A Stef in the Right Direction: Chapter 3

Stephanie never expected her unassuming, long-distance virtual boyfriend Timothy to just show up unannounced, especially since they had an entire ocean between them. But he was in her city now, whether she was ready for it or not, and she would have to figure out what she really wanted in life… among other things like kissing, flirting, and what not to wear on dates.

Click here to read Chapter 2.

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I realized I found two things actually therapeutic: Andrea’s voice, and window shopping.

Andrea talked non-stop in the mall that afternoon. But it was fine, because her voice had that forgettable quality, kind of like elevator music that just droned on unobtrusively in the background. I think she was trying to get me to talk more about my encounter with Timothy, but my answers weren’t ready yet. I mean, she’s definitely going to grill me about why I ran and what I’m planning to do next, and heaven help me, I don’t frickin’ know.

So I kept to myself, and she kept to herself, too. Mostly.

Window shopping was likewise relaxing, especially because I was with Andrea. I didn’t have to do any thinking. We’d just go inside a store, she’d rummage through the piles in the clearance section, I’d try them on, and then we’d leave. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Her fashion choices were atrocious, but I had the heart not to tell her. Seriously, tattered jeans? Gladiator sandals? Flower crowns? Would you really trust someone you’re doing business with if they’re wearing that?

But as long as I dutifully put on the clothes she picked out, she left me alone, so that was what I did. She cooed like I was an adorable baby and I let her, because that was the path of least resistance. I did threaten to end our friendship when she whipped out her phone for some photos, though. She sheepishly put it back in her bag, and we continued on.

It didn’t really sink in how long we’d been walking around until we finally sat down for some coffee. It was past five, people were starting to flock to the mall, and my feet hurt like hell.

“Stef? Earth to Stef. Helloooooo.” Andrea waved her hand in front of my face. “Houston, we have a problem.”

“No, we do not.” I sighed. “I do. I still don’t know what to do.”

She looked at me with interest. “Is that what you’ve been thinking about all this time?”

I nodded. Hours of introspection, and I still had no clue what to do next. The bomb in my bag was still waiting to explode, and I wasn’t sure who had the detonator.

“Okay, what if… let’s think of this as a work problem. You have a client, say a Mrs. A, who you’ve getting along spectacularly well. You feel you’re ready to close the deal, so you arrange a meeting. You show up at the designated place, but you come too early because you’re too excited. Then for some reason, Mrs. A refuses to meet with you. What would you do?”

“I’d call her.”

“And if her phone’s busy?”

“I’d keep calling.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as it takes until she picks up the phone and comes out to meet me.”

Andrea grinned. “And why, pray tell, would you go through all the trouble? Why not just pack up and leave?”

“Because I didn’t invest my time and attention and resources and go all that way just to be rejected—“

“EXACTLY!” Andrea whooped, nearly knocking off our coffee from the table. Her grin was wider than ever, she was eyeing me expectantly, and I felt like I was missing something.

“… So?”

She rolled her eyes. “So? Well, don’t you think that, maybe, Timothy’s feeling the same way?”

Oh, right. We were talking about Timothy.

And then it dawned on me, like someone had turned a key somewhere in my head and the gears started spinning. Oh my gosh, what have I done? Timothy came all this way to see me, but I didn’t even bother to meet him and tell him to just come back later because I wasn’t ready. How many hours had it been? Had he been camping out in front of the complex? Did he have anything to eat or drink, or was he dying of dehydration and it was all my fault?

Panic (or something like it) must’ve started to show on my face because Andrea picked up the menu and started fanning me.

“I’m going home,” I announced suddenly, sliding out of my seat. My coffee cup was still half-full, but I didn’t feel like finishing it.

“Uh, we’re still talking about Timothy?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’m tired, okay? I’m going home.”

Andrea looked at me incredulously, like I’d grown a second head with snakes for hair. I knew most days I was pretty hard to figure out, but some days I was downright moody and generally impossible to deal with. This was one of those days, apparently, judging by the way my best friend’s expression transformed from disbelief to irritation. She did that on my impossible days, though I never faulted her for it. Because on such days, I didn’t even understand myself.

