"Oh, unpacking the dress now, are we?" Ben asked, appearing from the bedroom in a t-shirt, shorts and flip flops. There was something about the whole ensemble that didn't feel advisable for walking, but Celia remembered they weren't exactly tourists. They were actual New Yorkers now.
"I felt it was time," she sighed, holding it up and letting the beading catch the warm summer sun. "One last piece to officially unpack us."
Before Celia could do so, Ben leapt across the room (nearly knocking over Celia's vase of sunflowers in the process) grabbed the dress and put it back in the box, amid Celia’s protests.
"Is it crazy for me to not want us to be fully unpacked yet?" He asked, closing the balikbayan box with a book from the Ikea bookshelf they set up in the corner. "The sooner we unpack, the sooner I have to work, and the sooner I have to work..."
"The earlier you have to wake up?" Celia asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at him. Ben rolled his eyes and pulled her into his arms, swaying a little like they were dancing to invisible music.
"The less time I spend with my lovely wife," he corrected, grinning before kissing her. She rolled her eyes but obliged anyway. Being married brought out the corniest side of Ben, but Celia found that she didn’t really mind. He didn’t have to know that, though.
"You're smooth, Mr. Chua," she pointed out, her arms tucked around to the back pockets of his shorts.
"Not as smooth as you, Mrs. Alix-Chua," he teased (because of course Celia chose to hyphenate her name), kissing her again. "Now shall we go to Gray's Papaya and find out what all the fuss is about?"
"Oh yes, let's," She answered, scrambling from his arms to put on the knockoff Keds she'd purchased in Greenhills months before the wedding. Walking seven blocks down to West 72nd was one of the things that Celia and Ben were really looking forward to doing in New York. Countless travelers, tourists, and movies had all hailed Gray's Papaya as the best hotdog New York had to offer. They would be remiss not to try it at least once.
They reached the store after a leisurely walk, noting shops that they would find useful in the future. They promised to buy bagels for breakfast every morning, surprised to find that there was actually more than one kind. Celia exclaimed over the dogs that walked past them, she had never seen a St. Bernard until today. Ben pointed out the kiosks of peanuts, hotdogs and falafel, the two of them debating over what a falafel actually was. They passed a store that specialized in giant cupcakes and Celia felt her sweet tooth begging to be satisfied. Ben joked that they must have looked like tourists, which Celia didn't mind at all. They might be living in New York now, but Manila was still home.
They reached Gray's Papaya in no time. The store was kind of hard to miss, with its yellow sign and several paper papayas hanging inside. Surprisingly, there weren't a lot of people in the store--just a couple of tourists and a gruff-looking guy who got takeout. After mulling over the menu and drooling over the hotdogs, they came up to the cashier.
"Hi, how are you?" The waiter asked them, and that surprised Celia a little bit. She wasn't quite used to everyone wanting to know just how she was.
"We're fine, how about you?" Ben responded without even blinking. Before moving to Manila, he'd grown up on the Filipino-friendly streets of Daly City in California. He was a regular askal, he liked to joke. There was something about the whole exchange that seemed a little fake, but Celia supposed if you were used to it, it didn't really matter.
“I’m great, what can I get you?" The cashier seemed to say all that in a single breath. Celia held in the urge to lick her lips and order everything on the menu.
They left the store with two hotdogs and two drinks. Ben eyed Celia's papaya juice incredulously. The thick, orange slush swirled around like mucus and saliva. It was a stark contrast to the appetizing look of the warm, slim franks in his hand. The hotdog was teeming with chili, onions, mustard and ketchup — the works. He was sure to get bad breath after, but it didn't really matter when his wife was going to eat the same thing.
"You trust papaya juice in the US?" He asked, balancing the hotdog in his hand as they crossed the street. There was a lovely square right across the hotdog shop, a nice green space smack dab in the middle of English-colonial towers and what Celia assumed was the subway station on 72nd West. There was a tall statue of an old man, an assortment of pink and orange tulips, and plenty of benches. Ben spotted a sign and pointed out that the small park was called Verdi Square. It was the middle of a summer afternoon on a Sunday, so the usual hobos and park weirdos were replaced with joggers, families with their dogs, and old men and women bathing in the sun. Celia looked down at her drink and shrugged.
