Circles: An M|M Contemporary Romance

SEVEN

Eventually, Paul and I got to talking about the COVID-19 situation in the country. It seemed surreal to see how lax people were in the Philippines when in Oslo, you couldn't even get past security without a face mask on. There'd been talk of tighter travel restrictions and a possible lockdown, but that's not something I'd want to worry about right now. It's significantly more relaxed here in this country, and with only just a handful of confirmed cases being reported ("You won't believe it," Paul would go on to say, "but the first suspected super-spreader was at a mall, trapped in a hostage situation. Yup, only in the Philippines!"), it's obvious the government didn't see the virus as a national threat.

At least, not yet.

"It's the bats, I tell you. Those damn bats," Paul said with conviction.

"You don't believe it's a leak from a laboratory in Wuhan?" I said, tearing my gaze away from the window to look at him.

Paul took his eyes off the road to glance at me. "You're not one of those conspiracy theorists now, are you?"

I leaned my head back and laughed. "Relax, I'm just kidding. But you know, the thing with the bats makes more sense." I turned my gaze back out the window and sighed. "I'm wondering that maybe, just maybe, this is nature's way of weeding out the weak."

There was a moment's silence as Paul digested what I'd said. And then, he shot me a quick, wry look, followed by a teasing grin. "Huh. Okay. Didn't take you for the fatalistic type, Mr. Monsen." He poked me in the ribs and chuckled. "Papa would've had a fit with your knack for dark humor."

"God, you'll never know," I said under my breath.

An hour and a half into the drive, we got stuck in traffic, just outside of Quezon City. Normally, I'd be like a tuning fork, vibrating with anxiety at the disquieting experience of being stuck in traffic with a stranger. But it's different with Paul. I wouldn't want it for me, but as an introvert, one compelling reason for wanting to be an extrovert is their enthusiasm and the way they infect others with their energy, spurring others into action.

We whiled away the time chatting about everything and nothing. I looked out the window, watching the cityscape go by. Nothing much had changed in the years I'd been gone, except for a few new high-rise office buildings and skyways, and the ever-worsening urban sprawl. Other than those, Metro Manila is still suffering from the same symptomatic urban malaise in the form of pollution and traffic congestion, of sweltering heat and humidity. I think the situation is twice as worse now, and I would never miss any of these things.

Despite myself, my mood lifted marginally, a small reprieve that broke the depressive streak since my birthday. What would really make me feel better, though, would be a couple shots of whiskey. As it turned out, a few thousand miles away from work would probably do the trick. Not like I'd admit that to my mother.

It was already getting dark by the time we arrived at the gated community in QC. The uniformed guard at the post let us in without fanfare. Mrs. Ruiz, our housekeeper, called ahead to let the guard know there'd be visitors, but he recognized Paul and opened the wrought-iron gates without even asking for our IDs.

I took a deep breath, my body sinking deeper into the passenger seat as I took in the familiar sight before me. The air seemed fresher and cleaner now, another privilege of being in an exclusive village at the heart of a metropolis.

Inside, boxwood hedges framed the houses, with perfectly edged buffalo-grass lawns and evergreen pine trees lining the driveways. Cars glided down the streets, not a soul in sight. No kids playing. No grownups jogging or walking a dog, even. As always, this neighborhood looked sterile, as if none of the houses were occupied.