July 14, 2008, 9:08 pm
I agree. Nobody deserves to be at the losing end of the in-between stage. Nobody. Especially not you, Chrissy. —N.
July 14, 2008, 9:25 pm
Okay, I’m sorry for that comment a few minutes ago. I hope you understand; I mean no harm. I would never want to cause trouble for you. But I really think you deserve to be happy, and I think you deserve so much more than what you are being given now: clichéd gestures and six months of waiting. This will sound pushy and arrogant, and you will probably tell me to take a crash course in subtlety, but I know somebody who wants to be with you now, not later—me. And based on experience (that lovely conversation we had over dinner the other night, in fact), I think you may want the same thing too. —N.
July 14, 2008, 9:32 pm
Last post for today, I promise: Yes, Chrissy, I’m back for good. And I’m not Nathan. —Nico
Nico. Nico is the secret admirer. Not Nathan. I think I finally have an idea what I’m in trouble for, and for once in my life, I’m not sure I want to know.
What I’m sure of is that this is turning out to be a really bad idea. Because the moment when I actually decided to do something about my lack of problems was the moment when all the REAL problems started pouring into my supposedly boring existence. And the moral of this story (which for novelty’s sake shall be provided to you before I even begin telling the story; awesome, I know), is that when you are lucky enough not to have any problems, you should actually also be smart enough to keep it that way. Don’t create problems just because you have nothing better to do with your life—do the world a favor and go sign up to save the dolphins, or plant a tree in your backyard, or take up cross-stitching or something. In other words, don’t go looking for trouble. Because you won’t find it—but it sure as hell will slowly, sneakily come to get your sorry little ass.
Rule number 3:
Know their strengths
and weaknesses.
Let me explain, and let me explain by re-introducing myself. My name is Chrisanta Carmela Legaspi. Most people call me Chrissy. I’ve had my heart broken by the occasional guy who won’t like me back, but have never harbored a grudge and have always believed that true love is worth the wait. I have two best friends: Anna, who’s smart and sarcastic but secretly a softie, and Rickie, who’s tall and slim and gorgeous and absolutely aware of it. I used to have another best friend—the first guy who broke my heart, although I’d like to believe he didn’t mean to. My childhood best friend and I were inseparable; he was two years older, but because I had always been “responsible” and “mature” for my age, we got along perfectly. We talked about movies we both liked, exchanged books and CDs, played basketball, bugged our dads to buy us ice cream on Saturdays, and helped our moms do the groceries on Sundays (our parents were the best of friends as well). At that time, I did not have a concrete concept of crushes yet, but I knew I didn’t like it when he spent Friday afternoons with Rebecca, a girl in his class who had shoulder-length silky locks, eyelashes that would automatically bat themselves at anything male that moved, and the longest legs I had ever seen on a fourteen-year-old. He moved to the States, leaving me devastated, a few days after I graduated from grade school and he finished his sophomore year in high school. We tried to keep in touch at first, but the letters became shorter, the phone calls fewer, and our worlds farther apart. Nico never promised to return, and I have never taken this against him. But I think deep down, I have always been waiting.
So when he called me several days ago, telling me he was in town and asking if I wanted to meet up, I did not have to think twice. Having secured my parents’ permission the previous day, he drove me to a Thai restaurant nestled in the heart of Tagaytay; he would only be back for a couple of weeks, he explained, and did not want anyone to see him and demand to know why he didn’t announce his return. “I don’t get that,” he had said, “How do you proclaim ‘I’m back!’ without sounding like a self-absorbed dude who expects people to rejoice at the sight of him?” I thought to myself, “But I did rejoice at the sight of you. At least I have you all to myself now.” And I understood that everything would remain between us, that I wouldn’t tell anyone that the love of my life was visiting. Because telling people would bring me back to reality—that he was just visiting, and that I was never the love of his life.
“So,” he said, once the waiter had taken our orders, “what have you been up to? Did you miss me?”
