“Maybe he didn’t exactly agree with your methods—“ Celia began, but Vivian suddenly stopped and raised a hand at her friend. She stood tall and erect, her steely gaze directed right at Celia like a villain that just caught the hapless little princess.
“I asked you not to defend him,” She said icily, her hand steady, like she was trying with all her effort not to slap her right across the face. Her face softened immediately when she saw Celia’s terrified face. Her hand dropped, as did the clothes hanging on her shoulders. Vivian shuddered, falling to her knees like she couldn’t believe what she just did. She buried her forehead on Celia’s knee as if asking for penance. “I know you don’t want to hurt me any more than he has. I know you’re in love with him, but—“
“Wha's that now?” Celia clarified. Vivian was smart, she should know better than to blurt out things like that.
“You’re going to have to choose what you want,” she said, her voice softer. Vivian took Celia’s hands and sighed deeply. “I can’t stand to be in a room with him, and I can’t hold your hand and force you out of being with him.” Vivian promptly dropped her hand, and Celia suddenly thought of Beatrice and Benedick from Much Ado About Nothing. I will kiss your hand and so leave you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account. “So you have to make a choice. I love you Celia, but I have to make you choose.”
Then Vivian closed the trunk behind Celia, walking back into her bedroom. Celia sat there, dumbstruck.
“I love him?” She asked the empty room.
“Afternoon tea set with English Breakfast, ma’am,” the waiter said, placing the three-tier setting in front of her, a pot of tea on the side. Celia was sitting in her favorite part of Kensington Palace, the Orangery. What was once Queen Anne’s separate ballroom for orange trees was now an all-white restaurant, serving simple tea sets for low prices and on fine Palace china. Celia loved the Orangery. She had been coming here ever since she was a little girl; she once had tea here for her seventh birthday. Her mother made it such a big deal, dining in the Palace. There was just something about being surrounded by British Royal history, and being in the close proximity of Will and Kate (and Lady Di, when she was younger) that made her problems seem smaller.
“Thank you,” she said politely, absently stirring milk and two sugar cubes into her tea. The teal blue of the china stood out against the pale white table cloth. Celia always loved the china they used in the Orangery, the same ones since she was a little girl. Her mother gave her a set of her own when she graduated university, but Celia didn’t dare use it. Not yet. The Orangery was her sanctuary, the place where she ran to when things were bad; the place where she wanted to celebrate when things were good.
She watched the tourists take their tea, the sunlight streaming in from the window behind her. For once, it was actually a lovely day out, and the hall was bright and cheery. The light streamed in through the tall windows behind her, the gold in her china glinting a little. It had rained earlier, and from the end of the hall, she could spy a rainbow behind a statue.
Celia picked up one of the buttery, warm scones and broke it in half, slathering clotted cream and jam on the inside. Henry, Vivian and Ben had all tried to call her, but Celia had decided that today was about enjoying her tea and not thinking about the mess at home.
“Ooh, we should go to the Victoria and Albert display!” An American woman said to a less-than-interested companion, dragging him out of the ballroom and to the Palace. Celia sighed again. She loved the Victoria and Albert displays. It was the only physical proof she had of true love, which was saying a lot.
Speaking of love, Vivian’s accusations had her mind spinning. Vivian and Henry left for King’s Cross that afternoon with no promises that they were to return anytime soon. Vivian had hugged her like she was never going to see her again (although Celia had hoped that was just her imagination). Henry only gave her a small smile and a kiss on the cheek. He still had that look on his face, like he knew something she didn’t. They basically left Celia alone to tackle her own feelings, which was not something she was used to. Yes, the British were supposed to carry on, but she didn’t think she would have to carry on alone.
Thus, the need for afternoon tea.
So she was probably in love with Ben. The thought made her sick to her stomach and incredibly giddy at the same time. She felt dizzy and nauseous and her hands shook when she thought too hard about it. Her palms became damp with sweat and her throat closed up. She nearly choked on her tea.
