by Ho, Lauren
Later, when Linda had drunk herself into a dark, mumbly sleep on the living room floor, Jason and I hung out in the living room, watching episode after episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians, with Jason giving me a blow-by-blow to catch up on the backstory I had missed by not following them from the beginning; he definitely had an unhealthy knowledge of the Kardashian/Jenner family trees.
We were discussing which Kardashian/Jenner each one of us was most like (I was allegedly a Kendall, for being low-key) when Jason piped up, “You know, it’s funny that you guys are so close. You seem like polar opposites. I know you’re related, but how did you become friends?”
The Linda and Andrea origin story was not complicated, I told him. We more or less ran in the family circles, having grown up together in Malaysia before Linda emigrated with her parents to the Philippines when she was ten. But we didn’t grow close until we bumped into each other at the law faculty in the same university in London. Then we started spending time with each other—her dependency on my meticulous notes probably the main driver at first—and became close over time. We had had some good times in London before I had to come back to Asia. I’d like to think I was one of the reasons she chose to relocate to Singapore over Shanghai when she was given the opportunity to grow her law firm’s presence in Asia—that, and the local hawker food scene. I liked her fierce devotion to her tribe (well, except for her recent flakiness, that is), and I envied her untidy, adventure-filled lifestyle, where anything could happen and did. I don’t want to be her, but I’m a little in awe of her.
OK, maybe I want to be like her, just a tiny bit.
“She’s always challenging me to step out of my comfort zone,” I said.
“That’s exactly what I like about her,” Jason said, blushing.
And then the veil was lifted from my eyes: Jason had always been into Linda!
A bolt of lightning hit me, a kill-two-birds-with-one-stone kind of lightning. A sly idea formed in my head.
“Hey, I’ve got a brilliant idea,” I said. “Why don’t you move in? I have an empty room and you have a crazy housemate. I’ll charge you minimal rent, and I can finally evict Linda.” And that way, you can always be around me and Linda.
“You’re a little afraid of her, aren’t you,” Jason observed.
“Yep.” I admitted this a little shamefacedly.
“It’s a good thing I’m not. I’ve dealt with women like her in my family, and I know exactly how to handle her. So yes, I’ll be your fall guy.”
We shook on it and continued watching TV until we fell asleep around dawn. So it’s settled, Diary—Jason moves in with me in a little over two weeks. He has no official lease in his old place anyway and is practically squatting in the broom closet he calls a room.
I also now have an excuse to evict Linda. I am very happy. I can’t wait to tell her when she wakes up, if she ever does.
Wednesday 15 June
Linda has been giving me the silent, wounded treatment since Saturday, but my eviction notice seems to have kick-started a getting-her-shit-together movement. Interestingly, she has moved into the spare room. The living room is bottle-free and the floors swept and mopped; even the couch has been buffed with some kind of cleaning product and looks almost presentable. My fridge has been restocked, or, rather, stocked for the first time, with fresh fruits and gourmet food like French and Spanish cheeses and healthful artisanal dips. Even the alcohol has been replenished. Best of all, Linda has started showering regularly again. She’s even keeping regular, respectable working hours.
I should have threatened her with eviction weeks ago.
9:55 p.m. I came home today to find Linda and dinner waiting for me. Linda made spag bog from scratch. She motioned for me to join her at the dining table. I’ll admit that I was hesitant—she hasn’t drunk since Sunday, as far as I know, and she was unpredictable when sober. She also had abandonment issues, an explosive temper, and was very, very dexterous. I sat down at the farthest end of the spotless table from her.
She served me the pasta and we ate in silence. The spag bog, with its blend of beef and lamb mince, was delicious, but I couldn’t enjoy my food. Linda wanted something from me, and I was afraid I knew what it was.
“Please don’t kick me out,” she finally said, mid-meal.
I sighed. “Jason’s all packed and ready to move in,” I reminded her. “And you have your own place. You’ve been squa—living in my living room for over a month. I’m sorry, babe, but you can’t stay here forever.”
“I’ll pay rent,” Linda pleaded. “I’ll pay triple what Jason can offer you!”
“You know I didn’t ask Jason to move in because I need the money,” I reminded her gently. “Now, what’s really going on?”
Her lips trembled. “I don’t want to be alone in that apartment, after what happened. I-I don’t feel safe.”
Oh, jeez, I had no idea that she felt unsafe. I got up and gave her a tight hug. “Listen, that jerk does not deserve your tears and we are going to clear the shit out of your house when I get there. Plus, Berenice’s visit was just a one-off incident and we’re going to make sure nothing like that ever happens again, I promise. Tell you what, this weekend I’m free, so I’ll get a contractor to come over to yours and we will install the most badass security system we can find. No one’s going to be able to break into your home ever again.”
She sniffled and nodded, clinging on to me like I was the only buoy in a turbulent sea. There was something touching about seeing Linda so vulnerable. It almost made me feel sorry for her, until I remembered that she liked to sleep naked, and that, among other unspeakable reasons, was why I was going to have to reupholster my couch, if not burn it altogether.
