Right now he was reading through Jonathan Tropper’s This Is Where I Leave You which I slowly realized was the reason why his head was bowed low.
“Dude!” I exclaimed, slapping his arm as soon as I managed to walk up to him. I winced as my toes complained. This is what I get for wearing heels to regular Sunday mass.
He looked up in confusion as Maggie giggled at him, and my mother gave his book a sharp look. Dad just looked sympathetic at his dilemma before they went deeper into the church to get seats. “Are you seriously reading during the homily?”
Max and I were like the Doctor and Donna Noble, best friends, partners, and equals with a strict "no mating” policy in effect. We met two years ago at a Pet Training Class he taught as a summer job out of boredom.
In the class, Bibi learned to sit, stay, and to recognize his name. I found a best friend in Max. I asked him for help with Bibi’s behavior on the first day, and he asked if I wanted lunch before I could open my mouth.
The next thing I knew, the class was over and we were in each other's lives. We liked the same movies, the same TV shows, and listened to the same local bands. He read all the books I wished I had read, and regaled me with stories of his dating disasters.
Unfortunately for him, being his best friend also involved me happily smothering him with my care, making sure that he attended Mass with me on Sundays, that he had food in his condo, and that Wookie isn’t left sitting by a bench while his human is distracted by a book.
“Well, I was until you showed up,” he said pointedly, folding the edge of the page to make sure he didn’t get lost in his reading before he closed the book. He leaned in and gave me his usual friendly kiss on the cheek. “Welcome back by the way, gorgeous.” I looked up at him just in time to catch him smiling at me. He was already tapping his foot impatiently on the floor.
“I missed you,” he said. “I missed your nagging.”
Max has always had an adorable smile, one that was half-mischievous and half-smug. It made him a fantastic liar, and it was one of the things that I like about him. I’d told him many times that he’d be a great con artist.
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” I nudged the side of his stomach with my elbow and he guffawed, eliciting a withering glare from one of the more strict churchgoers. I smiled sheepishly as an apology and turned to face the altar. What was the priest talking about? Something about being nice to your neighbors or something…
“Did you get me pasalubong?” He asked. “Presents, presents, my kingdom for presents! I seem to remember I asked for a Korean sex gong.”
“No,” I replied curtly, keeping my eyes up front. “Focus on the Mass.”
He started swaying a bit while he stood. I elbowed him again.
“By the way," I whispered. “Koreans don’t have sex gongs. Believe me, I asked.” I felt my cheeks burning as Max started laughing. I knew it! I knew he was just baiting me with that! I asked exactly three stores at Insadong before I managed to work out that Max was having a laugh from thousands of miles away. I would never forget the bewildered looks the Korean salesladies gave me when I tried to describe the said gong.
Max was still laughing, and the same woman that had glared at us earlier was now pursing her lips, ready to tell him off. I pulled his arm and led him to the bathrooms until his laughter subsided. At this rate we were going to be kicked out of the church!
“Will you stop?” I asked, crossing my arms, and glaring at him. I quickly realized that I was sweating, thanks to the heat of the summer and the blush from embarrassment on my cheeks. I took a couple of quick breaths and tried to cool down so I didn’t look like a big round tomato in my equally red dress. I leaned against the bathroom sink, easily accepting Max’s hand as he helped me sit on the marble countertop. He was still laughing.
“You’re impossible,” I grumbled at him. He stopped laughing just to wink exaggeratedly at me, handing me a piece of tissue which he’d run under the sink to help cool my face. If I didn’t find it so funny I knew I would have slapped his arm again. I dabbed the tissue against my skin.
“That’s why I have you to keep me in line, Martha,” he said, giving me a quick little wink before pulling at my hand to get me off of the bathroom counter. I’m always a little embarrassed that he has to help me sometimes, but if he minded, Max never mentioned it. I tossed the used tissue into the nearby trash bin. “Now can we go back? You really have to learn to behave when attending Mass.”