“I’ve just described having the flu,” she muttered to herself. Definitely not love, then.
Celia was just about to sip her tea with her scone when the door to the Orangery burst open to reveal Benedict. He was panting, cheeks slightly flushed from running as his head darted around madly for someone. It looked like he was about to pass out or throw up with his own flu strain. Celia was too far to hear what he and the head waiter talked about, but it ended with Ben looking right at her, a smile on his face.
That smile made Celia feel instantly better.
“Celia!” He said almost too excitedly, jogging over to her and her tea set. He sat beside her, where the waiter had pulled up a chair. Ben looked at the elaborate set up and paused. “Oh. Were you waiting for someone?”
“What? No, not really,” Celia immediately answered, frowning a bit. Okay, so she ordered a tea set for two. She hadn’t had lunch so she figured it was fine. She turned her gaze back up at Ben, who clasped his hands tightly between his knees. He looked like he was trying so hard to stop from smiling, failing miserably.
“How…how did you find me?” She asked him, trying to act nonchalant. But it was amazing, wasn’t it? All she did was think about him and there he was. She could see right past his taut, toned figure, his chiseled jaw and kind eyes. All Celia could see was his soul, his passion for the city he still found new, the way their conversations brought her so much joy. He mattered to her, more than she had ever expected to.
Was that love?
Ben chuckled. “I followed the tea,” he joked, nudging his head towards her pot and cup. “I quite fancy it now, you know.”
“I fancy you too,” she blurted out, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She had hoped she didn’t say that out loud, but the surprise in Ben’s face was unmistakable. She mentally kicked herself for that. She turned to Ben, who blinked back in surprise for a second. But then the surprise melted into a smile, one so warm that it rivaled the sun outside.
“Good,” he said simply, leaning over to kiss her. No accidents this time. Celia felt a happy giggle escape her lips, making Ben smirk too. Their kiss deepened as he wrapped an arm around her without a care at who could see them. Celia tilted her head slightly, brushing her nose against his before diving in to kiss him again. It was wonderful and sweet, and she didn’t know why they hadn’t thought of kissing like this before. He knew what he wanted, he knew what he was doing. He cupped her face with his hand, brushing this thumb over her cheek. “Because I am crazy about you.”
She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe that this was happening. Ben was crazy about her of all people. Her with her sharp tongue, bad taste in drinks, and massive appetite. It was like it wasn’t real. Celia giggled again, leaning forward to kiss him, one more time just to make sure that he was there. And another. And another, just to be safe.
“Oh, and by the way,” Ben said with a giant grin, like he was just the smoothest guy in the room. “Ben Kingsley, Ben Barnes and…Sir Benedick of Padua.”
Celia paused, laughing at his list before she shook her head. She highly doubted that characters off of Shakespeare plays should count. “Cheater,” she said, swatting him playfully on the arm. Ben only smiled.
“I do love nothing in the world so well as you,” he quoted, brushing a strand of hair away from Celia’s face. She was sure everyone in the Orangery was staring at them now, tutting their lips at the silly kids snogging in public. She pulled back, taking
his hand.
But then, as she took his hand, she was struck with a memory. Vivian sitting on the floor, holding her hand, just like this. Vivian standing in front of a mirror in her wedding dress and Celia’s grandmother’s necklace, her nerves dissipating as Celia watched. Was that a memory or a dream? Vivian who hopped a cab all the way across London just to bring over her lucky pendant when she was too nervous to play her first gig. Vivian, the perfect, polished dresser, who let Celia put pink streaks in her hair just because Celia had asked. Vivian who lost control but still wanted Celia to choose what she wanted for herself, who did not stop her from falling in love with a man Vivian had come to despise.
“Ben,” Celia said softly, touching her forehead with his. “I…”
“Please don’t say it,” Ben said, like the thought had passed from her to him. He took her hand as if to steady her, to keep her there. As if she was already slipping away. “Don’t go. We can be happy here, just you and me and this city.”