"I thought I'd give it a chance, the store was named after it," she said as they sat together on a bench and got their bearings together. They knew each other well enough to know that the first bite of every meal was to be taken in silence, to taste and savor. Thankfully, Gray's did not disappoint.
"Okay, we're eating here every day," Ben declared, leaning back on the bench with a satisfied sigh.
"Ugh, this papaya juice sucks!" Celia exclaimed, fake sobbing into her drink. But she kept drinking it anyway. Ben laughed and offered her some of his Americano, but she declared that it was worse than the papaya. They ate and laughed in the park, talking about their apartment, about their weekend plans, about talking to their families on FaceTime. Celia mentioned that she wanted to watch a show on Broadway, the one that Woody Allen wrote. Ben pointed out that he was going to start work tomorrow. He placed an arm around her shoulder, and she instantly leaned against him.
As they sat there and watched the world go by, a little boy barely four years old toddled towards them and grabbed Celia's leg. She didn't seem at all surprised, smiling at the little boy and his chinky brown eyes. She always had a soft spot for kids. Ben watched the interaction carefully, like the boy was some alien experiment that had found them.
"Hiya," she said, leaning forward so she was level with the boy. "What can I do for you, sir?"
The little guy babbled, and Celia was smiling like she understood each word. Then he laughed and ran back to where his nanny, a buxom woman with pale, creamy skin and a mass of red curls was calling for him. The nanny smiled and apologized, at which Celia smiled back and said it was no problem.
"Is that your husband?" She asked with a punchy Scottish accent, bouncing the young boy in her arms before re-depositing him into a fancy looking stroller.
"Cute little thing, isn't he?" She nudged her head towards Benedict, who seemed confused and just a little embarrassed.
"Oh yes, I think so," Celia giggled, placing her hand on Ben's lap. "You've got a cute one there, too."
"This little devil?" She asked, looking over the boy, chewing happily on a biscuit. "Keeps his parents up half the night and me running all over the West Side! How about you, any wee ones on the way?"
Celia was about to answer when Ben threw back his head and gave a loud laugh, like it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. The nanny smiled knowingly and shook her head. "Not there yet eh? Well, best bring this one back home. Nice to meet you, cutie."
"You too!" Celia called back, although she realized that neither of them had even exchanged names. She decided not to comment on Ben's reaction to the nanny's question, as it was always a testy subject between them. As a part of a big family, of course Celia wanted to have a kid. It would be so nice to have a little boy with Ben's quirks, wild creativity and sweet thoughtfulness, minus the iced coffee addiction. But she knew it wasn't their time yet. With the move and the new job, a kid was probably the last thing on Ben's mind.
They stopped by a small flower shop on their way home, where Ben bought Celia a small bouquet of sunflowers, as he had every day since they moved in. He took a picture of Celia and the sunflowers by their red brick building on 79th West and Amsterdam to post on Instagram. He smiled and hoped for more perfect days like this.
"Maybe I should start looking for a job," Celia told him, holding hi
s hand like his mother used to when they jaywalked across the street. A quick pause at the traffic light later, they crossed to their building.
"Maybe," Ben said, nodding. "You can explore the city while you're at it."
"Maybe," Celia echoed, leaning against him as they made it to their building. "You shouldn't go to work tomorrow."
Ben smile and kissed the top of her forehead. “Maybe."
The next morning, Ben’s eyes fluttered open. The curtains to their bedroom were still closed and everything was dark. He glanced briefly at the clock on his bedside and decided that he might as well get the day started. He slipped his toes onto the carpeted floor, shivering a little. He slowly made his way to the window, pulling the curtains dramatically aside. Sunlight seemed to explode inside their tiny bedroom, demanding to be greeted. The world was waking up, and Celia remained motionless in bed. Ben grinned to himself, knowing there was a joke there somewhere.