Friday 17 June
2:35 a.m. Went to the kitchen to get a glass of water and found Linda doing the unspeakable on my couch again. She moves out TOMORROW.
You know, this whole Poots saga has reminded me that we have to make sage dating choices. Obviously, one cannot be ruled by libido and have zero quality control (Linda).
I thought fondly of Eric. The other night, after Monopoly, he had given me a hug that had lasted longer than three seconds. We were definitely getting somewhere. In the fullness of time.
Saturday 18 June
3:15 p.m. Just came back from Linda’s, where a state-of-the-art security system has now been installed by two men who looked like they had, at one point or another, broken out of a maximum-security prison. The security system incorporates biometric readers, security cameras, light and motion sensors, and other nifty extras, including a monthly subscription to the security firm’s surveillance services. Linda’s father is going to find a very interesting surprise on his Centurion supplementary credit card bill this month.
8:05 p.m. Linda sent me a short WhatsApp video of her lounging in the living room watching a Will Ferrell movie, a glass of white wine in one hand. She gave me a thumbs-up. All seems well.
11:40 p.m. Heading to Linda’s. She said it’s an emergency.
1:45 a.m. Back at mine with Linda. She refused to let me leave without her. She’s unpacked and installed herself back in my living room again to my great chagrin, claiming that my spare room is “really a closet.”
2:20 a.m. I have got to stand up to the women in my life, otherwise I’m never going to be rid of them. At the rate Linda was going, I won’t even have space to accumulate cats, much less a worthy partner!
33
Saturday 25 June
4:15 p.m. Hurrah! I’m finally free of La Linda.
With Jason scheduled to move in with me in a few days, things were coming to a head. Linda’s refusal to budge was becoming tiresome, but as I was still unable to directly confront her, I decided to outsource the dirty work to Jason again.
He came over this afternoon when Linda was at her worst: belligerent, drinking, and watching Saw IV (see why I had to get rid of her?). I opened the door and nodded grimly at him, because he was about to face the beast when she was not wearin
g her civilized mask. But Jason was happily made of sterner stuff. He strode over to the TV and turned it off, before snatching the bottle of wine she’d been necking from her. And placing it in front of his crotch. Smart move.
She barked some obscenity at him.
“Pull yourself together, Linda,” he said. “Is this appropriate behavior for someone your age? What are you, too chicken to deal with the reality of living alone and so weak that you have to get drunk in order to get over a flaccid lump of a man?”
Linda got to her feet and gave him a hard slap. Which, to his credit, he took without shrinking (she’s a tall woman and a boot-camp workout fanatic).
“Asshole,” she said, before she launched herself at him.
And then they were making the most hideous sounds in my spare room for, like, four hours. I know because I left the house to seek refuge in a café and came back to a cacophony of noises I would expect from a gorilla enclosure at the zoo.
And now it was raining elephants outside on a dead-end Sunday. But not enough to drown them out. I speed-dialed Eric.
I quickly filled him in on my desperate situation. “Please, there are a bunch of animals in my house doing bad things to each other and I need to get out of here pronto. Take me to your next activity. I’ll indoor ski, learn how to make pasta from scratch, watch a documentary on Christian Scientists, whatever. Just please get me out of here!”
“I’ve got a better idea.”
He came over and picked me up. I was surprised when we drove up in front of his house on Jervois Hill, which I hadn’t been to since we first met at the Sexless Book Club. For some reason my heart was pounding and my palms were sweaty, not least because there was a very real chance that he was going to suggest we go bowling in his very own home bowling alley, which I suspect he has tucked away somewhere in that mansion of his. I mean, we had done just about everything else.
He dropped me at the front door and I waited for him to park in the underground garage, sweating. He opened the front door, I entered, and we stood awkwardly in the hallway, unsure of where to go next. Especially me. Because you know, his house had wings.
He cleared his throat. “I have this really nice collection of Japanese whisky, so we can spend the evening whisky-tasting,” he said. “Don’t worry. I won’t make you watch any documentaries.”
“Great,” I said, flushing. Here’s the thing about Eric: he wasn’t joking when he said that. He really was just explaining.
“Oh, and Rashidah’s away, so …” He shrugged, looking a little flustered. “We don’t need to, ah, worry about being sociable, you know.”
“Well,” I said. “I think I might need a break from drinking … and I really just want to be with you, alone,” I added with meaning before he could suggest bowling, chess, foosball, or worse, Catan.
“Follow me,” he said in a low voice.
“Oh, I’ll definitely need to, or I might get lost,” I replied, trying to be flippant even though I was perspiring in anticipation, my standard move.
He led me up a stairwell and into his bedroom.
3:10 a.m. Dear God. The man has stamina.