“We can’t. We don’t belong here,” Celia finally said, and she was right. Of course they could be happy here. If they weren’t trespassing on someone else’s universe, they could be happy here. But was that how they wanted it? Alone in London, while their friends would never be seen again?
She held on to Ben for dear life. She kissed him again, and again and again, without a care that everyone was watching. The Orangery, the tea and the whole world melted around her in bright flashes of light. The warm sunny English skies turned into the cold, hard typhoon rains of Manila. She found herself in front of Mary the Queen Church, watching the sponsors and bridesmaids and groomsmen walk up to the altar. Henry stood beside Celia, squeezing her hand quickly while she smiled up at him.
“Celia,” Vivian whispered behind her, her face hidden by her veil. They had only moments left before Celia and Henry had to walk forward. She turned to her friend, and saw she was smiling and crying at the same time.
“I love you,” Vivian whispered, and threw her arms around Celia.
“Love you too,” Celia answered, chasing after Henry as he walked ahead.
CHAPTER SIX
MANILA
CELIA SLIPPED to the side of the Church as soon and she and Henry separated at the altar. She hoped nobody would notice that the Maid-of-Honor had decided not to sit in her proper seat, at least for the processional. Like in all weddings, there was a brief moment of pause between the entourage and the bride’s entrance. The wedding planners and videographers scrambled to create and capture the perfect moment before it actually happened. Celia was hiding near the arches that led outside, not caring that her pretty peach dress was probably getting wet. It looked like the bridal march was about to begin, and someone else had decided to sit away from his proper seat.
“Bulaga!” Henry hissed at Celia as he hopped beside her. She gasped and slapped his large arm when she realized who it was. “What are you doing here, gorgeous? I thought Maids-of Honor sat up front?” He asked incredulously, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in concern. “And you’re getting wet! I take back saying you were gorgeous. I’m pretty sure mascara isn’t supposed to look like that.”
“It’s Maid-of-Honor, and so says the Best Man hiding in the choir,” Celia said, nudging him with her arm. Henry smiled and wordlessly placed an arm around her shoulder. He knew she would tell him what happened between her and Benedict later, unless nothing had happened at all. He had hoped nothing had happened. Henry always thought Celia was a very private person, keeping her feelings to herself. After so many years of friendship, he had hoped she would open up to him. He just wanted her to be happy.
Celia and Henry noticed the choir above the pews rise. The bride was about to walk down the aisle. Two of the members lifted their violins, another held an acoustic guitar.
“Panalangin ko sa habang buhay…”
Celia choked back a breath she didn’t know she was holding. If she was cool, she would have scoffed and pointed out that every second wedding used this song as its march. If she was completely fine, she would have smiled and stood in her pew for her best friend, but she wasn’t that strong, or cool, or fine. All she was, was a coward who hid behind her own regret, her dreams and church pillars.
The doors opened, and Henry noticed that Celia’s lips were trembling. She tilted her head against Henry’s arm like she couldn’t bear to see this. Vivian appeared through the heavy doors of the church. She looked absolutely radiant. She glowed like lightning amidst the typhoon winds and rain, the song rising over the pews despite the raging tempest outside. The elaborate gown was trimmed with delicate lace that touched the tips of her fingers, the slim cut gathered into a long train in the back. She was smiling, and Celia knew that her friend was not going to cry.
“Makapiling ka, makasama ka, yan and panalangin ko…”
While all eyes were on Vivian, Celia had trained hers on Ben, standing by the altar. The look on his face was enough to melt hearts. It was a look of love and pride that he could never give anyone else in the world. He looked like a man who couldn’t quite believe his luck. She had never seen him look so happy.
