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  I don't mind working from the ground up again.

  I napped at five pm and had a dream about the interview. So annoying. Roxie had called and sent messages during that time, but I didn't return them. I woke up four hours later and headed to the gym for my run, still annoyed.

  A downside of my stint abroad is my career has plateaued but I don't mind paying my dues and earning my spot on the corporate ladder again.

  I set my treadmill program to include a sprint, and I was running my rage out within minutes. So many things I could have said! I was usually so much better at job interviews than that. I should have practiced. Roxie scheduled this too soon; I wasn't ready.

  When the thirty-minute program ended I started it up again, but it wasn’t enough. I needed to beat myself up some more. And I sprinted.

  Eventually I became aware of him, of course Ethan, sitting on the bench usually used by the people lifting weights. Except he was still in his standard office outfit and was just looking straight ahead, at his reflection on the huge mirrored wall I was facing.

  "Oh my god," I said. "How long have you been there?"

  "Middle of your sprint."

  "My first or my second?"

  "I didn’t see your first. Why are you angry?"

  "Oh my god. You should have said something."

  "You were obviously deep in thought. Do you want to go out and get something?"

  "But you haven’t started yet."

  Ethan shifted his legs, bringing his feet and his leather shoes closer to the bench. "I don’t work out every day. Just so you know. What do you want to eat?"

  "Meat," I said, pouting. "And onions. Something really obnoxious and smelly."

  We ended up at the kebab place, right in the business park. They served crazy large sticks of grilled meat with onions, tomatoes and cucumbers. I told him about the interview as we worked on dividing the meat from the single skewer we ordered.

  "So. I screwed up, didn’t I?" I said.

  He shrugged. "You didn’t want the job to begin with."

  "But I needed it."

  "You say you do."

  "I just really have a problem with saying things the right way, you know. It’s like there’s a version in my head, and maybe it’s not the right thing to say."

  "But it’s the truth, isn’t it? Why would it not be the right thing? I mean, ultimately."

  "Because it doesn’t get me what I want. If I just told people what they wanted, I’d get what I needed, arggg."

  "Are you regretting screwing up because there’s a possibility you would have stayed? If the job had been worth it?"

  "I don’t want to think about it."

  "You’ll feel better. Scenario A. You get the job and you hate it. What happens after two and a half months?"

  "I leave."

  "So you would have pretended—lied—about being in this for the long-term, accept their offer, and then leave anyway."

  "I have a plan."

  "Scenario B. You get the job and you like it. Then?"

  "I leave."

  "Wait—what? Even if you like it?"

  "I said I have a plan." I was starting to act all sulky, but I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t done beating myself up over it yet. "Scenario C, FYI, is this one, right now, wherein I don’t get the job and I’m eating grilled onion to punish myself. Welcome to Scenario C."

  "This is good," he said, as he chewed his grilled beef. "Remind me one day to tell you what I really think about this interview thing."

  "You won’t tell me now?"

  "Not right now, no."

  "Fine."

  My phone rang, and that happened so rarely recently that I was concerned, and then was tempted to ignore it. But the caller ID showed that it was Allie in Singapore. I motioned to Ethan that I was going to take it.

  "Allie babe," I said.

  "So very sorry to be calling you at this hour." Her voice was different across the seas, for some reason. For a long time she was the closest friend I had, but I hadn’t actually spoken to her since I got back. One of the things that tended to happen when we both made the trip back home; we kind of skipped catching up with each other, taking for granted that we’d see each other again once it was all over. "But I forgot to tell you that my credit card’s due this week and I’ll need your share for the drinks."

  "Right, of course. I’ll send it tonight." Right before I left, we had a going-away margarita party and invited our friends. We used Allie’s credit card for it but I promised to pay half. "How are you? How’s the new flatmate?"

  Ethan looked away and checked his own phone, but he smiled when he heard me say "flat" again. I raised an eyebrow at him, which he saw through his peripheral vision too and made him stifle a laugh.

  "She’s weird," Allie was saying. "Twice as weird as you."

  "Great, thank you."

  "I don’t know. I just got nostalgic all of a sudden. I don’t think I can talk to her like we used to talk about things, you know? And then when I offered to buy her dinner she said no thanks. Who says no to free dinner?"

  "She probably thinks you’re so needy."

  "Well she’s antisocial."

  I knew Allie, and she was a little clingy. But she was fun, and she enjoyed company, and was probably responsible for half of anything happy I’d remember from my time there. "Is something wrong?" I asked, shifting gears as easily as if I’d been there in the flat with her, arriving from the train ride and quick walk from work. No matter how long or crappy my day had been, I never really wanted to burden anyone with it. Allie and her daily little dramas always made me feel in control of my life, for some reason. "Why do you feel the need to buy a new friend?"

  "Shit, I’m really sorry for doing this to you. I just need...do you have time?"

  "If it’s for your sanity? I don’t think my friend will mind," I said, tapping his wrist. He sort of shrugged in that universal sign of "it’s okay" and peeked at me periodically between phone scrolling.

