Another day, another trip to David's house and here I was, contemplating love—again.
Last night, I spent two hours on the phone with my family. I used the landline in the apartment because the long distance rates were cheaper and the plan could shared by me and my five roommates who each had family back in the Philippines.
My parents were still thanking me more than two months later for that anniversary gift I'd sent them—one they said I shouldn't have bothered with but one they were very grateful for. They postponed the trip since my father caught a cold which then progressed to mild bronchitis. He was too weak to go anywhere and then Christmas happened. They were going to wait until the beginning of March to go which was fine with me. So it wasn't them that got me thinking about love this time.
It was my sister, Abigail, who happily told me last night that she might have found her true love—Anton, a science teacher in the school where she taught.
Maybe it was because I was her older sister, or maybe because I wasn't as starry-eyed as she was, but I quickly reminded her to be careful. I expected her automatic defense but she just asked me if I'd ever been truly in love. I told her she knew the answer to that since she knew Bryan and how his complete lack of faith in me, in us, eventually pushed us in different directions. Bryan had been my boyfriend since college but things fell apart with him when I decided to work abroad. Abigail politely informed me that my time with Bryan was not at all an example of true love. He couldn't stay with me through the worse and I couldn't give up much for him.
So today, I couldn't stop wondering if love was just as simple as that—an instinct between two people to want better and more for the other than for themselves.
And I wondered if that kind of love was something some of us could find outside of family and friends—with someone from a different world, a different life.
"Speaking of a different life..." I murmured as I stepped inside the house that had become a world of its own for me and David two nights ago, when he came home and found me sleeping on his couch.
That night, we were just Diana and David—two people from very different walks of life but who understood each other with perfect clarity.
I was humming when I came into the kitchen where I always started for some reason. I found a big sticky note right on the fridge door.
Weather forecast says there won't be a snowstorm to keep you here but I hope you'd stay for dinner with me.
I'll be home 5:30PM sharp.
You know I don't cook so we can go somewhere nice.
Or, if you're up for it, you can fulfill that promise to cook me something. We can shop for supplies.
Hope you're still here when I come home.
-David
Of course, I smiled because who wouldn't?
Shy and serious David had just gone the long way to ask me to stay for dinner. I could imagine the hopeful spark in his eyes with that last line.
Because for a second there, you imagined that he was coming home to you.
I frowned and shook the thought away. My imagination was getting too colorful here.
David and I had a nice time chatting two nights ago and considering the man practically worked every waking hour of his life, he was probably starving for some company and good conversation. There was no need to make a big deal out of a friendly invite for dinner.
And because it was no big deal, I ran to grab my coat and boots and walked all the way back to the bus stop so I could go to an Asian supermarket ten minutes away. I was mentally making a list of all the ingredients I needed—things I knew David didn't have in his pantry. Luckily, his place was my last stop for the day and I'd arrived earlier than usual. I had almost three hours to get something together. I texted one of my roommates to tell them I was coming home late tonight. And yes, they were going to grill me about it later because they would all know that the reason for my late night, once again, would be David whom they all labeled 'Prince Charming'. They were all peeking from the window two nights ago when David dropped me off. I waved it off and told them he was just a friend but what were good friends for if not to hound and tease you until you go crazy?
Almost an hour later, I was back in David's house with three grocery bags.
I grew up to my mother's cooking and she was a terrific cook. After all, she ran an eatery which was attached to our house. She was in charge of its kitchen and me and my siblings were her helpers. That place always smelled like fragrant rice, the rich steamy aromas of stew and the savory spice of her signature dishes.
Right now, David's bright and airy kitchen with all its modern appliances, smelled like a carinderia.
Nanay, as most Filipinos call their mother, would be proud of me.
"This is what I've been missing out on?"
I glanced over my shoulder from my spot by the stove and grinned at David's stunned but smiling expression as he stood by the kitchen doorway.
"It's almost done," I told him as I gave the pot one last gentle stir.
"I hope so because if this tastes anything like it smells, I'm dying to eat it," he said as he shrugged off his suit jacket and came over to me, peering at what was simmering away on the stove. "I could smell it from the driveway. I thought I was at the wrong house."
I laughed and checked the wok I had left in the back burner to keep warm. "Well, you did tell me I could cook. I don't know if you've ever had Filipino food before but I hope you give these a chance."
"I already love it," he said without hesitation and I just laughed more.
"We'll see if you're telling the truth," I teased.