“She’s beautiful,” Henry whispered, and Celia felt her heart break into a thousand pieces. The rain fell even harder outside like it was trying to drown the entire church. Lightning illuminated the bleak gray sky, quickly followed by the roll of thunder. The winds seemed to scream out, and Celia wasn't sure if it was in protest or approval. As the choir’s voices rose to the high ceilings of the church, Ben and Vivian joined each other in the altar. They looked good together, as if they were pieces of a puzzle that fit perfectly together.
“What if in another universe, you loved me too?” Celia whispered.
She closed her eyes, and the gloomy grey sky turned into a bright, summer sun. Warmth spread from her fingertips to her toes, the kind of warmth that made your skin prickle. The air smelled of damp, freshly cut grass, and the air was humid as it usually was at the start of summer. She was in school again, where this whole thing began.
“When we dream, we get visions of our lives as they would have been in other multiverses, and vice versa,” she remembered vaguely, although she could not remember where or when she had heard it. The bells of the clock tower chimed five o’ clock, and Celia held her breath as she waited for something to happen. She heard rapid footsteps slap against the pavement. Someone was jogging up the walkway.
“Celia!” Ben’s voice exclaimed, and Celia felt her heart actually pound in excitement. Her cheeks were red from the flush of heat, even more so as she smiled.
“Ben,” she answered, closing the gap between the two of them. She tossed the white rose aside, just so happy to see him. Before she managed to slam her body against his, he wrapped his arms around her like she was the most precious thing he had ever touched. He held her so tightly, like he was afraid that she was going to run away from him. They were so close she could swear she could hear his heart beating against hers, in sync, in tune. Were they dreaming?
The sun shimmered around them, and the memory remained.
Celia dreamed of her own wedding day, an affair filled with sunshine and a thousand yellow sunflowers scattered around the periwinkle walls of Mary the Queen church. She dreamed of seeing his face as she walked down the aisle. She saw pure joy in his eyes, tears prickling her own as she walked up to him. The sky was filled with warm yellow light, making the whole of Manila seem happy with their union. Manila was a place of wonder, mystery and home, and that was what she found with Ben. They played Cyndi Lauper’s ‘At Last’ over speakers, and Celia and Ben dreamed of dancing together, still in each other’s’ arms. No videographers, no wedding planners. Just their friends, their family, smiling with them and offering their congratulations as they promised to stay together for as long as they could.
In her dreams, they were married.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NEW YORK
SUMMER wasn't exactly the best time to be in New York. Manhattan was infamous for its bone cold wi
nters, but the dry summers were nearly as unbearable. The old rich of upstate were long gone to some French-Caribbean island by then, while the nouveau riche on the Upper East were having their Eastern European maids pack their things for a holiday at the Hamptons. Meanwhile, for the regular folk, summer in New York meant going about their usual business in more than the usual heat.
For Ben and Celia however, their first summer in New York looked like it was going to be a cakewalk. After all, what was summer in New York compared to Manila? As the temperatures rose, the newlywed couple unpacked boxes, rearranged furniture and fell asleep in each other's arms in their apartment on the Upper West Side. It was an old apartment, with faucets that leaked slightly and neighbors that constantly played Michael Bublé through the paper thin walls. It was in a neighborhood with small families and dog owners, with a bagel shop right across and Central Park two blocks away. The rent was way more than what they should be paying, but they didn't care. It was theirs.
Today, Celia was too busy procrastinating the unpacking of their last box, the one that contained her wedding dress. It was a beautiful Maria Clara of piña cloth and silk brocade, a dress that brought the church to tears when she walked in. She touched the fabric lightly. Their bright, sunny wedding day felt like ages ago. The ink had barely dried on their marriage certificate when Ben got a job at a big ad agency in New York, the job of his dreams. Without a second thought, she packed up, took Ben's hand and left everything behind, except her wedding dress. She inhaled the fabric a little, smelling warm sun and her mother's Amazing Grace perfume. She wanted to cry, but homesickness was not something she was ready to face yet.
Cities Page 10