“Not really,” I replied. And it was true. It wasn’t like I had been holed up in my room pining for him the entire two and a half years he was away. I had been preoccupied with other things—school and extra-curriculars and my family and friends and Nathan. Oh shit, Nathan, I thought. I considered texting him to tell him where I was and who I was with, but what was I supposed to say? Hey, Nathan, what’s up, I’m alone with Nico at a secluded restaurant in Tagaytay? Probably not the smartest idea. I was aware that if I were in Nathan’s position, I would have been annoyed, maybe even hurt. I was aware that Nathan was a great guy, that he was a reliable Student Council treasurer, and that he opened doors for me, and smiled at babies, and loved art, and wrote me poetry, and painted a beautiful sunset scene for my bedroom, and gave my mom flowers on Valentine’s Day, and talked to my dad about politics and the economy, and played game after game of Mario Kart with Justin. That given the right circumstances, what we had could be permanent. But I pushed all of that to the furthest, most unreachable corner of my mind by thinking, He’s not my boyfriend anyway. I was also aware that Nico and I had long ago stopped being a part of each other’s lives, and that it would take more than a short visit and a romantic dinner date to make things right, to re-establish the connection and restore whatever was lost. I was also aware that Nico would be leaving again, soon. That no matter what I said or did, what we had was temporary. But once more, I pushed all of that away and thought, But he’s back now. Here. With me.
Nico grinned at me. He probably thought I was kidding. “Well,” he said, “I missed you. Terribly.”
I tried to ignore the funny feeling at the pit of my stomach. I also attempted to avert his gaze, but he was so near and we were so far away from everyone else. “You certainly did an excellent job at hiding it.”
To that, he actually laughed. “Come on,” he said, staring right at me, his eyes insistent—close to pleading—despite the nervous burst of laughter. “You stopped writing, too.”
He had a point. “Okay,” I said.
“Okay what?”
“Okay, forget what I said.” An awkward pause hung over us until I realized I had to change the subject. “Hey, guess what. I have an online advice column.”
“That sounds cool,” he said, inspecting the handle of his fork. Looking back, I think I should have been suspicious of the lack of interest and enthusiasm on his part. But at that moment, I did not notice a thing.
“It is,” I told him. “I’ve been getting tons of mail. You won’t believe how many people in our school have love problems.” I said ‘love problems’ like they were shallow and trivial and completely beneath me. “And, I have a secret admirer. But it’s not a real secret admirer. Si Nathan lang pala.” Si Nathan lang pala. I felt like I was betraying Nathan by saying that, and I wanted to take it back to prove that I knew where my loyalty was supposed to lie, but Nico was already asking, “Are you sure it’s him?”
“Duh,” I rolled my eyes. “Of course I am. He calls himself ‘N’. He denies it all the time, but basta, I know it’s him. Who else would it be?”
Nico nodded. “So, you and Nathan...?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, no. I mean, yes and no. I don’t know.”
“There’s something?”
“I think so.”
“But it’s not official?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why is it not official?”
“Because,” I said lamely. It dawned on me that I had never really
thought about why it wasn’t official. “It’s just not, alright. Let’s just talk about something else.”
And we did. We talked about how fast-paced his days were in the States, and how he had missed the relative calm of his life here. We talked about Rebecca, and how they had broken up when he saw photos of her getting drunk at a party with another guy sometime last year (why she was stupid enough to post them online, I will never know). We talked about how it hadn’t really been working between them anyway, how he had always felt like he was being shut out of everything that was important to her, how he had stopped believing in long distance relationships since. We talked about my college plans and his career plans. We talked about how he often remembered me—in ice cream parlors and on Sunday mornings and every time he heard Rilo Kiley on the radio—but figured telling me so would be pointless because there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He did not ask me about Nathan. I did not ask him when exactly he was leaving, or why he was even back.
