She wished she didn’t sound like a paranoid wife from every clichéd mistress movie she had never seen. She hated those movies, and now she was in one. If this was a crime show, the evidence she had was all circumstantial at best, but it didn’t take away the fact that it didn’t sit well with her at all. No wonder Celia couldn’t bear to look at Ben. If she was wrong, then Ben would be angry at her for reading his messages, if she was right…
Celia didn’t even want to think about if she was right.
Ben looked like he had the wind knocked out of him. So that explained why he found his phone on the floor by R2-D2 earlier that day. Celia looked utterly crushed and guilty, and he supposed his silence isn’t helping matters at all. But he couldn’t speak. He knew he had to say something, but his mouth and his brain were suffering from serious disconnection issues.
Celia stood up and glanced at the lights below. “I’m going to Henry’s,” she said, pulling her jacket tighter. “There’s ice cream in the fridge. Don’t wait up.”
Then she disappeared behind the crowds, Ben’s heart sinking as she did.
Henry Cruz always thought of himself as cool. His haircut was taken right off the webpages of the Sartorialist, his clothes handpicked by a gang of experts over at Esquire Magazine and GQ. He knew everything about the latest trends (in fact he had tried them all), he had a Tumblr page with quite a following too. Henry Cruz had to be the epitome of cool, he felt. New York deserved nothing less from him.
But when Celia showed up at his door that night, he felt all his cool blow out of him. She had that effect on him. In front of his best friend, he felt like a little boy in a sando and tsinelas, drawing piko squares in his backyard while waiting for his brothers to come home from school. She smiled weakly, and he felt the warm sunshine of Manila burn his toned arms. She wasn’t the only one who didn’t wish certain things were true.
“Hi,” she said, and he blinked.
“Hi,” he answered, opening the door to let her into his apartment. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching Kinky Boots?”
“Yeah, the show just ended,” she said, her eyes flickering over every inch of his apartment like she wanted to take in every detail. From the map of the New York subway on the right to the gigantic leather couch in the middle. Henry was lucky to have two other roommates—both of them doctors, both of them with similar tastes and style as him. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to afford such a cool place.
“So,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You told Ben about the text.”
Of course Henry knew about Celia’s issues with Ben’s texting. She needed to know she wasn’t being silly for worrying, and so had turned to her best friend. Henry had told her that if she was worried, then something was wrong, that she needed to talk to her husband. It was the thing that finally propelled Celia to fess up that evening.
Now with that look on her face, he knew that she had followed through his advice. It was the only reason why she would appear at his door with that expression, like she had forgotten how to walk, or breathe, burning with humiliation and fear. Her shoulders sagged slightly, the light out of her eyes. His heart sank slightly. He couldn’t bear to see her that way. If he could, he would have swept her into his arms until she smiled again.
Best not to, though.
“What did he say?” Henry asked tentatively, almost dreading the answer. Celia flopped on the couch.
“He didn’t say anything,” She sighed, fluffing the throw pillows like they were hers. She had hoped that in this time of crisis she would want to have large amounts of beer and alcohol in her, but all she wanted right now was to be back home. This wouldn’t have happened if they had stayed in Manila.
“I’m sorry,” Henry said, and he meant that, really. He had never seen her so upset, and he thought he had seen all the sides of his funny, bubbly friend. She was just trying so hard to make things work. To see her breaking down like this broke his heart.
“I wish I’d met you in Manila, Henry,” she said, looking up at him and then back to the empty space in the wall in front of the couch. “You and I would have been happier, maybe. I meant what I said to Carolyn before, you are my superhero. You’re the only thing keeping me here.”
Henry didn’t want to find out what she meant by that, but he knew that she didn’t mean it. She was just upset, that’s all. He had to keep his cool. They were just friends.