  And Allie launched into that continuing narrative of the evil ex, the confusing current boyfriend, the monster boss. She was aware though that she was making an overseas phone call and gave me an abbreviated version, speaking nearly at twice the speed. Ethan could hear snippets of this and stopped pretending that he wasn’t listening.

  "You can’t call him," I said, finally, once Allie stopped to breathe. "I’m not there to stop you but I swear I’ll get the weird flatmate to watch you if I have to."

  "I knew you were going to say that," Allie said.

  "Are you going to stay strong?"

  "You’ll find out, I guess. I miss you, Moi. And I can’t keep this on for too long."

  "Good luck, Allie."

  The phone was warm against my face when the call ended, and I was glad to be able to put it down.

  "Crisis averted?" Ethan asked.

  "Maybe not," I said. "Allie over there? She has a thing for attention and recognition. She will work for low pay if you give her an award or something. She hates it when she gets bypassed for things. And when a guy who has already broken her heart starts texting again, she can’t help but want more of it." As a friend, I learned that all she needed was for me to listen when she was like this, and true enough, living with her became so much easier.

  "Do you do this? Figure out people’s ‘things’?"

  So I probably revealed more than I should have. It could come off as creepy, out of context. "Only if I have to."

  "Have you figured me out already?"

  I shook my head. "Not enough information."

  Ethan did the same. "I just realized that I can’t do what you’ve done. Live with strangers. This is too much interaction for me."

  "I don’t know, I think you’re doing fine so far." I said that without thinking much about it, thinking that Ethan was holding on to his loner badge too tightly as a matter of pride. Instinctively I wanted to make him feel that he didn’t need to.

  But wait, that was me trying to figure him out.

  He
was right though, it could get exhausting, and my own day’s failure crept back up again. The meat, and conversation, and Allie diversion hadn’t taken it away.

  -///-

  When Ethan and I got back to Tower 3 from post-gym dinner, we'd ride the elevator together. He would always go in on my right side, and then he'd be on my left when we turned around to watch the floors light up. When it came up to the ninth floor, he would turn slightly to his right, toward me, and give a slight, polite nod. Then he would step out onto his floor.

  So after kebabs, same thing. My mind was busy, I had to admit, still going over the interview and the many other things I could have said. Should have said. Still kicking myself over the inability to articulate my plan in a way that other people could understand. Was it me? Or everyone else? Maybe it was me.

  I almost missed it when the elevator reached the ninth floor—and Ethan didn't step out. I didn't catch if he looked at me, or nodded, or did anything else. The next thing I knew, the doors were closing, and the steel box slid up to tenth, and he was still inside.

  Hmm.

  Are you lost? Do you need directions? Do you need to borrow something?

  Things I could have said, should have said maybe, but was lost in the cloud in my head. Instead, I just started walking. Turned right into the hallway that led to 10J. And he fell into step beside me.

  The hallway wasn't very long. But I felt each step.

  I'll say something when we get to the door, I told myself. Like, Do you want to come in?

  I pushed my key into the lock and then turned to him, about to say whatever, but it was a sentence that immediately disintegrated. He was so close. Just there. I was still trying to get the words back but his lips were already on mine.

  I was like, screw words. So I kissed him.

  It had been a while, for me. I didn't have time to think about this, didn't plan if I should play it coy, mysterious, or casual. I just—I kissed him. I went for it. Like a girl who really wanted to be kissed.

  And what that led to was my least coordinated kiss ever, a jumble of lips and intentions, each one half a beat out of sync. I wanted to laugh. It was a little funny.

  I thought he was about to do just that when he pulled back. Make a joke about this, comment about kebab breath.

  But instead he paused, and his hands came up to cradle my face.

  "Just let it happen," he said, whispered almost.

  Our lips touched again, whisper-light first. A gentle sweep of his tongue and my lips parted, and took, and gave. It was that until it wasn't as gentle, and wasn't as light, and I was straining against him and out of breath. This was nothing to joke about.

  This was a great kiss. I didn't want it to end, but we couldn't live with lips fused together. I had to, like, sleep, and eat, and talk again at some point. Not now though. And when I thought it wouldn't get any better, his mouth sort of swooped down and took the last of my conscious thought with it...and then disengaged. So softly that I was aware of it only when I felt the air against my lips again.

  The slight breeze came to my face next, because he had let go of my jaw. And then he stepped back, gave a slight, polite nod—and walked not back to the elevator, but in the other direction, toward the fire exit. His footsteps as he bounded down the stairs echoed in the tenth floor hallway.

  All night I thought about him in 9J.

  Chapter 10

  Moi,

  Did you get my last email? My mom says Tita Mara’s been talking to you about it, so maybe you’re just busy. But yeah, I really need hot water. I know it’s always hot there, but it’s a thing. My mom wants to send money over to get one installed and if you have it done now then you’ll have hot water while you’re staying there.

  You really don’t take hot showers? Try it. It’s life changing.

  Megan

  The other thing that made me excited about coming home was the thought of decorating my own place, from scratch. It started when I had to buy a few things for my room over in Singapore, and before I knew it, I had spent three straight days just wandering inside IKEA. And even after I got the "few things," I kept coming back every few months for new curtains and somewhat-matchy rugs and bed sheets.