"I always tell you the truth," he insisted although his voice was now softer. I looked up and saw how close he stood next to me, his eyes reflecting his tender smile. "And here's another truth for you—you're beautiful, Diana."
My heart started pounding in my chest as my own eyes took in the details of his face. His features were perfectly average on their own and I quickly realize that they weren't what made him handsome. It was that constant smile in his bright blue eyes, the gentle, amused quirk of his mouth, the boyish way his dark blonde hair would sometimes fall over his forehead.
I didn't know what he was seeing from his point of view as he gazed down at me. My first instinct whenever someone would tell me that I was pretty would be to deny it or change the topic. I always saw myself as ordinary but I couldn't quite say that out loud—not if David was looking at me the way he was at this moment—as if I was indeed beautiful in his eyes.
"You can try what I made, you know?" I said with a shrug and a grin, trying to break the intensity between us before it made me forget that tonight didn't mean more than a friendly gesture. "You don't need to bribe me with compliments first."
He laughed, letting me off easy, before he turned to inspect the dishes I prepared. "Alright. Why don't you enlighten me on the feast you have waiting for us."
It wasn't really elaborate enough to be a feast but I made some very iconic Pinoy dishes.
"This is Chicken Adobo—it's practically the national dish of the Philippines and my personal favorite." I lifted the lid off the shallow pot to let David get a good whiff of the potent scent of soy sauce, vinegar, garlic and a hint of sweetness. It was the fragrance that currently filled his entire kitchen. "I made some white steamed rice to go with it. It's a crime to have it with anything else."
"I think this will wipe out any other food from my memory," David murmured, closing his eyes briefly in appreciation. "It smells ridiculously good."
I lightly elbowed him on the side. "You have to leave room for rest of the food." I pointed to the wok sitting on top of another burner. It was a fluffy mix of egg and vermicelli noodles, mixed in with chopped pork, cabbage, carrots, bell peppers and green onions. "This is my mother's own version of the Filipino Pancit. There are over a dozen varieties depending on where you are in the country but this is the recipe closest to my heart."
"It looks like you cooked for an entire army and I'm only one man," David joked, sneaking a piece of pork and popping it into his mouth. "But don't worry. I'll gladly make the sacrifice to finish this for you."
I laughed and slapped his hand away when he tried to steal another piece. "There's still dessert. It's in the fridge. Come on. It's a classic."
Inside the fridge, sitting on a square plate was the oval shape of the creamy custard layered with soft caramel on top of it. "This is Leche Flan—kind of like our version of creme brûlée but better, of course, in my honest opinion."
David looked amazed, even after I closed the fridge. "How could've you have possibly made all of these? I don't even have any of these pots and pans you used here."
I gave him my best innocent smile. "I might have shopped for a thing or two. Consider them gifts. That way, you have them when you feel like making any of these next time."
He raised a brow. "We both know I can't even fry an egg without burning it. If you insist on making me keep these, I'll have to insist that you come included."
My own brows went up even as I fought the fluttering in my stomach. I really should move away and draw a line between us. But I didn't. "Are you negotiating, Mr. Kemble?"
"Negotiating is what I do best, Ms. Robles," he answered with a wink. "I am a lawyer, after all."
"You don't look like a lawyer right now. You just look like a man who could use a good dinner," I said with a roll of my eyes, still smiling, and pushed him away to grab some plates. "Come on. Let's eat."
The dinner was a total success—at least based on David's blissful murmurs between bites as I supplied him with endless stories about growing up running around my mother's eatery and the colorful characters who'd come in to dine. I had many happy memories to share and I didn't miss the fact that David didn't. But he was happy to listen, ask questions, and laugh out loud when I was being funny.
As predicted, it was late when we finished cleaning up. I packed all the leftovers into the fridge, insisting that he enjoy them for as long as they last before going back to his canned ham diet.
"Come on. I'll drive you home," he said as he stood by the front hall, holding my coat up.
I let him help me slip it on, turning around to smile at him as he fitted the knitted toque over my head. "It's a clear night with just the moon and the stars in the sky. I can grab a bus home without a problem."
He scrunched up his nose in disapproval. "This isn't a negotiation you're going to win, Diana. I'm seeing you home."
I wasn't ready to give up quite yet. "Why? Is this your repayment for dinner?"
"No," he said with a serious look on his face. "It's because I want to spend as much time as possible with you tonight. So please, let me drive you home."
I had no argument after that because I wanted the same thing he did—I just wasn't brave enough to say it out loud.