Henry sat in front of her and took her hand in a kind and friendly gesture. “You know that’s not true,” he said, kissing her forehead affectionately. This was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. He had wished so hard that Celia had met him just a little bit before she got married. She was right, maybe they would have been happier, him and her. But this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about his ‘what ifs’ and his silly dreams. This was about his friend coming to him for comfort. Henry would be damned if he wasn’t going to be a good friend. “You love Ben,” he reminded her gently. “You’ve already chosen him.”
“But—“
“But nothing. You still love him, Celia. You still don’t know the truth behind the text. You just have to get him to talk,” he said. He had never seen her cry before, so the tears in her eyes surprised him. He brushed them off quickly, though. She had to go to Ben. She had to find Ben.
“I’ll take you home,” Henry said, smiling and pulling her arm to get her off the chair. As he did, she threw her arms around him and held him so tightly that he was afraid she wouldn’t let go.
“Thank you Henry,” she whispered, kissing his cheek once. Then she was gone.
Like an alien, or maybe perhaps a superhero, Benedict crash landed into the nearest bar he could find. Heroes and comic book characters didn’t (usually) drink, but he felt like he had to. His brain and his mouth had to reconnect somehow and he had a vague idea that alcohol was going to fix it.
He wasn’t exactly ready for the redness though. The redness and the heat, that really got to him. Three beers later, his head was spinning and fuzzy. He found himself looking at Vivian, who didn’t seem to know if she should laugh or feel sorry for him. She looked all dolled and dressed up, her lips stained red like her dress. Ben wondered why it made him feel funny.
“Thank god you called me,” she said, sliding into the seat next to his. “I was in the middle of a really, really bad date. Oh, look at you. Ben,” she sighed, getting him a glass of water from the barman. “Asian Flush. Your body can’t process acetaldehyde that well.”
“Smarty pants,” he mumbled, sipping the water. “This isn’t vodka.”
“No it’s not,” Vivian said, clearly disappointed as she took off her earrings. She turned to Ben again, holding on to his shoulders like she was the only thing keeping him upright. “Now tell me why you called. Want to have dinner?”
“You. Your stupid text,” Ben said, shoving her off. He managed to stand somehow. God, he was dizzy. He was going to throw up at some point, he knew. He needed french fries. “You got me into this mess in the first place! I told you before. I LOVE CELIA. She’s my wife, and she may not be my wife in the other multiverses, but she is here! Can’t you just be happy that you and I are together in a parallel universe?”
Vivian looked at him like he had said something particularly ridiculous. She slid off her chair and kissed his forehead, making sure the red lipstick made a mark. “You’re drunk,” she concluded, wrinkling her nose. This was obviously not the first time Ben rejected her advances, she still didn’t know why. She was beautiful, clearly brilliant, and had a long history with Benedict. She had known him since he was an asthmatic little kid with scratches on his knees. He knew her when she had braces and ribbons in her hair. He had defended her from the bullies who called her ugly for having darker skin. But despite all of that, Ben, her sweet Ben still chose Celia Alix.
“You are making metaphysical speculations, Benedict. Multiverses,” she muttered under her breath as if the word itself was ridiculous. She moved closer to him, ignoring the way he e
yed her warily. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “And like most metaphysical speculations,” she whispered into his ear, quoting Oscar Wilde and kissing his other cheek. “Has very little reference at all to the actual facts of real life, as we know them.”
“Stop that,” Ben said, slipping from her hold, ducking out from under her. He scrambled away from her, nearly falling over as he scrubbed the lipstick off his cheeks. “Stop that.”
“You could stay with me,” she offered. “We could actually be happy.”
“I wouldn’t,” he answered, walking out of the bar, but not before leaving his money on the table. A true hero never leaves without paying the bill.
The next day, Celia woke up and walked across the street for a poppy seed bagel with cream cheese. She stopped by a Starbucks for an Iced Americano (because why not?) and walked the seven blocks down to Verdi Square. It was a Saturday, and she barely registered the sights around her. She managed not to see the flower shops setting up outside, the falafel carts pulling into their regular street corners or the children arriving at the park with their parents and nannies. She barely noticed the Chow chow that sniffed at her a little as they passed.