  Knowing that I had my own place at NV Park to look forward to however made me just go on full amateur decorator overdrive. I had vision boards, color wheels, boxes of "found object inspiration" and took trips to museums to "meditate in artistic spaces."

  One time I was invited to a garden party and I randomly picked up a shell lodged between two pebbles on the floor—then it came to me that my own apartment’s theme would be "home by the beach." For a second I had been transported back to an early memory of playing at a beach back home, and it instantly calmed me. I wanted that feeling. I wanted my own place to feel like the one I could seek refuge in when the world got crazy. I wanted it to be an escape.

  I worked with an initial palette of yellow, blues, and nutty browns. I wanted wood furniture and glass accents. My bed frame, coffee table, and kitchen/dining table were variations of each other. The room didn’t get a lot of sun because of where it was located in the building, so my curtains were a creamy yellow with orange print on the inside, and regulation boring beige facing out.

  But yes, I did not have a water heater installed. I had opted out of it when it was offered to me, because seriously, it never got cold enough to need it, or so I thought. Not that I had a say in this, apparently.

  There was an appliance store at the mall and I checked it out, after my afternoon errands. They carried three brands of heater, the kind that you installed next to your shower head, and they would all look ugly on my brand new bathroom wall. I didn’t want to buy it right then, so I asked dumb questions, except I encountered competent salesmen who convinced me that one particular brand was a good buy, and installation was free.

  Hmph, I thought. I would think about it.

  How did I end up at the burrito place again?

  I had been thinking about my wall, and how exactly they intended to install this unsightly contraption. I was going to have to invite a burly man into my place so he could drill holes into my wall. How could I say no though, when it was as good as paid for?

  Then I thought, maybe after four years, once Megan graduated from college, I could tell her to take the heater with her. But I’d still have the holes in my wall. How would I cover those up?

  And then I felt like having a wrap.

  The burrito place wasn’t exclusively Mexican, more of Mexican-Filipino fusion. I walked in and was thinking of which manner of pork to have in my burrito when I noticed Ethan—9J—9th Floor—already inside, sharing a booth with two girls.

  Women, technically. But I thought "girls" in the way that I thought "girls" to refer to women younger than me, which they were.

  He saw me a split second after I spotted him. I smiled, because my mouth just wanted to do that, and it was remembering the nice things his mouth did, but my brain was yelling abort! abort! Act casual!

  Dear God. This was not how I wanted our first post-kiss encounter to go.

  He sort of awkwardly waved at me, and I did the same. And then he sort of awkwardly waved me over, an invitation to join, and I sort of awkwardly signed that I still had to order. And then I definitely awkwardly stammered my order to the counter girl. I had more composure when I walked over to them with my tray, and took the only empty seat, the one beside him.

  I was on autopilot when I did that. I just plopped myself down on the chair, but then he got up and I wasn’t sure if it was because it was the polite thing to do, or if he was actually about to do something, like touch me.

  And then I wondered if I did the wrong thing by not touching him anywhere just then.

  It wasn’t like we were an item, right? I mean, the only people who knew about last night were him, me—and all of the night duty security, if they happened to be watching the hallway CCTV footage.

  Oh god the CCTV footage.

  He was introducing me t
o the girls as his "neighbor from Tower 3" so okay, the no touching tactic was a good one.

  The girl across from me, Ashley, gave me a big smile. Too big. She had super straight hair, usually the stuff of CGI in television commercials, and she seemed like she was buzzing with energy that her petite frame couldn’t quite hold in. The girl beside her, the one across from Ethan, was not as glowy. She was very attractive, with light brown curls and perfectly shaped lips, obviously taller even though she was sitting, but something about the way she carried herself reminded me of someone with something heavy draped over her shoulders.

  "Ashley is my sister," Ethan was saying.

  "Hi," I said, tentative and casual, with all the finesse of a person just told she was about to be given a test.

  Curiously, he did not introduce Rin in a similar way, so I just turned to her and gave her a similar smile. And I got an abstract cloud of heavy back.

  "Is that the—?" Ethan poked at my burrito.

  "Lechon kawali yeah."

  "And you know it has—"

  "I know. I’m in the mood for it."

  "You should check your email by the way."

  "Hm?"

  "Your email. Sent you something about the thing."

  "What thing?" I panicked. Did he want to talk about the thing right there? In front of his sister? And being all cryptic?

  "I talked to my friend in HR about you."

  Relief, somewhat. "Oh, that thing."

  "You should check your email."

  "You didn’t have to."

  "Thank me later."

  When I lifted my gaze from my food I saw Ashley and Rin just looking at me, but with totally different expressions.

  In retrospect I was aware of how it sounded. The easy familiarity of it. Like Ethan and I were talking in code, and while it was nothing, it felt rude. Or maybe it was the way that Rin was looking at me.

  Ashley on the other hand was absolutely tickled. "So how do you like living in NV Park, Moira? Because it must be so stressful. I can’t imagine living so close to where I work."