I slapped his arm again and he scowled in fake pain while we made our way back to our spot by the doors. The man was impossible, but I loved him anyway.
Two
One of my least favorite things about coming home from a trip is the inevitable realization that you’re back to your usual routines. After spending a week in the utter bliss of having a relaxed schedule, waking up early to go to work is the worst. The worst-iest worst. Especially when you check your phone first thing in the morning to see that you’ve already got three text messages waiting for your immediate response.
Martha hija, good morning! Did you have a good breakfast? I quite enjoyed mine since Yaya served the dried fish we got from that weekend market—you know, the same one your mother likes to visit sometimes. Was she there? I don’t think I saw her.
That was the first text. My aunt, Merryweather Aguas-Benitez, texted like she talked, and she loved talking. It made asking her simple questions utterly impossible, which was why people thought she was fascinating and eccentric. Thankfully, she got to the point by her second message.
I am so glad your Papa recommended you to help me for the Met Theatre fundraiser! This is already our second benefit together, and my friends in the arts are thrilled that we can create these things. Speaking of which, how are the invitations coming along? Did you speak to the printer?
Ah, yes. So I ended up helping her out with the fundraiser anyway, getting in touch with the printers first thing in that morning. Dad knew the magic words to use to get me into the project, which was that the event was soon, and "in dire need of my help.“
Tita Merry's idea was actually very cool—a movie screening to raise funds to help restore the old Metropolitan Theatre in Manila. She wanted it to be a full experience, with décor, people in costumes, theme food, and a live band to play the score.
Tita Merry was always up to things like this. Ever since Tito Gerund Benitez, the shipping magnate, died two years ago, Tita Merry kept herself busy with charity events, gallery openings, and art sponsorships, making good use of her now considerable fortune.
This fundraiser was only one of many she had already passed on to me. This meant that I already knew the drill. Invitations three weeks before, then two weeks for coordination with the designers, one week for set-up until the event. She already had a list of invitees and contacts for everything, so I didn't think it was going to be too hard.
Plus, I get to pick the movie and the theme! I was still debating between The Sound of Music and Clue. Both would require a lot of work thematically, but when done right, would make the evening memorable.
To be perfectly honest, I liked doing these events. They took up a lot of my time, but it was always rewarding to know that I could do something to help.
Yes Tita, picking them up on Wednesday after work, I texted back.
That is wonderful! Come over later so we can discuss. Mrs. Aquino next door brought ensaymada and tsokolate from her farm so we can have those.
I had to admit, Tita Merry really knew how to feed people. I smacked my lips in anticipation of the soft, sweet buns with sharp cheese baked on top and the warm, creamy hot chocolate made from pressed cocoa. Knowing how to feed people was a Filipino art form Tita Merry had mastered very well. I set the appointment with her, making a mental note to let Benjo know where to pick me up before I moved on to the next message.
Mindy: MAJOR WORK EMERGENCY I AM HAVING A BREAKDOWN HERE
I frowned at the message. Where Tita Merry loved length to her texts, my officemate Mindy Capr
as loved to text in all caps. She was a certified drama queen, in her words, but texting me at 8am was unlike her. She often remarked that she only became an accountant to fund lavish clothes and her crazy expensive gym membership. Bare minimum was her style, according to her.
Calm down, I responded. Text details. On the way there.
I sent off the quick reply and headed straight for the shower. I’d be ready to go in thirty minutes. This was what I did in the office. I was a problem-solver, which worked well with my inherent need to help people. Everyone knew that "I need you” was my weakness. It was a symptom of the lonely.
I hummed a little tune to myself as I looked into my closet. I pulled out a pair of wide leg trousers I paid a little too much for at H&M, then a silk button down shirt that was a men's size XXL. I was sure it was going to look fantastic with my favorite camel heels.
I loved dressing up, and I did my research. I read all the books, blogs and beauty bibles, kept myself updated on the rules and made up my own.
