by Bianca Mori
Something soft and indefinable takes residence in his eyes. “Isn’t that a good thing, Mags?”
“No, it’s not,” I shake my head. “It’s gotten me into a lot of trouble.”
I sigh as I look at my hands.
“Seven years ago, way before I joined Star Contact, I dated a teammate for a few months. We broke up--it wasn’t working out and I’d met someone else. He decided to get back at me by hacking into my Facebook account and posting our private text messages for all the world to see.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” His breath hisses as he inhales. “But what does that have to do with having an open heart?”
“You make it sound like that’s so wonderful,” I grimace. “If it were, then it follows it should’ve led me to the right choices. Except I keep choosing wrong, and I never learn. You see? I never learn.” My eyes drift toward the ball pit, where my son makes a snow angel among the multicolored plastic balls.
“Magnus?” he whispers softly. I nod. “New York?” I nod again.
He stares back at my son, the golden-brown curls, the toasted honey skin taking on a new meaning.
I follow his gaze and the words tumble out of me, like they’d been waiting to be called out all this time.
“I met the man who fathered Magnus when we were doing that insurance process transfer in New York. It was my first time in the U.S. He was cute and he was friendly and I was...kaladkarin.”
I look up at him, afraid of what I’ll see. His eyes are soft, concerned.
“It was a few nights of fun. Nothing serious. I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong—we were two consenting adults, weren’t we? We both liked each other and we both knew what we were getting into.” The feeling in my heart is a physical pain, a yawning hurt above my diaphragm that I press with my fist to keep from growing larger and swallowing me whole. “We drank and we weren’t careful and I was a fool who didn’t take the right precautions and…” I sigh and look back at my son.
Luke walks his hand over to mine and gingerly places it over my palm. His touch is warm and strong and steady.
“When I got back to the Philippines,” I say, voice so soft now it barely registers above a whisper, “It took a few weeks before I started noticing things. The fatigue, the nausea. By the time I accepted the fact that it wasn’t just overwork, that it could be something more...when I took the test, I was already three months along. My pregnancy got difficult and I had to resign.”
“And his dad?”
“We hadn’t exchanged any details or anything when I flew back home. Like I said, we both agreed that it was a for-fun thing only, strictly for the short time we were together in New York.”
“Yeah, but he got you pregnant!” His voice shakes with indignation.
“And what should I have done? Stalk him online? Find his mom, have her intervene? Beg him for support? Ask him for money and demand he take responsibility for a child that he likely doesn’t even want?”
“But maybe if he knew--”
I scoff. “Please, Luke. I may be a slut but I have some pride.”
He flinches. “Please don’t call yourself that.”
“Why shouldn’t I? Everybody else does.”
He takes a deep breath, literally chewing over the words I feel he wants to unleash on me. But he masters himself and says, “I’m sorry, Mags. It’s not my place to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do or have done.”
I meet his gaze, willing him not to look away. “There used to be rumors about me, Luke. Now that I have Magnus, there’s nothing to gossip about anymore. It’s all confirmed.”
“Mags…”
I laugh a bit, tinged with hysteria. “The irony is that to most people, my son’s like a scarlet letter of sorts, when he’s the reason why I’ve been doing my best now. Not dating, not going out, not traveling. Doing this training thing, doing everything to stop playing around and be stable and serious. For his sake.”
“For the record,” he says with certainty, “I think you’re an amazing mom, and I know Magnus knows it, too.”
My eyes sting, suddenly, and I blink back the tears. One escapes though, but before it can course down my cheek, Luke reaches over and wipes it away.
“I’m sorry.” My voice is thick and strangled.
“What is it?”
“It’s just that... no one ever really treats me and Magnus like something right, you know what I mean? There’s only Auntie Tilde, and that’s because she knows what a nightmare my mom is, and that I have no one else. The rest of the time…” I gulp for air, afraid of the torrent threatening to break. “It feels like I’m forever in the middle of atonement, and I’m nowhere near making up for my sin.” I squeeze his hand back. “Even people who mean well talk about Magnus and me like a temporary setback that I’ll eventually overcome, either by marrying the right, ‘accepting’ guy or becoming ‘successful.’ Whatever that means.”
He points out Magnus, who’s now talking animatedly to two kids in the play place’s toy kitchen. Together they assemble a pretend plate of food and take turns sniffing it.
Kids are so weird. I just have to laugh at the sight of them.
“That kid is wonderful,” he says quietly. “That kid is meant to be here, and he’s meant to have you.” His eyes have that intense, steely glint in them again; so captivating I can’t look away. “Why should you atone for that?”
Before I know what I’m doing, I reach over and hug him. It’s to physically rein in my emotions and thank him in a way that words can’t say. But his arms wrap tightly around me and his face buries itself against my cheek and all I can feel is the strength and warmth of him, and damn I may have miscalculated this physical contact idea.
He detaches to plant a swift kiss on my cheek. “C’mon, Magsie. It won’t do for Magnus to catch you crying.”
I gather myself together and follow him to the play place booth, where one of the attendants is helping my son into his shoes.
“Are you ready to go, Buchoy?”
