Four years ago
Tim and I broke up three times over three years.
Zack's joke was that we celebrated an anniversary by breaking up. I laughed the first time he said that, and then it happened again, and it stopped being funny.
What was our problem?
I like to describe it as his superiority complex. But that was too simple. Tim was incredibly sweet, fun, and thoughtful, when he remembered to be. When he wasn't that, he was condescending.
When I first introduced him to Zack over dinner, I could tell right away that they weren't going to get along. Zack had come alone (Marjorie had to work late) and right away I saw some kind of alpha male instinct activate in Tim. I thought guys would get along instantly if you threw them together and gave them beer, but for some reason these two defied expectations.
Zack was usually good with small talk. He found a way to find something in common with people, and then kept going. He'd mention sports teams first. If that didn't work, then movies, then a TV show, then a recent big concert. Since Zack never shared stuff about his personal life, he tried to keep conversations limited to sports or pop culture.
If those didn't work, his last resort was to ask which school the person was from, and then hopefully they'd find a common friend. But he rarely used this unless he was totally comfortable and knew that he wasn't going to open a can of worms.
Tim, being a more social animal, skipped all steps and went straight for the name-dropping. "Oh, you work in _________? Do you know ________? What have you heard about _________? I heard this about __________ and maybe it's not true. Is it? Do you think ________ is worth the bonuses they give him?"
Not only that, he started to explain to Zack why I stuck around the office despite working for a boss I so disliked.
"Because she needs direction," he said, cocky smile on his face. "And he is able to give her that. He tells her what to do, and she does it well."
"That's bull," Zack retorted. "He's a micromanager and she's not learning anything from that. She doesn't have to stay with him any longer than she already has."
They both looked at me, both expecting me to agree. I smiled. "Well, I'm not quitting until I find a good replacement job."
When Tim excused himself to wash his hands, Zack leaned toward me and shook his head. "Is he always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Arrogant."
"He's not arrogant. He's...he just has a strong personality."
"And he happens to think you have a weak one."
"No he does not. Stop it." I wasn't as shy as I used to be, but compared to Type As like Tim, I sort of blended into the background.
Our dinner arrived, but Zack acted like he wasn't hungry. In fact, halfway through the dinner, he checked his phone and looked relieved when Marjorie needed him to pick her up.
"Nice meeting you, pare." Tim sent him off with a brisk handshake.
Three years ago
After my first anniversary with Tim, I realized the root of our problems. He never stopped thinking of me as the HR girl who accepted his résumé and sent him to the waiting room.
As he thrived in our office and got more and more respect, he started to see himself moving up—but didn't see me going in the same direction. He had a way of talking down to me, or talking about me that belittled what I did, and that got old quickly.
I wanted to make the relationship work, but it wasn't going to change as long as we worked together.
So I quit and found another job.
Zack did not like this. He had always wanted me to find a better job and boss, but I had the feeling he didn't like my reasons.
It didn't matter anyway, because the way Tim treated me didn't change. Even as I moved up from HR assistant to senior assistant to supervisor, he was still a jerk who thought he was much smarter than me and knew what was good for me.
Last year
The third and final time I broke up with Tim was a few days after our third anniversary.
I think it started quite innocently. One minute he was driving me home, and the next we were in the middle of an old fight.
"Forget I said anything," I mumbled.
"What did he want now?"
"I don't know. He wanted to talk, okay? He does that. We're friends."
"Are you sure you're just friends?" There was a tense tone in his voice that I didn't like. Accusing.
"You've met the guy. Several times."
"That's not what Marco Chan says."
Marco was one of Tim's friends at the pharma company. "What are you talking about?"
"He went to college with you. He told me he was pretty sure that Zack is your ex."
Oh god why won't it go away? And I barely knew Marco. "That's not true."
"Jasmine," Tim said, pulling out that Tone of Condescension from somewhere in his diaphragm. "Why would Marco Chan lie to me about something like that?"