Over time, I learned to love dressing for my body, wearing heels and short skirts like it was nobody's business. When the outfit was right, I felt like I could take over the world. When the outfit was wrong…I didn’t even like thinking about when the outfit was wrong.
I had quite a nice shape when you looked at me straight-on. Then there were the usual observations—my gigantic breasts, my bulging belly (and the lovely stretch marks that accompanied it), my Michelin man arms and tree trunk legs. I loved and accepted my body parts most of the time, but there were one or two moments in the day when I would close my eyes and hope that everything was actually smaller than it looked.
Bibi barked to get my attention. I turned to him and saw that he was giving me that look, one that seemed constantly amazed at how a mess like me managed to keep him alive.
Or maybe he was bored.
"Hey boy," I said, smiling as I picked up his favorite toy from where we left it under the bed. "Who wants to play?"
He perked up immediately, wagging his tail and running around the floor. I raised the toy and tossed it…just for it to hit him in the face when he jumped up to catch it.
“Aww Bibi,” I laughed, coming over to pick him up. “I know how you feel.”
Mindy's response came in after my shower. Apparently one of our consulting meetings was bumped up from Friday to today, and she had nothing ready. I coached her though the phone, trying to help her gather enough of the materials before I got in to polish her presentation. I explained to her what the client was looking for, and that managed to calm her down somewhat. Thank god. Mindy had been my assistant for about seven months now, and she wasn't used to the more erratic pace of our foreign clientele yet.
I work in an accounting firm where investors came to us and ask how they can create, improve on, or generate investments in the Philippines. We help them with their registrations and filings, but we do a lot of advising and hand-holding too. It’s a one-stop shop kind of place to help investors navigate the landmine that is Philippine business. I loved it, but sometimes the pace was demanding, and half the time I felt like I had no idea what I was doing.
"Marta-martita!" Ellen singsonged from downstairs. "Time to go! Your Papa is waiting downstairs!"
Shoot. I gave myself one last glance in the mirror and twisted my hair into a quick topknot.
Hello, gorgeous, I told myself. I smiled at my reflection and headed off to work.
"Is it possible to only half-love yourself?" I asked Max over the phone three hours later. What should have been an hour-long drive to the office (even with traffic) actually took two hours. Our driver Benjo tried to take a shortcut but ended up in a lane with a traffic accident blocking up the main highway. Safe to say my mood hadn't really improved. Not even the grande caramel macchiato and pearl sugar waffle I got from Starbucks was helping.
Thankfully, Mindy's presentation was ready to go, just in time for the client to arrive at the office. I was supposed to be making a competitive analysis of two franchise opportunities when I had the feeling that I should call Max.
"Martha, I'm not going to lie," he said from his end of the line. "I have no idea what you're talking about. But if you’re talking about love, I am an expert in the subject.”
“I’m pretty sure we’re talking about a different kind of love. But I'm talking about self-love."
"What, now? In the office?"
"MAX! Ugh, never mind!" I said with a sigh. "This heat is just getting me down. Plus it was total carmageddon from Ortigas to Makati. You're lucky it only takes you a ten-minute walk to get to the clinic."
“In forty-degree heat with my fragile porcelain skin?” He laughed. “Yeah, I’m lucky.”
“That’s why I bought you a hat, Max! You’re supposed to wear it!”
To most people, Max was Doc Max, a veterinarian with his own clinic in the fancy mini mall in front of the compound of his fancy condominium. Running the clinic and seeing his patients kept him busy most days and it wasn't unusual for him to be answering texts or giving soothing words of advice to his patients over the phone.
"I'm actually in the car too."
"Liar liar," I chanted, taking a small bite off of my waffle. Pearl sugar bits, yum!
"I shit you not! I met this woman at a bar last night. She's moving back to Cebu this afternoon so I'm on a crazy rush to the airport to win her hand in marriage."
