Fake It Till We Make It

03

Huh. That did sound better. "That...sounds good," I said. "Okay, we can go with that." I took quick notes on the paper, listing what Ian said in quick, unintelligible writing that I hoped I would understand later.

"Next. Anniversary date," I said, after Ian ordered refills for our coffee. "When did we officially become a couple?"

"Today."

I blinked. "Today?" I repeated. "Why?"

"No day like today," he said with a grin. The server arrived with a pot full of fresh brew and poured it into our empty mugs. The smell alone would keep me awake until later. "And it can't be anytime earlier. It doesn't seem realistic, especially since we have such a short time. That, and I had to have had some time to pursue you."

The thought of the "pursuit" made my cheeks warm, sending a pleasant little flutter to my stomach. I've always liked that and emphasized that when I talked to the girls who went to me for love advice, to look for someone who would pursue them. Every girl deserved to be chased after and wooed by those with clear intentions, and that was also why I kept waiting.

"Okay then, today," I said, writing 28th on the paper and encircling it.

A smile tugged at the corners of Ian's lips. "If we set it earlier, then we'd have our second monthsary now," he mused.

I snorted. "Can we not use that, please? I hate that word."

"What? Monthsary? What's the deal? People like to celebrate monthly milestones, so what?"

"It's such a tacky word. It's not even a real word. So what if you've been together for a month? That's just a twelfth of a year, practically a fraction of time. Why can't people wait for one year to celebrate?"

Ian's brow furrowed, and he leaned back on his chair, arms crossed, eyes solemnly observing me. He did this often, looking at people as if they were puzzles he was trying to solve. He would usually do this to our younger members who would seek advice from him, or his team, but very rarely to me. Maybe because we just kind of know each other well, and we were very rational people. It was kind of uncomfortable to be receiving this now.

The silence stretched on for a few more seconds, but just when I was about to ask him to stop staring, he uncrossed his arms and tapped one hand on the table between us.

"Have you ever been in love, Ruth?"

I blinked. "Ha?"

"When was the last time you fell in love? Butterflies in the stomach, kilig-to-the-bones, can't sleep, can't eat love?"

The question caught me off-guard like I was suddenly served a quiz that I had not prepared for. The ceiling lights felt like an interrogation lamp, hot and too bright, and it felt like my nosy relatives had asked me the question, and not him. I found myself fumbling for an answer, my mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish while I tried to recall all the times I had liked a guy. trying to find the right answer to a quiz I had not prepared for.

In the end, I settled for the truth.

"No. I don't think I've ever been in love," I said with a sigh.

Then my defenses went up. "But don't treat me like I don't know this okay? I only lacked the experience, not the knowledge." I had, after all, been the older sister to all our younger members for a while now, so I have heard my share of love stories from them.

I winced as soon as I said that, expecting a wave of judgment from him, but again, Ian just nodded thoughtfully. He leaned his elbows against the table, a small smile on his face.

"I'm not saying you don't know it. But you know that things will change when you do fall in love," he said. "It's different for everyone, so I don't know how it's going to be for you, but expect love to make you a little bit crazy. In a good way."

A sharp stab of longing hit me in the chest, and I wondered for the umpteenth time how must it feel, to be part of a relationship. To feel what Ian said – head over heels, butterflies, the whole shebang in love with someone, and to have that person feel the same way, too.

Must be nice.

"Hey," Ian's hand was suddenly over mine, and I flinched involuntarily. I wanted to pull it away, but I told myself no, I should get used to this. If only for the next few weeks. "It'll be fine. We're a team, and I'll make sure we pull this off."

A sudden wave of affection for Ian surged through me, the warmth chasing the longing away. I remembered all the events we've worked on, and eventually, all the community work that we had done in the past years. He really didn't have to do this for me, as I didn't really have to do this for my aunt, but his willingness and concern made my heart feel full. He was right – we were a team. Not just in work or our mission in our community, but in this, too.

I smiled. "Thank you, Ian."

He smiled again, and lifted my hand by the wrist, sliding his palm gently over it until his fingers slid between mine so we were holding hands. At age thirty, this was the first time my hand was held by someone who wasn't my father.

The shock from the first contact had lessened, and it still felt strange, but I had to admit: this felt nice.

Really nice.

I could get used to this.