The city had taken a lot from her, maybe a little too much. She sat on a bench by herself and glared at her bagel as if staring at it would make her eat it faster. Her head throbbed slightly with a dull headache—she had slept badly last night. Someone had told her that a couple should never go to bed angry. Good to note that she wasn’t angry at Ben at all, more disappointed than anything. She wished that they had fought, at least she would know that they were fighting for each other, to stay together. Unless that wasn’t what Ben wanted anymore.
In the back of her mind (way, waaay back), she dreaded the idea of packing up everything again and coming back home with nothing but a divorce to her name. Celia could live with the move. She just wasn’t sure if she could live with herself if she did. If Ben wasn’t going to fight for her, then she might as well be the one to kick and scream until he did. Grabbing her phone to call him, Celia took a deep breath.
Then Ben sat right next to her with a bagel of his own. She didn’t even look surprised anymore. Think about someone enough, they appear.
“Ready to talk now?” she asked, trying hard not to look at him. To look at him would make her heart melt and forget why she was upset. Celia needed to hold on to her anger for just a little longer, enough to find out the truth.
“Vivian’s in love with me,” Ben said as a matter of fact. “She can’t seem to take no for an answer.”
Celia looked at her bagel again. She wished she ordered salmon to go with it. The frown on her face deepened a little. Her brain was still processing his explanation, but her hand was already holding his. They watched the world pass by in front of them in silence. Slowly her disappointment faded, her anger vanished as something else set in. Pain. Like she was about to lose something important.
“Don’t go,” Ben whispered, and Celia could swear she had already heard that before, so many times before, like…like something was about to happen.
“We can be happy here, can’t we?” She asked him, actually smiling a little. “New York is beautiful.”
“We will, we will,” he repeated, holding her hand like she was actually drifting away. “Celia, you…I love you. Don’t go.”
It was like they both knew. They both knew that this wasn’t the world that they belonged in. This wasn’t the universe that this Celia and this Ben were supposed to have together. Yes, they would be happy in New York City. They would laugh and have their bagels and sunflowers, adopt a St. Bernard and have ten crazy kids in New York, come home to Manila whenever they could with boxes and boxes of Spam and Cookie Butter, but it wouldn’t be this Ben and this Celia. Their time was up. The dreams were ending.
“I love you too,” Celia said. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes as the world around them flashed in a bright light and promptly disappeared forever.
As they moved through the spaces of their multiverses, Celia returned to that moment in time. The one where she stood in the hallway with the white rose in her hand and the sun burned everything in her vision. She felt her heart break when she realized that Ben wasn’t coming. She took a deep, calming breath, trying to remain strong as her feet threatened to give out from underneath her. She tossed aside her ugly white rose like it had pricked her and willed herself not to cry, running away from the sad scene like it burned her. Celia’s heartbeat throbbed in her ears as she ran, running until she saw him waiting by his car, biting his nail like a little boy in a soft grey shirt and folded slim cut jeans. It was like he knew that she would need him to be there, at that exact moment.
Finally she let go of the boy who never showed up, tears streaming down her cheeks as her best friend looked up at her.
“Have you…have you been waiting long?” she asked.
“A little bit, but it’s okay,” he answered, letting her bury her face into his chest for a hug. “I’m here.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
MANILA
WHEN CELIA regained her bearings, she found herself sitting on the toilet. She was still wearing her Maid-of-Honor gown, her feet were sore and she was slightly sweating. She was at the wedding reception. She vaguely remembered Vivian and Ben getting married, Henry holding her as she cried. She recalled speaking to Ben before the wedding, hugging Vivian before she walked down the aisle.