“Fine.” She was pouting now, and I refused to look at her, pretending to rummage through the stuff in my bag. Not that there was anything much to rummage through. I was a self-professed neat freak and minimalist guru, so all I really had in my bag was my coin purse, card case, wallet for bills, compact powder, lip gloss, perfume, notebook, red pen, blue pen, black pen, yellow highlighter, laptop, mouse, mousepad, tablet, cellphone, and house keys.

“Andrea—”

She was sulking now. She chewed on the straw of her frappe, most likely trying to come up with the most creative string of expletives to unleash on me… but she was probably too mad, because all she said was, “You suck.” I tried not to smile.

“Thanks for saving me today. See you tomorrow.”

Still sulking. “You’re always like that. You run away from the things that matter most. When will you ever learn?”

I gave her the paper bag I’d been carrying, managing not to let her words get to me. At least for now. “I love you.”

“You should be telling him that!” She looked like she wanted to tear her hair and claw her eyes out. She was frustration and irritation and pity rolled into one, and I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or cry.

I chose to laugh.

—

I took a cab, as I always did, back to my home. Or at least it was what I called home now. I moved out of my parents’ as soon as I graduated from uni, and I did so by accepting a job offer from a company in the capital. It was a big risk, but the opportunity had so many perks that I would’ve been crazy to refuse, including the chance to show off to the family. I’d grown tired of being the least important sister.

The rest, as they say, was history. I had to provide for my family, but I figured out I could do so while climbing up the steep and deadly corporate ladder. So I did just that, and learned to be independent in more ways than one.

When I had to move back to my hometown and to a surprisingly greener pasture, I could no longer quit the solitary living. I’d become drawn to the freedom it offered, and it was one thing that I didn’t have to share with my sisters. So instead of moving back to my parents’ — it wasn’t like they missed me — I chose a place in the heart of the city, and made plans to eventually purchase my own condo unit.

The apartment complex was strategically located near one of the city’s business districts. The nearest mall was a five-minute walk, and across the street was a bakeshop, a convenience store, a drugstore and a karenderia with surprisingly good food. It was pretty new and rather posh, like its owner decided to compete head-on with the condominiums nearby. It had a guard, a lobby with cable television, and a total of five floors.

My unit was on the fifth floor, and while I wish I had a view to die for, I didn’t. The complex unfortunately fronted a squatters’ area. If you looked out the window, you would see dilapidated houses packed together like sardines, clotheslines crisscrossing like laser beams with various garments (undergarments included) hanging from them, and naked children playing in the rain. That’s why I always had my curtains down.

And my space? It was pretty… small. Just enough for a one-person bathroom, a one-person kitchen, a one-person storage cabinet (food, clothes, your call), a one-person bed, and one visitor’s chair.

But what mattered was that it was mine. Or at least, I could think of it as mine.

I flopped down on my bed face first, right into the puddle of clothes I’d left that morning. I would have to iron them again later, but I was too tired to care. What I had to figure out, and soon, was what to do with Timothy.

I suddenly sat up. Timothy. I’d been too engrossed with coming up with an action plan that I didn’t realize that he hadn’t been waiting for me in the lobby earlier. He didn’t leave a message for me either, or else the guard would’ve told me when I arrived. So he must’ve left without a fuss, and I’d been overthinking.

I laughed, and heartily this time, utterly amused with myself. Stupid, crazy Stef. How typical of me to get myself all tangled up with things that I never really had to worry about in the first place. I laughed until my stomach hurt, and I remembered how Andrea punched me and yelled for help and how people actually believed her, and I laughed some more.

Calming down, I reached for my bag and took out my phone. I’d turned it off for nearly the whole day, I was starting to worry that I might’ve missed many important messages. Not just from the office, but from my other clients — I also did consultancy work for startups on the side, which was actually very easy work to do. I mean, the market’s teeming with entrepreneur wannabes with ideas that would never work, and guess what, they were ready to pay people who would listen to them. That I could do in my sleep.

I was almost myself again, when the inevitable happened.

My phone rang.