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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I sense change, like how you can smell a thunderstorm before it hits. Matthew's calls became less frequent. And then the calls became text messages. And SMS became chat messages. The blanket of bliss I've long carried with me started to lose its purpose – as if the worries inside of me are too big for the blanket to cover.
And speaking of work, it became the only thing that kept me sane in the days that followed the magazine launch. Tristan's short trip to Bellarocca was extended to nearly two weeks. Every now and then he would send me pictures of the place and share quick stories about what he learned in the cooking fellowship that day. In his haste, I couldn't even ask when he was planning to open his restaurant in Katipunan.
The following Friday, my boss Joey gives me two media tickets for the opening night of the play Avenue Q in RCBC Plaza. I want to ask Matthew but given the short notice, I don't feel like our status merits an emergency date on a Friday night. Besides, it has been five days since I last heard from him. I do a quick Facebook stalk and find that he's been busy interviewing celebrities for the magazine's new issue.
I call Hazel who answers on the fourth ring. Music blares in the background and it takes us a short call to conclude that she's already at a smartphone launch at a club called Prive. I quickly realize how small my group of friends had gotten so I end up calling Denver who answers his phone on the first ring. I am sure he's already in a bar somewhere in Bonifacio Global City but I call him nonetheless.
"Okay, I'll see you at the venue," he says. And he sounds sober this time. I look at my phone, not really sure what just happened. I realize that I only have an hour before the show opens. I quickly pack up and walk the short distance to the RCBC building from my office in Makati.
I see Denver leaning against the building's entrance, having a quick cigarette. He looks like he just stepped out from a fashion spread. Today, he's wearing a button-down Navy blue polo shirt, a pair of very dark jeans and leather boots. Unlike last Saturday, he looks clean-shaven, freshly bathed, and sober.
"You look nice," I say as we enter the building. He holds the door for me.
"Family dinner," he says.
"Oh no. You should have told me... "
"I'm actually glad you called," he pushes an elevator button. "My parents are torturing me, telling me to go back to law school."
"But weren't you..."
"Yeah." We step inside the elevator and I push the button for the right floor. "My father talked to some friends and it's all fixed. I can enroll anytime."
"Nice."
"Yeah, sure."
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