What Am I To You (Prequel to Before I Do) #Wattys2016

Chapter 6

"Write for me," I hear Matthew say.

"What?"

"Come on. You know where you really want to be. It's not at that advertising agency. It's here, in this magazine. Now. You've known this ever since college, remember? You want to be with me.

For a while there, I could swear the air inside the restaurant shifted when he said the last line. He said it. We both heard it. And we both understand the need to clarify that we are talking about the magazine and nothing else.

A part of me is ready to jump off a cliff with him. Any cliff. Any time. But I am more terrified at the thought that I haven't written anything in months, except maybe my emails and that one copy for the breast enhancement cream. What if Matthew finds my work second rate? What if he's wrong about me?

"Maybe someday, Matthew," I finally answer. "I'll warm up with copywriting for now, okay?"

"Fine," he shrugs and lets me go. "But promise me you will write for me someday."

"Sure. Someday."

Just then, the food arrives. Later still, the chef joins our table for a quick chat. Matthew has this air around him that sucks you whole. Or maybe it's just me and my unabashed attraction to men who take charge.

# # #

It's another Friday night and Eastwood City is bursting with life of all shapes, sizes, and colors. After sharing a scrumptious meal at this Greek restaurant in Eastwood City, Matthew suggests we take a walk. It starts to rain so we take shelter at Starbucks and decide to have a late night latte.

"So, you didn't go to work today?" I ask as we settle on one of those outdoor sitting areas.

"Yeah," Matthew answers. "I was feeling restless this morning. I was supposed to drive to Tagaytay to place tennis but the rain got in the way."

"Well, it's good you didn't go," I take a sip. "Slippery roads and all."

"It's okay," he shrugs. "I'm not afraid to die."

I look at him and notice yet again how much he has changed since college. Four years is a long time. But clearly, the years don't seem to explain how he had changed from the preppy college guy I knew to the slightly harassed writer with weary, sad eyes.

"What happened to you?" I finally ask.

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, Matthew."

He looks into my eyes and, maybe, finally realizes how much he owes me. I know he is trying to avoid it. I did too but the stories keep haunting me to this day. I can't let this moment pass me by, yet again, without knowing what really happened...to us.

He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes for a while before exhaling the name that has haunted me for a long, long time.

"Bridgette."

"What happened?" I ask Matthew.

"She left me," he replies, looking out into the rain.

I do not prod. I can't bring myself to look back into the past that is currently consuming my present. Bridgette Santamaria, a journalism graduate who was two years my senior, a Palanca awardee and, not to mention, Matthew's long-time girlfriend when I first met him.

She was the girl Matthew was with when he first saw me at the university chapel. Bridgette never found out about our affair back in college. I knew it was wrong. I knew karma would get me in the end, but my blind passion for Matthew shaped my resolve that it was her standing between me and my happiness. I asked him to choose. And he chose her.