"Max, I'm not really in the mood for your imaginary sexcapades."
He must have sensed the annoyance in my voice, because he laughed it off to lighten my mood. "I'm on my way to Manila Zoo. One of my old college classmates is doing a giraffe birth, and I'm assisting."
I frowned, trying to discern if he was telling the truth.
"I don't know much about your job, but I do know your specialization is dogs and cats," I pointed out. I remembered because he explained to me once at length why he was jealous of the hundred-year old man in a book for having an elephant he couldn’t possibly be certified to take care of. "Are you certified?"
"Well, it's a birth, so it's mainly just catching the calf when it comes out," he joked, making me roll my eyes slightly. "Hey, cheer up, will you? The sun is shining, you're eating a Starbucks waffle—“
“How did you know that I—“
“I’m bringing a baby giraffe into this—SHIT!”
There was a sound of car tires screeching to a halt and Max likely slamming on his horn. I jerked up in my seat, not really sure why. It wasn’t as if I could go to Max right now.
“Everything okay?” I asked, as he honked his horn one more time.
“Just the usual driving hazards,” He sighed. “We need to play hooky one day, Martha. Just you, me, Ang Bandang Shirley and the highway, that’s all I want in life.”
Max's enthusiasm was always infectious, and I knew from experience that he loved taking long drives with his favorite songs playing in the background.
“It would never work out, you love your pet patients too much to totally disconnect,” I said, fighting the urge to smile. His idea was actually really nice. Maybe we did need a day to just get away from it all. Maybe.
“I know. Plus I’m actually excited about this giraffe birth. I even downloaded a GPS app for the drive," he pointed out proudly, and this time it was my turn to get excited. Max was slightly old school in some ways. He loved local bands, so all he listened to were CDs. He had social media accounts, but never used it on his phone (too busy with patients, he said). Twitter bored him, Instagram was way too “hipster” for him, and Goodreads just “spoiled the surprise.”
"Thank god!" I exclaimed. "How is it working out so far?"
"Well, I've had to drive through a couple of sketchy areas where there were more people than street, but so far so good."
"Just keep your doors locked and your windows up and you should be fine," I advised. "Do you have water? It’s really hot out, and the Manila Zoo isn’t exactly air conditioned.”
“Yes Mommy,” he teased. He paused. “I'm we
aring that stupid baseball cap you got me. Feeling better now?”
“Much,” I told him. I know that right then, I should have said “'thank you for making me feel better” or “you're the best-est friend a big girl could have." But Max already knew these things. I never really had to tell him, which was one of the best parts of our friendship. All I could really say was, “Try not to get giraffe placenta on you.”
“I won’t.”
“Bye,” I chirped.
“Byeeeee,” He said, letting the ‘eee’ ring out until he hung up. I was still smiling when Mindy came back from her presentation, a knowing look on her face as she balanced the projector, her laptop and the clients’ financial statements in her arms.
“Whooo was thaaaat?” She asked in a singsong voice, swaying her body in time to her singsong as she set her baggage down before she turned on me. “Waaaas iiit a booooy?” I scoffed, resuming my work. What was I supposed to be doing again? Oh right, competitive analysis. “It was just Max.”
“Uh-huh,” Mindy said, like I just told her everything she needed to know.
“By the way,” she continued, picking up the projector carefully to return to the IT department. “Shelly’s in there with the clients, and they asked for you because they wanted a discount on the retainer agreement. I would go in there before Shelly loses her nerve and freaks.”
Right, time to work.
I headed to the conference room, ready to be all smiles and coquettish laughs when my eyes immediately zoned in on a familiar face in the group. Suddenly a two hundred pound stone dropped in my stomach me, my legs wobbled in my heels, and I wanted to cover up my stomach with my hands. My heart hammered in my chest and my palms actually started to sweat.
And all because I saw Enzo Miguel again.
If the Dress Fits Page 2