"I don't know!" I yelled back. I knew that this was when I should have come clean and let my boyfriend of three years know the truth, but...it wasn't worth it. I couldn't be bothered. "I'm just sick of having to explain this. He's not my ex. He was never my boyfriend. And if you want to believe this guy and not me, then I don't want to see you anymore."
That was a tough request and I knew it. Because that lie? It could be verified by dozens of people from college. The truth? Only Zack and I—and maybe our closest high school friends—knew this, and Tim was not going to take our word for it.
But I think I wanted to push him that far. I was done with him.
The fight started because I received a text message from Zack. He asked if I wanted a ride to work the next morning.
"Sure," I texted back. I made the mistake of mentioning this to Tim, which unfortunately revived the argument we kept having about Zack and the amount of time he spent with me. Which was almost zero, by the third year of my relationship with Tim, not that he noticed. Between the new job, dates with Tim and everything else, I hadn't seen Zack that much.
Rather than drop me off at home and then leave, Tim decided that he wanted to stick around for a few hours and "reason" with me. I couldn't believe that I ever found this overbearing jerk attractive.
It was like our prior two breakups, which pretty much dissolved after hours of listening to him. But this time I didn't cave. I could feel in my bones that this breakup would stick. I felt relief was about to come.
He finally left the house past midnight, and I spent the early hours of the morning ignoring his calls. I did not look good at six-thirty AM, when Zack dropped by to pick me up.
"What happened?" He probably thought I was sick with something.
Despite the dark circles under my eyes, my fatigue from lack of sleep, and the rumbling in my stomach from skipping breakfast, I smiled. I snapped on the seat belt and said dramatically, "I broke up with Tim. Again."
"For real this time?"
"Yes." What a relief it was. If I only had a good night's sleep, I'd be happier.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, I am more than okay."
"Why do you look like shit?"
"He kept calling and texting last night. I had to keep my phone on because it's my alarm clock. And I still overslept, so I hardly had enough time to shower and dress up before you arrived."
"I guess we both deserve a sick day then."
"Huh?"
"Text your boss that you're going on leave today."
At the next intersection, Zack stopped at the red light, and we both picked up our phones and sent "I'm sick, be at work tomorrow" messages to our bosses.
Why didn't I think of that? Was I really planning to go to work looking like a zombie?
Before the light turned green, we got our replies. "Feel better," was mine. And "I didn't know Superman could get sick" was his.
"Okay, that's a sign of overachievement," I said, laughing as I read the text.
I noticed that Zack kept driving north. "Where are we going?"
"Breakfast." He didn't say anything more.
In an hour and a half, we had left the parts of the city I was familiar with. I only vaguely knew that we were on the road to Antipolo. He said there was this nice restaurant he had discovered, and hoped that it was open for breakfast. He found their number on his phone and called ahead.
I lost track of how many turns we took, driving on that winding road up the hill. Zack finally parked the car in front of what looked like a house.
Seconds later, I discovered it was built on top of the hill, converted into a bed and breakfast. We were the only customers, and a smiling middle-aged man led us to one of five tables in the dining room. We had a spectacular view of Manila from our seats.
Almost as soon as we sat down, the man brought plate after plate to our table. A small stack of waffles, an omelet (cheese, olives, onions), and bacon. A little pitcher of syrup, a saucer of butter, and a pot of tea soon followed.
As soon as I smelled the butter, my stomach rumbled. "When did we order?"
"When I called, I asked for the usual. It's better to call ahead. They usually take a long time cooking."
We dug into our breakfast, and I loved how sweet, salty, buttery, and bacon-fatty all blended together in my mouth in one disgusting, glorious bite. "How did you find this place?"
"My mom loves it here. She knows the woman who owns it."
"It's amazing." Even the weather was perfect. It was gorgeous and sunny—almost daring me to feel sad. "Thank you for taking me here. And this is classic comfort food breakfast, so awesome."
"I know what you like," he said. "So what made you finally end it?"
"I realized that I was sick of him. You knew that though, right?"
"I hated him the first time I met him."
"But you weren't being fair."
"Well, it's done, so I'm happy that you came to your senses."
