Kit Castille didn't want to be one of the girls who worshiped Matthew Rondillo in college. She doesn't want to be one of the girls in his little black book now. But she gave her heart to Matthew all those years ago. Driven by revenge, she's on a mis...
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Tristan's car smells like him. Brand new. The same thing can be said about his hair. Gone are the messy locks. Tonight, his long curly hair is neatly tied in a sexy man bun that even I, as a woman, can't pull off even if it takes me the whole day.
He wasn't kidding when he said dressy cocktail. He's sporting an all-black ensemble V-neck shirt and butt-hugging jeans topped off with a black coat and finished with a pair of black Steve Madden Harpoon. He looks as if a brand volunteered to dress him up for a social event but knowing him, he probably just put together the neatly pressed clothes he can find in his condo full of boxes.
"You look really nice," he says, as we drive the short distance from my condo to the Ayala Museum where Jason's exhibit is being held. I become suddenly conscious about how I look. It seems as though all the confidence I had built in the years he lived abroad became suddenly questionable.
"Thanks," I say. He parks the car in Greenbelt 3 and we walk the short distance to the museum. I'm in Greenbelt again but somehow, the air feels different this time. It's lighter. Warmer. The lights that pepper the entire place feel softer. I feel softer, like I could really be happy and enjoy not just the gourmet food they will surely serve tonight but the small talks as well. I feel like I am my old self again – optimistic. Happy. Undamaged. Whole.
I slip my arm into Tristan's and feel like all the years between early college and tonight didn't happen. I feel like a bright new person again. And to think, he's just been back a day or two.
"You're hungry, aren't you?" he asks.
"Yes." We both laugh.
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Photo by Deke De Guia
And sure enough, we enjoy the gourmet food they pass around at the photo exhibit. Tristan introduce me again to Jason who remembers me after all these years. I asked for his help for a course requirement in photojournalism in college. It feels nice to be remembered by people in Tristan's life.
"I think he had a crush on you back then," Tristan whispers in my ear after Jason leaves us and we walk from one portrait to another.