Her mind flashed with memories she wasn’t quite sure were her own, yellow weddings, someone arriving at the last moment. She remembered her dreams of walking down Hongdae with Ben, giggling in Regent Street with Vivian and seeing the Sunflowers with Henry in MoMA. She dreamed about Ben begging her not to go, and light flashing around them both. Were those just dreams?
“Hija, are you okay?” her mother’s voice called from the other side of the bathroom stall. “You’ve been sitting there for a while. Vivian sent me to look for you, do you need ibuprofen?”
“I’m okay, Ma,” Celia answered, emerging from the stall with her shoes between her fingers and her clutch under her arm. Her makeup was vigorously scrubbed off, leaving her cheeks red. Her hair had untangled at some point in the evening, and she was left with a thick, sticky mess spilling down her back. Celia was pretty sure she looked like a mess, but she felt perfectly fine with that. She saw herself in the mirror. There was something that she was sure wasn’t there before. Wisdom, perhaps, from an experience she couldn’t remember. It was like a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. The typhoon had passed, and the skies had cleared. Like she had gone so far away, but in such little time, she didn’t know if it was real.
Real or not, Celia was ready. Somewhere out there, she had to believe she and Ben were happy. So now, it was time for her to find her happiness here. She didn’t deserve to just pine and dream of things that she didn’t belong in. She was entitled to her own happiness just as much as Vivian and Ben did.
She walked into the reception hall, and had to stumble backwards a little in surprise. There were white roses everywhere. Among the pale pink linen and the gold-rimmed crystal glasses, Vivian had insisted on having white roses placed everywhere, hanging from the crystal chandeliers, floating with the candles in the vases. The only color seemed to come from the soft purple gels of the lighting. It was beautiful, romantic, and so elegant. It suited her best friend so well. The roses no longer mocked or scorned her, they welcomed her into the scene of the wedding, inviting her to kick off her heels and dance. Celia sighed and relaxed. Reality was waiting, and she wasn’t so angry or scared anymore.
Still without her footwear, Celia hobbled (because how else did anyone walk with aching feet?) over to the presidential table, where Ben saw her immediately. He smiled at her like he knew what she was thinking. She walked over to him and patted him on the shoulder. Something secret had passed between them, and they both knew they would never talk about it again. She would be happier knowing that somewhere out there
, she and Ben had an ending. Now she could go and find her own here.
“Wanna dance, my friend?” He asked her, and she nodded. She tossed her purse and shoes under her seat and took his hand. They were playing her favorite song, and they danced like they were the only ones in the room. Ben was the master of awkward dance moves, and Celia kept up with him step for step. As they both spun around at the chorus, they laughed like it was the best thing they did all day. Ben smiled and kissed her cheek, swaying slightly with her as the music slowed down. Things between them were just like they used to be, easy, fun, and without consequence. Something had fixed them, something that changed around them, and neither of them could explain it. Their strange dreams left them, like gaps in the universes had finally closed. Ben smiled at Celia and winked at her, and they never spoke about those dreams again.
While Ben and Celia tore up the dance floor with the most awkward dance moves known to man, Vivian snuck up on Henry standing behind one of the rose towers with a plate of food like he was stealing it. Sit down meals never were his thing anyway, and he hid behind the rose towers for a moment of peace from Ben’s aunts calling him ‘cutie pie.’ He had jumped at the sight of the bride, nearly spilling his drink all over her dress. One would think that the bride would be the least conspicuous person in the room at the moment. Once she had successfully surprised the best man, Vivian picked up the mini crab cake on his plate and popped it in her mouth.
“Really?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I haven’t eaten all day,” she pointed out with a shrug, nibbling now on his ceviche.
“Shall I fetch you a drink, your highness?” Henry asked, raising an eyebrow at her. Vivian rolled her eyes and stopped picking off food from his plate. She noticed he was watching Ben and Celia dance, his eyes trained particularly on Celia. Vivian actually laughed and took his flute of champagne, finishing it in one swallow.
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