“Yes!” he cries, leaping into my arms. I hold him for a long moment, enjoying the feel of my son cradled against me.
My little gift.
Chapter 9
SURFING SPEECH
DRAFT (con’t)
When I was 29 I received an unexpected gift a month after Christmas. The gift arrived at 7:32 in the morning one humid January. Seven pounds two ounces, bright pink and screaming, with little tufts of fine sandy hair that later darkened to a burnt caramel.
The gift did not come without surprises, however. And not all of them were welcome.
See, when they took my little boy from me, they didn’t do it properly. We all very nearly lost my gift and it took me a very long time to heal. No getting up for a month, and walking and carrying a baby at the same time? Nearly impossible. Still, I took it on. I focused on getting better. I concentrated on being able to care for my little one. I wanted to be well, because for the first time in my life, looking out for me wasn’t my number one priority anymore. Although I hadn’t planned for it, now I had a real reason to wake up in the morning, aside from funding my next surfing trip.
It’s been well, you see. My son’s replaced my waves. I haven’t surfed or been in the ocean for nearly five years.
***
The next two weeks are a flurry of activity as Luke and I refine Twenty Tips To Blowing Your Audience Away. We make it through roughly half of my speech (still testing on Cass and Peter and various training classmates) when our practice sessions are cut short by something insidious and inescapable:
The annual Newly Promoted Managers Christmas Party Presentation.
In a tradition I am assured is baked into the very DNA of Star Contact, newly promoted managers in an inclusive fiscal year must perform at the annual holiday celebration. Given how amusing it is to watch your bosses make a total fool out of themselves at a company Christmas party, the presentation is the highly anticipated centerpiece of the program, and participants take it very ser
iously.
However reluctant, Luke is no exception.
“Remind me to strangle Cash tomorrow,” Luke yells as he barges into his condo one Thursday evening. I’ve gone ahead, after he’d texted to say that practice would be going over, again, and that his unit’s keys had been slipped into my locker and would I wait for him there?
“What’s he done this time?” I call out, nestled in his futon and deep into my research for possible video clips to play for tips six to eleven.
“The guy thinks this is, like, the chance to resurrect his dreams of creating Step Up Five: BPO Has Beens or something.” He throws his hoodie into the bathroom hamper, yanks the fridge door open and downs nearly half the contents of his water jug in one long, vigorous gulp.
I snicker. Cash Morales, newly minted IT Support Manager, was apparently in some sort of college street dance crew and had taken over the Star Contact managers’ presentation with the same obsessive focus as his youthful dance days.
Luke mops his face furiously. “I can’t wait for the party to be over with.”
“Me too.” On a spreadsheet, I mark the time stamps on the section of the video I’m watching that would be perfect for Tip #6: Your Nerves Can Excite You!
When I look up, Luke is staring at me funny.
“What?”
“I’m sorry to eat up all your time like this,” he says quietly. “The managers’ presentation is more trouble than it’s worth, right when we need to perfect our curriculum revamp--”
“Not a problem, Luke.” I shut the laptop and sit up straighter. “We’re in good shape. The preview we showed to Tina and Bong really excited them, remember? Besides, I’ve been making good progress with our materials.”
He shakes his head. “I just feel bad that you have to spend all this time away from your son.”
There’s a weird twist in my belly that I shrug off. “I do too. But it’s only for a couple of weeks until the party, and then we’re back on track, right?”
“I guess I just miss Magnus, that’s all.”
I get up on my knees as Luke drops beside me. He leans against the wall and shuts his eyes, looking utterly exhausted.
“Well, I’m doing this for him, aren’t I? So I’m not guilty.” At least, not that much. “I can’t explain how much it’ll mean to me, nailing this. It’ll be like...finally finding the thing I’m good at, after thirty-two years of drifting along. And getting to take care and support Magnus because of it? Way cooler.” I smile at Luke. “So please, stop being an Eeyore about this. Let’s just kick ass.”
He smiles back. “All right. So long as you aren’t pissed off at me.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Maybe I’d be less pissed if you’d let me take a peek at one of your practices…?”
His grin turns naughty. “You know that’s not legit, Magsie. You need to wait for the Christmas party, just like everybody else.” He gets up and pads to the kitchen.
“I can’t use my friendship privilege with Hot Training Manager to get special treatment?”
He turns back, eyebrow raised quizzically. “Hot Training Manager?”
There was a time when a declaration like that would’ve set my cheeks ablaze, but over the past few weeks, with all the time spent with Luke in the office and at his place, our relationship has progressed to a manageable level of comfort. Maybe I’m finally getting immune to his charms due to constant exposure? Like a virus.
“Yeah.” I wake up the laptop and pick up where I left off. “That’s what everyone calls you. Didn’t you know?”
He shakes his head, shoulders bobbing with silent laughter. “It kind of makes me feel weird to be objectified like that.”
“Oh please. You love it.”
“Eh. You in a fish or meat state of mind?” He’s at the cupboard, a can of tuna in one hand, corned beef in the other.
“Fish.”
The sounds and smell of a simple dinner getting cooked starts emanating from the bare kitchenette.
“Would you objectify me, Magsie?”