Only Zack understood how liberating my decision was. He seemed genuinely happy for me, which was nice. The two of us were a funny pair, in our corporate outfits, a little overdressed for the quaint bed and breakfast.
"I always knew you deserved better."
We stayed there for a few more hours and watched the sun move up in the sky, finishing off the fresh fruits they served us to cap the meal. As it neared noon, it became unbearably hot so we drove back down to Manila. By early afternoon, I was back at home, sprawled on my bed, finally getting some rest.
* * *
Funny how easy it was to cut a Tim-sized chunk out of my life and have it continue generally the same way.
Looking back, moving to a different company was good not just for my career, but for my breakup as well. No longer two floors up, Tim dropped out of my life without much trouble. After a month he stopped calling, and after another month, I stopped "accidentally" running into him on my way to and from work.
He was probably checking if I had gotten together with Zack, which was always his suspicion.
That wasn't a problem for me. Zack had gone back to his usual erratic schedule and we didn't see each other more than once a week (when he'd offer a ride to work).
At work, I got assigned to do something I was really interested in—administering the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator test on all of the BPO's employees. I was familiar with it from college as the test that told people if they were ENFP (Extraversion, Intuition, Feeling, Perceiving) or ISTJ (Introversion, Sensing, Thinking, Judging) and various combinations thereof. It was fun as a personality test in college, but this was that on a grander scale.
Imagine being able to, in Zack's words, read all these people. And not just that, but give them insight that might actually help them get along better with their teammates. That was when I started to enjoy going to work every day.
Worrying about Tim or wondering where Zack was sort of faded into the background.
Six months ago
"Sure I'll watch a movie with you," I said.
"When?"
"Tonight?"
Zack sprung the movie invite on me as I stepped out of the car.
"I get off work at seven."
"Last full show then?"
"Okay."
I was in the middle of a project, so I made a note on my calendar so I wouldn't forget.
Wednesday – Movie with Z.
Four weeks later and that calendar had at least two "Movie with Z" or "Dinner with Z" notes a week.
That was out of the ordinary, and I didn't even stop to think about it until a month later. Don't get me wrong, I appreciated it. I had almost forgotten what it was like to have plans after work.
Over dinner on Friday night, I watched him as we ate and thought about how to interrogate him. Surely he was going through something—our friendship since college was never this regular. He really took his "free agent" persona to heart, but I noticed that he would seek the company of friends when he felt down. Not that he'd tell them what was bothering him.
At this point, Zack had evolved yet again—no more sloppily-ironed shirts, no ill-fitting pants, no scuffed shoes. Even his hair went through a change, now mostly off his forehead with non-greasy-looking hair product.
I wondered if someone helped him change. It was like he had discovered what looked and felt good, and it now showed in the way he dressed. Ratty T-shirt Zack was gone.
"What's up with you?" I asked bluntly.
My tone was more of a "What's your problem?" than "How are you?" so he frowned at me defensively.
"What do you mean?" he said.
"You and I have been meeting too regularly," I explained. "Which never really happens unless you're... I don't know, unless something's up. So what's wrong?"
"What, so I can't hang out with my friend Jasmine if I want to?" Zack made a show of dropping his utensils and pretending to leave.
"You'd tell me if you were in trouble, right?" I was a little concerned now. "Like, if you're sick or something."
"You're overreacting," Zack said. "And paranoid. I'm not sick. If I were, you'd know because you'll be changing my bed pan."
"That's what happens when you keep your friends at a distance," I scolded lightly. "None of them will want to help dispose of your pee."
I still felt I was on to something though, despite Zack's denials.
"Is Tim still bothering you?" Zack asked.
Now this was even more classic. Whenever Zack was going through something, he became more sensitive to my problems. It was like he was racking up good karma points for himself by being nice to others.
"He finally stopped texting," I said, indulging him. "And waiting for me at the lobby of my building. Which is a good thing because if he saw us together, there would be so much drama."
Zack flashed me a look of smugness. "If I had known that seeing us together would make him snap, I would have made plans with you a long time ago. Have you started dating again?"