The ride home was quick and quiet. He took my hand without the slightest tinge of hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it was something he had always been meaning to do. Like he had never been gone. I didn’t have to lean forward and stare at my painted fingernails for him to get the hint. I didn’t even have to wait. He knew. I guess he always had.
I know now, of course, what I have to do: talk to Nathan. I know there are two options available—to lie and tell him it meant nothing, or to be honest and tell him it affected everything. I also know that, when it all boils down to something, there are only two choices—him or Nico. I have always been the kind of person who knows what she wants. As a kid, I knew I liked purple more than pink, I knew I liked my books more than my dolls, and I knew I didn’t like the Disney princes because they were so much prettier than the princesses. When I entered high school, I knew I didn’t want to join the glee club because I didn’t want to embarrass myself during the auditions, and I knew my goal was to get good grades and graduate with honors. I have always known that I don’t like alcohol and cigarettes, and I have never allowed myself to be swayed. I have always known my family is the most precious thing in my life, and I have never thought otherwise.
But at this moment, I do not know what I want. I cannot even make a list of the pros and cons of being with Nathan versus being with Nico, because who they are and what they mean to me are already starting to blend into each other, the edges and boundaries blurring into a massive wad of indecision that I will never fully grasp. I know a million girls would sell their souls to be in my position (poor Chrissy, two hot boys are fighting over her, boohoo), but this situation is something I wouldn’t wish on even the most pathetically lonely person in the world. Because it is easy and logical enough to decide between what is right or wrong, or what your mind is saying versus what your heart is feeling—but how do you decide between two things you value in a similar manner and an almost equal amount? It is simple enough to let go of the past in favor of the present, but now that Nico is back and I realize that I am genuinely thrilled about it, I don’t know where that leaves Nathan. I don’t know where that leaves me.
And so I set aside the question of What I Want to make way for What I Have to Do. Because I am a good girl, and that’s what good girls do.
Nathan picks up on the first ring. I expect him to be angry, I expect him to start bombarding me with questions about Nico and Tagaytay, I expect disappointed silence all over again. But he just says, with enough sincerity and vulnerability to douse me with guilt, “Hey. I’ve been waiting for you to call.”
My mouth feels dry. “I’m sorry,” I tell him.
He doesn’t tell me it’s okay, and I feel even guiltier because “it’s okay” is precisely what I’m hoping to hear. I’d even settle for, “it’ll be okay,” anything to indicate that he understands I never meant for this to happen. How could I have planned this, when I wasn’t even conscious of my more-than-friendly feelings for Nico, when all of this has been bubbling barely beneath the surface but I was too wrapped up in a blissful six months of dating my long-time crush that the thought of liking someone else didn’t even cross my mind? If it was imperative for him to blame somebody, I wanted him to blame Nico—because based on the twisted logic of teenage romance, blaming the third party and choosing to overlook everything else meant you were willing to put up a fight to save the relationship, or whatever was left of it. Because ultimately, it meant you were willing to forgive, to forget. To stay. Instead, he asks me, “When did we start lying to each other?”
I almost try to correct him: technically, I never lied to him. I just withheld the truth, because I knew it would make things messy. Besides, I didn’t know Nico was back for good; technically, it was supposed to be a harmless visit. And technically, I shouldn’t even be apologizing for wanting to catch up with an old friend. But there are too many technicalities lodging themselves in the space between us, too much sadness in his voice and too little remorse in mine. I try to distract him by answering his question with, “I promise I will never lie to you again.”
I’m not sure he believes me, and I am suddenly consumed by the pressure to prove that this is not entirely my fault. I am suddenly overcome with a terrible case of defensiveness, and I feel I have to protect myself somehow. The rules of my relationship with Nathan had never been very clear in the first place, and I have a right to change my mind, don’t I? I have a right to rearrange our dynamics—to ask him to re-adjust his feelings for me, to tuck them away in a safe spot and bring them out in the open again only when we finally figure things out. Somewhere within me, a monster rears its ugly head and whispers, it’s not your problem he’s so easily replaceable. And I think I need time and space away from this stifling idea of “us” that is yet to be more than an idea. I think I need time and space away from him. So I take a deep breath and add, “But I cannot promise to stop seeing Nico.”