I look up. He’s got a teasing grin on his face, those dark eyes narrowing into amused crescents. One hand is on his hip and the other is holding his only cooking spatula.
I want to objectify you in your bare kitchen right now, mister.
Hmm. Maybe I’m not as immune as I thought.
“You know that they only have you in the presentation so that everyone will stay for the whole program at the party, right?” I mutter, typing furiously and hoping that my face hasn’t turned red.
“Flattering. Completely fabricated, but flattering.” He waggles his brows. “Let’s hope you’re still as generous after seeing me make a fool out of myself at the party.”
“I can’t wait,” I tease. I unearth another promising video and hunt for my earphones, thoughts of the Star Contact Christmas Party disappearing from my mind as the video plays.
Star Contact always holds its company Christmas party in the first Friday of December. This ensures the company gets first dibs on the venues large enough to accommodate our BPO workforce while also avoiding the insane traffic that usually starts around mid-December and doesn’t let up until Christmas Eve.
I get to the venue early. For the first time, I’m not at the tables reserved for Project Clausen at the other end of the large convention space. (Or worse, picked for the skeleton crew that must stay at the office and work through the night, which happened to me on my first year. We got extra pay and catered meals, but still.) The training team and I occupy one of the center tables, facing the stage.
The night progresses pleasantly. I have a good time eating the yummy buffet dinner and groaning at the raffle prizes none of us at table six ever gets picked for. The company has hired a sexy radio DJ to host the party, and while it’s mostly to keep the majority male workforce engaged and in their seats, she’s funny and her jokes keep us entertained.
The fact that I don’t have to fend off snarky side comments or unwanted advances throughout the night? Major plus points.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” DJ Alexa struts across the stage to loud appreciation from the audience. “We’ve come to the highlight of our program! Please welcome on stage—bolder and hotter than you’ve ever seen them before—your newest managers and leads!”
Applause and catcalls erupt as the stage goes dark and a single bright spotlight shines on the crimson velvet curtain. It parts slowly, revealing a dozen guys in flannel shirts and fedoras.
My heart skips a beat.
In the very center is Luke, kneeling on the floor, head bowed, nearly shimmering with intensity even though he’s perfectly still. A few piano keys plunk out, and ten ladies slink across the stage, moving to stand behind the guys.
The music starts and the presentation begins. Luke starts moving, and I can’t keep my eyes off him.
I may have even stopped breathing,
I don’t think I start again until the program ends and he joins our table.
I’m disoriented. Up on stage he was like a god, or maybe, a boy band member--Nick Carter or one of those moppy One Direction guys, all charisma and star presence. Now, beside me, plowing through a plate heaped with sliced roast beef and trading jokes with Peter, it’s like he’s morphed back into regular, every day Luke and I’m supposed to go back to treating him like my buddy. It’s like trying to do that after finding out your best friend is the crown princess of Genovia.
“You okay?” he says, nudging my waist with his elbow and snickering when I jump in my seat.
“Of course!” I say crossly, rubbing my ticklish spot.
DJ Alexa announces the major raffle winners, which claims the attention of everyone in our table. All my seatmates care about is that the grand prize—a ginormous TV—goes to someone NOT from the training team.
“I swear, the events committee has it in for us!” growls Chantal. “I bet you they don’t even put in our names in the roleta!”
“It’s simple math,” answers Matt, the Six Sigma bro. “We’re a team
of twenty in a sea of hundred-plus-staffed projects. Odds are they’d have a higher chance of being picked for the raffle, no?”
“Bah!” she sticks her tongue out at him and leaves the table.
Our host saves the day, disappearing from the stage for a few moments only to reemerge in an even skimpier outfit and taking her place behind a DJ set-up onstage. She starts spinning, folks start dancing, and before I know it, Chantal’s come giggling back to our table, laden with a couple of buckets of beer.
“Let’s go, Mags!” Peter laughs, pulling me up from my seat and onto the dancefloor. Luke gets up too.
“You dancing?” I ask him.
“I think I’m done for the day,” he laughs. “You go on.”
Just as I’m about to kill it to a Sia song, he gently tugs on my forearm.
“You hitching with me after this?”
“Of course!”
He smiles, and the house lights dim, the darkness pierced with a dozen beams of multicolored light, and I start moving.
Chapter 10
“Do it again,” I giggle.
The party had gone onto the wee hours. Luke had suggested stopping at his place for some coffee and to wake up before driving me home, and now we were on the futon, coffee completely forgotten, both a little drunk and woozy and trying not to fall asleep.
He covers his eyes with his broad hand. “Again? Really? It was bad enough the first time.”
“What? That was awesome! You got to dance with the rest of new management.”
“…While making a total fool of myself in front of literally the entire workforce.”
I’m certain that Luke made the thousand or so employees gathered at the convention hall feel something when he started his routine, but it definitely wasn’t foolishness. Judging by the female squeals and catcalls that had erupted when the spotlight hit him, kneeling on the floor with that fedora on his head and his hips circling slowly, I hadn’t been alone appreciating just how gifted Hot Training Manager was.
“I think you just won yourself new members to your fan club.”