matter (as long as we loved each other).

  "Why, is this ruining it?" I asked bitterly. "Because I'm not goin
g to apologize for wanting you to treat me better than when we were friends. I want to be someone more special than that to you."

  "Well, I tried," Don had the nerve to say. "These are the things we just never agree on."

  He gave me a chance to agree with him, which I didn't take, and now I was out.

  "Well good, because it's getting late," I said. "I'm going to need to find a cab."

  "No, I'm driving you home."

  "I'm not getting in that car again with you," I muttered. "Is that it? Are those all the things you have against me?"

  He ambled toward the driver's seat, but didn't say anything. I turned around and headed back into the church – my church – and cried as soon as I took a seat on the last row.

  The way he talked about me, it was like I was such a horrible girlfriend. Not that you're perfect, Mr. Self-Righteous. But when you decide to make a relationship work, you should be willing to overlook those little annoyances.

  It hurt that he didn't care enough about me to try.

  ***

  Charisse had been Don's friend longer, but I really couldn't thank her enough for just being there for me. Because Don was just... well, he was a good guy, and even as I was telling her the things he said to me, I almost didn't believe any of it. I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't too.

  But she did.

  Charisse rolled her eyes. "Oh my God. Do you want me to talk to him? Do you want me to punch him? I can't believe he would ruin your favorite church like that."

  "Well, he didn't mean to break up with me there... I forced him to finish our talk."

  "Ellie, he brought you to your favorite church to break up with you."

  "There's no good place to break up anyway," I said quietly. "At least I was in a familiar place."

  "I'm sorry," Charisse said, raising her voice a little. "Is he behind me right now? Why are you defending him? You were insulted and broken up with in what you consider to be your safe place. You have every right to be mad."

  I knew that, but I couldn't make myself really feel it. What if he changed his mind about me?

  Chapter 5

  Some people had one large group of friends, and that was all they needed. I, on the other hand, had many small circles of friends. High school friends, college blockmates, college orgmates, cousins, friends from my first job, the barkada from my current job. These groups all had different personalities – and sometimes I was in the mood for one group and not another.

  Restless Ellie became even more so in the weeks that followed the breakup. I made plans with all my friends. I went to so many dinners that month that I dipped into my Bangkok Fund, but I forgave myself because I was hurting and needed company.

  I wasn't sure how it happened too, but after those dinners all of my friends ended up hating Don.

  Was it how I told the story? But I tried to tell it as objectively as I could. It was fair to question our relationship when there were fundamental things we didn't agree on. Talking about it on Holy Week, in church, was better than not talking about it at all.

  But they all reacted the same anyway.

  They called him a jerk, an ass, and other colorful terms. I told them that they didn't have to do that. No need for a breakup to turn ugly.

  "Ellie, a breakup is a breakup. He just decided that he didn't love you enough to accept you for who you are," my older sister, Gladys, said. "It's already ugly."

  The only group that wasn't as unanimous in its hatred of Don was, understandably, the office group. I understood how difficult this must have been for our friends. When Don and I were in the same place together post-breakup, we never talked. I especially felt irritable and on edge a lot, because I thought that Don was trying to provoke me by ignoring me as blatantly as possible.

  Friends later told me that he seemed especially paranoid about what he thought I said about him to other people. He told them not to believe me, that I was bitter and slightly obsessed with him, and that I had a hard time moving on.

  "Did you tell him?" I wailed to Charisse when she told me. "Did you tell him that all my friends have been itching to slap me because I've been trying to tell his side of the story to them as well as mine?"

  She shrugged. "I don't think he believes it. Do you have secret blackmail info on him, girl? He's so out to discredit you."

  That wasn't fair. I was losing my dignity little by little every time I defended him to a friend. (A friend who was on my side! They all thought I was nuts.) But I respected him and what we had. Too bad he didn't feel the same way.

  So I decided that I was not going to avoid him, whether he liked it or not. If he was talking trash about me to our common friends, then I had to somehow be there to save my own face. Or at least be given a chance to be heard. I showed up at dinners, and lunches out, and tried to have as much fun as I could in the same room without actually looking at him. It was exhausting.