This, apparently, he can believe right away. He puts down the phone. And gives me all the time and space I want.
It is a Friday afternoon, and Anna, Rickie, and I are hanging out in Anna’s boyfriend Miguel’s newly-renovated living room. Anna puts up her flip-flops-clad feet on the coffee table, and Miguel looks at her and says, “Dude. Your feet are gross.” They giggle about it—an inside joke, obviously, because I can’t see what’s funny about gross feet. Rickie pretends to gag. I smile at Anna to show that I’m happy for her, because I truly am. She and Miguel have been a couple for less than a month, and everything is new and fun and exciting. I wonder when I will ever experience anything like that again.
Miguel steps out to refill our glasses with iced tea, and the girls start grilling me. “What are you doing to Nathan?” Rickie asks. I hate that she puts him on a pedestal, that she automatically assumes I’m the one facilitating all this drama, pulling the strings and cackling from up above. Anna takes a less hostile approach: “I read the comments. What were you doing with Nico?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know what I’m doing to Nathan. I don’t know what I was doing with Nico. I don’t know what I’m doing.” And then I burst into tears and allow myself to be enveloped in hugs and hasty apologies and assurances that I’m not a horrible person.
When my bawling has subsided (let’s just say it was loud enough for Miguel to come running back into the room, and Anna had to shake her head at him to make him mumble some excuse about picking up his mom’s dry-cleaning before making his exit), I say, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys about Nico.”
They look at each other. Rickie opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again. Anna asks, “Why didn’t you?”
“He said he was just visiting, that he didn’t want other people to find out he was here.”
“Oh,” Rickie says. “Okay.”
I know what that “oh, okay” meant. It meant, I so want to knock some sense into you, but now’s not the right time because you’re all upset and kawawa. Maybe later. I feel I have to explain further, because
if even my best friends in the world don’t see my side of the story, how am I supposed to dodge all the rumors about to come my way? It’s been two days since my last conversation with Nathan, and my inbox is already being flooded by curious readers. Some pretend to be asking legitimate questions: I’m torn between two guys. They’re both cute and smart and talented and desperately devoted to me. How should I choose between them? On second thought, why should I choose between them? Do I even have to choose at all? Some express care and concern: You haven’t been replying for days. Is there anything wrong? Maybe this time, we can be the ones to help you. Some, perhaps unable to control their excitement over such juicy gossip, opt for the direct and painfully tactless route: So. Nathan or Nico? Whomever you end up dumping, akin na lang. I’ll be waiting. Great. Just great. Maybe I should simply flip a coin and get this over with.
“I like Nathan,” I tell Rickie.
“I know,” she replies. She looks over at Anna, as if she were asking for permission to continue. Anna shrugs. Rickie says, carefully and almost apologetically, “But you also like Nico.”
“I do,” I say. Blame it on my good girl upbringing, or on my parents who are very much in love and completely content with each other—but this Nathan-Nico dilemma strikes me as a bit absurd. How is it possible to like two boys at the same time? I want to slap myself back to reality. It hits me now that I am actually part of a real live love triangle, and to think I have never even believed in love triangles. For me, it goes like this: You are attracted to one person, period. If you’re lucky, he ends up being into you, too. And if someone else on the outside likes you, then that’s his problem because he is not even part of the equation. There are only two points, and they can either intersect (it works out and you live happily ever after) or remain parallel to one another (it doesn’t work out and you go your separate ways, blaming one another for your miserable existence). There is no third point, and there are no three sides. There is no freakin’ triangle formed.
Every Girl's Guide to Boys Page 2