"No," I admitted. "My calendar lately is full of work. And you."
"Yeah, you shouldn't rush it if you're not ready."
And then he gave me a big smile, one I hadn't seen in a long time. "It's not like I'm wasting your time, right? You get a social life and free meals! I, in fact, am your savior."
"I'm wasting some time," I teased. "Two of those movies you wanted to see were crap."
"If you had more beer like I did, you would have had more fun."
"Yes, watching movies intoxicated is very mature."
"Cheers!" He lifted his bottle and toasted my glass of iced tea.
The movie we watched that night was an Oscar contender and it was the slowest, most painfully pretentious period movie I had ever seen.
But Zack loved it.
"Anthony Hopkins is so funny!" he kept saying, poking my side. "Did you know he was so funny?"
He wasn't funny. At least not in the movie.
"Okay, no driving for you," I said, taking his keys. I didn't have a car but I learned how to drive because Zack helped me practice. Despite already being licensed, I didn't drive often. But when I did, I remembered senior year in college, learning to drive in Zack's dad's car.
When Zack got his own car, he almost never let me drive.
"Nothing personal," he said, when it was new. "But I'm actually paying for this with my own money."
Surprisingly, he let me push him into the passenger seat without much protest. Zack liked to drink but I never saw him pissed (in the British sense) and it was interesting. Because, apparently, he didn't get rude or violent or obnoxious.
He got talkative. And found everything funny.
"I've always wanted to be a director," he suddenly declared, totally without context, as I drove out of the mall parking building.
"No shit?" I said, laughing. "Where did that come from?"
"My dream movie project," he continued, "is adapting Neil Gaiman's 1602. Years ago, I wanted to do either a political war period piece action movie or a superhero movie and then I read 1602 and suddenly I thought, shit, why can't I do both?"
I decided to humor him. "I didn't know you wanted to be a filmmaker."
"I don't. I'm sure I'll suck at it. I want it to be done and I want to go around promoting it, but I don't want to do it. You know?"
I laughed. "Yes I know. All the credit and none of the work."
"Exactly. Making a movie is too hard. It takes years, right? And then the final product is two hours long. Unless you make an epic."
"Do you want to make an epic?"
"Only epics are worth watching," he said, eyes glazing over but tone totally serious. "Two hours of people sitting and talking—that is not a real movie. Explosions! Costumes! Drama! That is a movie."
"Wow. I think I like you like this, Zack. A little alcohol and I get a lot of blackmail material."
"I'm not drunk," he insisted. "I'm letting you drive so you can feel empowered. My life is in your hands."
I never thought of it that way. All those times I put my life in his hands.
In the fifteen minutes that it took me to drive to his house, he told me three other movie plots he would direct if he got the chance.
Had I ever seen him drunk before? No. Did he drink a lot that night? I didn't think he drank that much. It was a good thing I managed to bring him home without incident, hand him into the custody of his brother, and take his car home.
I drove it back the next morning.
"You didn't have to do this," he said, meeting me at his front door, sober and sleepy. "I was going to drop by your house to get it."
"It's okay. I was on my way to the gym." I went to a gym nearby on Saturday mornings.
"Well... do you need a ride to the gym then?"
I laughed. He had answered the door in the same outfit he was wearing the night before, and it looked like he was struggling to stay alert. "No thank you. You get some sleep. I'll see you soon."
"Thanks, Jas." He probably realized how he looked and smiled sheepishly. "Do you want to come in? I think there's food."
"Gym, remember?"
"Right." Zack took the keys from me. "So that's it?"
"Yes. I'm going to go now."
"Okay." Then he stepped forward, and kissed me on the lips. It was a quick, undramatic, almost half-hearted kiss, the way a couple of several years would say goodbye to each other.
"Whoa," I said, jumping back before it got a little more...un-platonic than that. "Um, okay. I have to go."
I got out of there quickly. I didn't stay long enough to see if he had realized what he had done.
And that, for the record, regardless of what anyone else says, was my first kiss with Zack.