  Finally, after weeks of this, Charisse invited me to coffee. We went to the Starbucks at the lobby of our building, and she treated me to a mocha frap. Uh oh. This was not going to be something I wanted to hear.

  She was one of the leaders that kept that group together, and as soon as she paid for my drink I knew that she wasn't acting as my friend right then, but everyone's friend.

  "Ellie," she said, and to her credit she looked really pained about it. "I need to talk to you about this whole Don thing."

  "Excuse me?" I said.

  "It's getting a bit tense. Look, we're all friends here. It's just tough on everyone that we can't all hang out anymore because we're afraid of how you're going to feel."

  "Me? Did you talk to Don too?"

  "I tried to," Charisse said, and I believed her. "And I'm sorry, but as far as he's concerned, you two are done. So I'm talking to you now."

  Ouch.

  That day, she pretty much told me this: That they couldn't handle our drama anymore. They weren't going to choose between us, but they didn't like how the group was splitting between people who were on Don's side and Ellie's side.

  When it got down to it, he was their friend first. If I wanted to stay with them, I was going to have to accept that.

  ***

  It was at a party, three months after Don and I broke up, that I did something stupid. By that time I was feeling isolated and alone. Even my friends were sick of hearing about Don, and I complied by not talking about him or asking about him (much), but I couldn't help thinking about him.

  I hung out with our common friends less and less, but I still made a point to show up when I was invited somewhere. His treatment of me grew maddeningly unpredictable: one day we'd actually talk about a movie like decent people, and the next he'd mention right in front of me how he wanted to be introduced to some girl.

  By then I couldn't confide in Charisse anymore, because she had already given me The Talk. If I was uncomfortable, I didn't have to show up. She would understand.

  But I didn't want him to win.

  So I went to Don's boss' party. I barely knew the guy and didn't have to be there, but that was the kind of person I was at the time. I wanted to be there because everyone else would be there. Also, I had been watching Don's mood like they were weather forecasts. If he wandered over to my area, would he actually make eye contact? Would he say "hey"?

  At the party that night, he was in friendly mode. He asked about my family, my sisters, and I gave him an update that spanned months. It surprised both of us, I think, that we had gone from knowing everything about each other to being several months behind on everything.

  A rum coke and a half for me later, and Don and I were laughing like we used to. While other party guests occupied the dining room and family room of his boss Ricky's house, we had retreated to the upstairs balcony, accessible from Ricky's daughter's bedroom. We were sitting on the floor, talking. Like old friends. Like pre-relationship Don and Ellie.

  Easy to forget what that was like. There was a time when he was fun, and liked to listen to me talk about what I did that day,
and not pass judgment on me on things I should have done. It helped me loosen up again. Our relationship – including the breakup, and the ugly words that got passed around after – was still the elephant in the room, but we both knew it, and we were both pretending it wasn't there.

  I didn't know if I imagined it at first, but it was like he was moving closer to me. We were sitting apart on the floor, and then our knees were touching, and then he was idly tapping his fingers on my hand. It couldn't have been alcohol (his one-beer limit had been reached hours ago) and he never got drunk.

  I pulled him toward me and kissed him first, I'd admit to that. But it was his arms that pulled me back to him, his hands that were under my shirt, his tongue that lashed at my mouth. Our arms and legs tangled as we rose to our feet and locked the door. My shirt came off not a moment later, something that never even happened while we were together, and I pressed myself against him nearly breathless.

  Ironically? That wasn't the "stupid" thing. It was this:

  "I still love you," I said, and I kissed him before I could say anything. I did that against my better judgment, but it had been weeks since he acted at all interested, and I thought it was a now-or-never kind of thing...

  Next I heard staccato knocking, and then the voice of a little girl. "I need to go to my bathroom!" she yelled.

  It was Ricky's daughter and she sounded bratty and impatient. I became decent in record time, and made it back out to the balcony as Don opened the door. Ricky's seven-year-old was there, but Charisse was right behind her.

  "Me first!" The little girl pushed past Don and into her bathroom. When I looked again, Don was gone, and Charisse had come into the room.

  "Sorry," Charisse said, looking at me with concern. "But all the bathrooms were occupied and… are you okay?"