“Celia,” he said, using the same voice his mother had when she used to wake him up for school. “Gising na.”
Still nothing. He had been told that his wife wasn’t a morning person, but he never really knew what that meant until now. Grinning mischievously, Ben jumped back into bed, finally making her stir. He brushed his fingertips on the bridge of her nose, unable to help but watch her fight against the sunlight that dared wake her. Ben’s mouth was two inches from her ear when he thought of something.
“Meesa thinking you should be waking okey day?” he asked in the most annoying Jar Jar Binks voice he could manage. "Seeeer-ya," he said, still in his Jar Jar voice. "Seer-ya, wakey wakey!"
Without warning, Celia's hand flew out from under the sheets and clamped Ben's mouth shut.
"Don't go," she said, her eyes still closed. Ben's eyes softened, and he actually managed a small smile. She let him go, and he flopped on top of her, making their tiny bed groan and Celia moan in fake pain, complaining that he was already getting fatter. Ben kissed the top of her head.
"What would I do without you?" He asked, still grinning. Celia blinked blearily up at him.
"You would be very, very sad indeed," she said, ruffling his dark hair. It was getting long. She had promised herself she would learn to cut it. Apparently haircuts were expensive on this side of the globe. "Now go get bagels while I force myself out of bed."
"Will do boss," he joked, kissing her cheek and leaping out of bed. His commute was going to be crowded if he didn't leave the house before 8, so Ben had to take out his breakfast. Another thing they couldn't avoid.
"We're still meeting in Bryant Park for lunch, right?" Celia asked as he hopped into the shower. She was still trying to get used to daylight.
"Yup," he yelled from inside with the water already running. "It's not too far from Grand Central Station, so you can do a bit of sightseeing downtown before we meet. And it's right behind the New York Public Library so..."
"Okay," Celia said, stretching like a cat over their sheets. She suddenly remembered that she still had to stack the dishes from last night, fix the bed and do a little more unpacking. It was strange, domestic and very American. She sighed. It was possible she was never going to get used to this.
Once Benedict was out of the house with a sun dried tomato bagel in his mouth and an iced coffee in his hand, Celia set out to do some chores and errands. After eating her own onion and blueberry cream cheese bagel (bad idea) Celia had some of her favorite TWG tea from home. It was a sweet, strawberry and green tea she saved for special occasions. She figured her first day alone in New York kind of counted. She turned to their speakers and put on some Joni Mitchell, singing along. Celia fiddled with the dishwasher (which she thought was the most amazing thing in the apartment) and stacked their perfectly clean, perfectly dry dishes in the cupboard. She scrubbed the countertops as clean as they could be. She fixed the bed so many times, you could have bounced a quarter on the sheets since they were so straight.
Eventually, their neighbors banged their fists against their paper-thin walls and told her to “turn off the goddamn music” before they called the police. Celia quickly decided that meeting their neighbors might not be the best thing to do today.
"Right," she said to nobody in particular. She realized that this was the first time she said anything since Ben left. The apartment seemed emptier somehow, despite the boxes and Ikea furniture covering every square inch of the floor. For someone used to living in a large house with several people looking over your shoulder and asking about your day, the silence in their apartment was almost unbearable. Celia needed to get out of there before she missed home too much.
After grabbing a map of the city from a nearby hotel, she set out to explore the streets, feeling farther away from home than she had ever felt before. Although it was already a bit late in the morning, 79th and Amsterdam was still just waking up. There were still a few dogs and their owners, but it was mostly people going about, minding their own business. Several joggers passed her, making their way to Central Park. Restaurants aside from the bagel store were just opening, a few people stopping in for a quick bite. Celia breathed it all in before walking two blocks towards the subway station.