34
Monday 27 June
So yesterday Eric and I *grin emoji* were just lounging around in his home bowling alley (I know), having gone through just about every position known to man, when he turned his sexy dad bod to me, kissed me on my nose, and said, softly, “I really like you, Andrea.”
“Oh,” I said, pretending to pull on my clothes. “I assumed that was how you treat all your mortal enemies. I’ll go now.”
He did not laugh. “Wait, what?” he said. Honestly, sometimes it was disconcerting how little he got my sense of humor.
“I’m kidding.”
“Oh.” He still looked perplexed.
“You were saying, about how likable I am?” I prompted, trying to re-create that moment of intimacy.
“Yes, and what do you think about me?”
“You’re acceptable.”
He smacked my bum. The plush, special acoustic panels absorbed the sound. Ah, to be so rich.
“No, really,” I cleared my throat and avoided meeting his eyes. “I think I like you, too.”
“Good,” he said, looking relieved. “I thought you would start laughing in my face. You’re so wonderful.”
“What?!” I blurted, before bursting into laughter. “Stop yanking my chain!”
“I’m sorry?” The same perplexed look.
“I mean, stop joking.”
“But you are, and the crazy thing is, you’re so hard on yourself. Don’t you know how beautiful and smart and exuberant and put-together and—”
“Shuudddddup,” I said, getting embarrassed.
“You’re amazing,” he said, leaning over to kiss me. And something else extremely naughty. Yum.
“I’ve never had a guy compliment me so much after sex. Usually they just escape,” I deadpanned. “The perks of going out with an older guy, eh?”
He did not laugh. “So it’s official then, we’re going out together?” Eric asked, looking strangely vulnerable.
“Er, yes? I mean, yes!”
He gave me a long, searching kiss. “Then I’m glad.”
Thursday 30 June
7:35 a.m. Eric left this morning to go on another weeklong business trip to Beijing, after we had spent the last few nights together. (He would pick me up after work and bring me back straight to his place, skipping dinner entirely. *ahem*)
I have to say, I’m so glad to be done with dating in general. And not just by hooking up with any average Joe: I was dating Eric Deng, the ultimate trophy man, the Birkin of Boyfriends, the kind of man the Chairman page of annual reports for a Fortune 500 was designed for! And I wouldn’t even be his second wife! I mean, if he decides to put a ring on it one day, I would be his starter spouse! An older, but still much younger (than him) starter spouse! I was finally winning in the Game of Life. Not only was my career (semi) back on track, but I had landed a man who was every Asian Tiger Mom’s wet dream for a son-in-law.
8:02 a.m. Yuck, the words “wet dream” and “son-in-law” should never, ever be uttered in the same sentence.
11:15 a.m. Idly, I flicked open TLTS to see what Suresh—I mean, to see what Water was up to. Things were coming to a head with Water and Rhean. Their energy as a vigilante couple was explosive, and things were getting out of hand. A lot of collateral damage was happening in their kills. They weren’t trying to contain themselves. It was as though their pent-up desire for each other was making them act recklessly in other areas of their lives.
I checked out TLTS’s follower count and was staggered to see it was now hovering at close to 150K.
Friday 1 July
Jason came over to survey the apartment before moving in; he wanted to see if he could get rid of any of his stuff if needed.
I asked him how much space he would need as Linda’s belongings still littered half of the living room.
“I have a desk, a chair, a small box of kitchen utensils, and maybe two large suitcases and a carryall. That’s it.”
I begged him to simplify my life. He handed me a book from his backpack. “Read this. I was going to bring it over to Linda’s the next time I see her, but you can have it first.”
“The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up,” I read, in a voice laced with skepticism. “By Marie Kondo. What, I can’t just chuck stuff in a drawer? Dude, this looks hard.”
“Hey, there are no shortcuts to enlightenment. Face it: everything in life involves work.”
I fought the urge to kick him in the shins.
We celebrated by having a boozeless dinner à deux (takeaway pizzas from a nearby pizzeria). After we were done, he cleared the table and shooed me away when I offered to help with the washing up. Then he made us both rooibos tea and we watched a Steven Seagal movie. It was all very civil and pleasant, until I heard the door open.
“Hello, chickadees, guess who?” a familiar voice crowed. My heart sank. It was
Linda. I had almost forgotten she still had the spare key to my apartment. She walked over and plopped herself down on the couch between me and Jason.
“What are you doing here?” I protested. “I just got rid of you.”
She shrugged with a “Who, me?” expression. “I needed to get the rest of my things, didn’t you say?”
“Yes, but I said I’d call you and arrange a time.”
“No time better than the present.” She gave Jason a long kiss. “Did my little kitty miss me?” she mock-growled.
“I sure did,” he said. He was stroking her face. “God, you have such good skin.”
I sighed. “Please go to her place. I have thin walls.”
They ignored me.
I went to the office. It was safer that way. I was already regretting asking him to move in.
Saturday 2 July
9:45 a.m. Turns out I didn’t really have to regret for long.
I woke up to a loud banging on the door.