* * *
That afternoon, I was surprised to get a text from Ramon. "You going tonight?"
I didn't think and automatically replied,
"Where?"
"My birthday. I emailed you last week."
Whoops. I vaguely remembered an invite to a restaurant in Serendra, but probably messed up on the date. "Sure, yes I'll be there," I texted back. I didn't discuss that at all with Zack but I was almost sure he'd be there, and I kind of wanted to see him too.
What was with that kiss? I wondered as I decided what to wear. And the recent invites? Is he actually...? No that's just Zack being Zack.
I chose a new blue dress (the skirt fell conservatively below my knees but it was cut a little lower along the neckline), spent more than the usual minutes on my hair, and hopped into a cab that took me to Ramon's birthday dinner.
And I was nervous.
Why are you nervous, Jas? It's like you think Zack likes you or something.
He doesn't.
He's just being Zack.
The guests were mostly from work, but there were a few from college—and most of them I actually knew, so I wasn't entirely out of place. We didn't even have to mingle; his college friends were at one table, and work friends were at another.
It was nice catching up with college friends. Or technically, Zack and Ramon's friends. They were a cool group, and I didn't exactly get to hang out with them a lot. It was interesting to find out what they had done with their lives since we had graduated over four years ago.
Zack didn't arrive until an hour later, and boy did he make an entrance.
I didn't know what made the whole thing more surreal: That Zack arrived with a tall, curvaceous girl in a dress that was a size too small for her, or that no one else thought it was unusual but me.
"Zack! Kimmy!" Ramon said, pleased to see them both.
I instinctively ducked, hiding behind the guy sitting next to me, as I watched Zack and this Kimmy. He was holding her hand, and the length of her body was pressing comfortably against him.
Too comfortably.
That's his girlfriend, I realized, suddenly feeling nauseous.
Like usual, he never said anything. Never talked about having a girlfriend. Or not having a girlfriend. For weeks we were hanging out. Watching movies. Not a word about this.
Zack being Zack.
What does that make me?
They took seats at the work table right away, so I managed to watch them for a few more minutes without being discovered.
This "Kimmy" definitely acted like a girlfriend. Once they were seated, she idly rested a hand on Zack's thigh. She seemed to be familiar with his work friends, because she was participating actively in their conversation instead of politely listening. Other times she would lean forward and gently touch Zack's ear, or hair, or shoulder, and when she laughed, she angled herself toward him. Possessively.
She looked nothing like Marjorie. Or Lena.
This Kimmy was what other people would call a bombshell. Everything about her—hair, body, clothes—was fabulous, and she knew it.
Where was she this whole month?
The food was good, but I couldn't eat it. I felt...
I felt humiliated.
"Jasmine's here," I heard Ramon say, and my spine froze.
I was taught this in General Psych—they called it the cocktail party effect. It's when you are almost inexplicably able to hear someone say your name even in a crowded place, even when you are not being spoken to directly. Like at a cocktail party, when you are somehow able to hear the person you're talking to despite everyone else talking around you.
In this case it wasn't that inexplicable. I may have been at the other table but I knew they'd get around to me eventually.
Zack was, to put it simply, surprised. I saw him whip his head around, looking for me, and I merely raised an eyebrow as a response.
He was able to get his composure back in a second, and then stood up, dragging Kimmy with him.
"Hey," he said.
Everyone at the table said hi, but he was looking directly at me.
"Hi," I said.
"Jasmine, this is Kimmy."
They look good together, I had to admit. Zack had always been cute, but I guess I still thought of him as my college buddy. Seeing him with Kimmy opened my eyes to how other people probably saw him now—as part of a power couple. It was as if he suddenly aged ten years in my mind that moment.
She smiled at me, flashing her white teeth. "Oh, so you're Jasmine."
I shook her hand. "Hi, Kimmy."
"I've heard so much about you," she gushed.
"That's what they all say," I said curtly.
Zack smiled politely and moved on to the other people at the table. He didn't speak to me privately that night. I didn't hear from him after that.
Two weeks later, I received their wedding invitation in the mail.