Ben hated to overstate this sort of thing, but he loved his new job. It was the kind of job he always dreamed of having. When he was a kid, his father would throw away his sketch books and drawing pencils and call drawing a 'waste of time.' Now he was actually going to get paid for it. Tattooine Solutions was a small firm in a big city, but the company was growing rapidly, known in the industry as the premiere ad agency for fandom promotions. It simply meant that Ben was being paid to draw up things to help sell Star Wars products, Star Trek t-shirts, Lord of the Rings box sets and Doctor Who TARDIS bookends. When Celia found out about the job, he had rolled her eyes and called him a nerd. But that didn't stop her from packing her bags and following him here.
Sometimes her faith in him scared him just a little bit.
"We get insanely busy in the weeks before SDCC," his colleague, Art Director Art Santos said, walking down a hall of brick walls and sci-fi posters. Did he mention his office was the coolest? There were life-sized figures everywhere. They had prints of their old works posted to motivate the people. The office was basically an empty warehouse downtown. The company had slapped red bricks and cubicles on the inside and put their name on the door. Ben had to keep his emotions in check as Art toured him around.
"You do know what SDCC is, right?"
"S-sure. San Diego Comic Con," Ben shrugged, trying to sound casual about it. He was, however, completely freaking out inside. SDCC? They were doing things for SDCC?!?! It was only the biggest comic convention in the world, of course he knew about it!
"Hm. Right. It's getting pretty mainstream now, even in Manila,” Art said coolly like Manila was some kind of disease he hoped never to catch. They turned a sharp corner and dodging a collision with a replica of Darth Maul.
It didn't take Benedict that long to realize that Art was probably going to be the thorn at his side for this job. Already that was his third almost-racist comment. He decided to hold his tongue for now, seeing as it's only his first day. “We usually send a team out to San Diego to help coordinate the setup, catch a few panels while they’re out there. But don't get your hopes up while I'm here. I don't pass out favors, I don't give special treatment to some guy because he's from the same third-world sinkhole as me."
Make that his fourth. Ben held back the urge to sigh. It was so strange to find such a hostile Filipino in the US. Usually finding another Filipino in a foreign country was like meeting someone you already knew. It was like you were both part of a secret club, and even a kind nod of the head was acknowledged as a huge kindness. Apparently not for Art Santos. Dream jobs still had their setbacks. They had rounded out the whole office now, walking toward Ben’s new cubicle by the window. The whole floor had low dividers to keep the creative juices and the friendly banter going, each table outfitted with a tablet and Mac to work on. Ben’s fingers itched to ge
t started. They even put up a small gift basket for him—he got lightsaber chopsticks, a sonic screwdriver pen and a small box of chocolate frogs. They paused in front of one of the TARDIS-shaped doors along the office hallways. Art sighed deeply and glared at the door like it was radioactive.
“I’m going to introduce you to the account manager for our Star Wars line,” he said, standing in front of Ben and whispering conspiratorially. “Watch out. She can be a real bitch.”
“Right,” Ben said, following Art inside. He blinked in surprise at the contents of the room. It was stark white, a huge contrast from the red brick on the other side of the wall and the numerous movie posters outside. A perfectly organized desk was to the left, not one thing seemed out of place. There was a wall of framed diplomas and signed photos of celebrities on the back wall (was that Angelina Jolie? And Zoe Saldana?), a vase of purple flowers on a side table was underneath it.
On the opposite wall was a floor to ceiling bookcase, filled with books on logos, advertising and marketing. It looked nothing like the office outside. He was just about to ask where the ‘real bitch’ was when the door behind them opened.
"Shouldn't you be getting sterilized somewhere?” a female voice asked, apparently directed towards Art. Ben turned around and saw someone who seemed vaguely familiar. Her hair was blown out into giant waves, so long they had to be extensions. She was wearing a tight, tight miniskirt, showing off her flawless legs. Her skin was naturally tanned and her heels were so high Ben wondered how she managed to keep standing. When his eyes met her, he saw her telltale dimple on her right cheek and recognized her immediately. It was Vivian Wilson. He blinked, his brain trying to reconcile what was happening.
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