It was a beautiful night—pitch black with billions of stars scattered against the sky and the frost clinging to bare branches glinting in the moonlight. It was cold as most clear winter nights were but I only felt warm and happy as I sat there inside the car with David, talking quietly with him almost like the way old, married couples did.
I was a little afraid.
This had the makings of something wonderful and incredibly happy—something I never had before with anyone. It wasn't something I'd planned on when I decided to work here almost three years ago. It wasn't something I expected to find until much later, after I've done my duty, and it definitely wasn't something I expected to find here—in a different country that was still strange but familiar, with a man who couldn't be any more different from me, and miles away from the comfort of my home, my life, my identity.
But for all my hesitation, I couldn't make one protest as David pulled up in front of my apartment and came around to open the car door for me. I didn't move when he stood in front of me, blue eyes shining and his dark blonde hair catching the streetlight, aware just as much as he was that the line between us was about to disappear completely.
There were no words—just the gentle touch of his fingers as they curved around my cheek and the ragged sound of his breath as his eyes fluttered close the same time his lips brushed against mine.
There were to be no reservations or regrets tonight, I decided, as I let myself sink into his arms, kissing him back even as my knees threatened to crumple from beneath me. But David was a man of quiet strength and he held me close through the sweet torture like no force on earth could separate us.
It was our first kiss.
And it wouldn't be our last.
At least twice a week for about three weeks since that night, we'd spent our evenings together. We'd make dinner, talk, cuddle in the couch in the office, even venture out for a walk along the park near his house hand-in-hand when the weather wasn't too cold.
Each night, he'd drive me back to my apartment. He'd kiss me goodnight now before we came out of the car because my roommates were still teasing me non-stop about it. Our unit faced the front of the building so we just a quick peek away from them. One particularly cold night, Patricio, one of my roommates, called out to us from the window, "You should come in before you freeze your noses off. We promise, we won't bite."
David just grinned and gestured to the door. Apparently, he wasn't concerned about meeting the closest thing I had to a family here in Canada. There were a total of two men and four women in our two-bedroom unit. It was a bit cramped in there, with two women in each bedroom and the two guys sleeping on sofa beds out on the living room, but it was always lively. The TV often had a teleserye—the Filipino version of a soap opera—playing. There would be a couple people on the phone and another would be on a laptop video-chatting with family and friends back home or doing some online banking. Many of us were sending money home to pay for a lot of things like school fees, medical expenses and home repairs. That was the very purpose of foreign workers like us being here. Our lives here were all on borrowed time and we tried to make as much of it as we could while still reminding ourselves of the reasons we were all doing this for—a family, a future, a change in fortune.
David took it all in with a warm smile and greeting to every single roommate I introduced him to. Helen was giving me a two thumbs-up sign when David wasn't looking and I just stuck my tongue out at her. He hung out with us for about an hour, just talking with my roommates and listening to their stories, before I declared that it was too late and we all had to get some sleep if we wanted to show up for work the next day. I walked David back out to his car and gave him a long hug and a sweet kiss before sending him home. I realized then that he understood more about my situation than I thought and that maybe I shouldn't be so afraid.
I knew after that night that I'd taken our relationship—if you could call it that—another step further. The same doubts still kept me awake some nights, knowing that unless I was absolutely sure I could significantly change my plans for the future, it wasn't fair to either of us to let what we felt for each other grow deeper and stronger.
And David made his stand clear to me one night as we once again, sat inside his car in front of my apartment, trying to say goodnight when we didn't really want the night to end just yet.
"I want more for us than just sticky notes and evenings that are too short," he said huskily as he pulled back after a light kiss, his hand wrapped around mine. "They're just not enough anymore."
I swallowed hard and forced myself not to look away from his searching gaze. "What else can we possibly have, David, considering our circumstances?"
He smiled softly. "We can have the future, if you're willing to spend it with me."
I couldn't give him an answer and he didn't press for one.
But as I laid in bed that night, thinking about the future he referred to, I couldn't help but smile at finding myself not as scared of the possibility as I was in the beginning.
All I thought about for the last two and a half years was doing my duty and coming home because home, I supposed, was always where the heart belonged. But I was beginning to suspect that I got that wrong somehow.
It might be that home is wherever the heart is and we find it by following that heart.
That future might just happen, David. It just might, was my final thought before I drifted off to sleep.
It was early the next morning when I woke up to a text message from my sister saying that my father had suffered a stroke he might not survive.