She was supposed to be an expert at managing stress and change. Her job was all about going with someone else’s flow. By God, it wasn’t like women gave birth exactly when Diana predicted. Precipitous births were actually her favorite events, when all she had to do was truly usher along what nature had taken control of.
And yet …
Diana’s phone buzzed in her hand.
It was Carlo. Actually, she’d removed his picture from her contacts and renamed him “The Asshole” after they broke up, and seeing it now made her laugh. She was delirious, obviously. She declined the call, then opened her text box.
I’m sleeping.
Apparently, you aren’t.
What do you want?
I just wanted to make sure you landed okay.
You made it through without the bag?
Diana pressed her lips together. The first flight they’d taken together, she’d thrown up at takeoff. Of course he’d brought it up, to remind her that they had something.
I took Dramamine.
I saw that you called.
I can explain. The person who answered was just a friend.
She thumbed the screen with more force, admonishing her past self for calling him before takeoff.
I don’t need an explanation.
Night.
But Flossy misses you.
The next text was a snap of Flossy snuggled up against his chest. He carried her like a baby, belly up, and her sweet face lolled to the side, tongue hanging out.
Damn it. The guy knew how to get her, knew just how to keep her on the line.
How is she doing?
Truth? Awful. She’s had two accidents in the house. It’s like she knows you’re gone.
I’m not gone.
You know what I mean. I miss you.
I’m here for you.
No, you’re not.
But she didn’t send it. Instead, she deleted that last message, one letter at a time. What was she doing, entertaining the thought of him? Why did she continue to give him the benefit of the doubt, when his only saving grace was that they’d had a few good years?
The tension had built up in her legs. They wanted to go; her muscles craved lactic acid. She peeked out the window. Below was the Manila Bay coastline. With its slow-moving and constant traffic, though with fewer pedestrians at this hour on the baywalk, it would’ve been the perfect time to run. But running in an unfamiliar city might not be the best decision.
On the bedside table was the list of the hotel’s amenities. She flipped to the back and saw that the fitness room was open, so that was an option. With a quick scan down to Tipanan, her tummy growled. Food and a nightcap sounded like the better plan. But as she opened the door, a man in a suit passed, reminding her that she was in sweats and a T-shirt, which was probably not appropriate for this fancy hotel. She weighed how important getting out of this room was against her opposition to changing clothes.
Her tummy growled again, sealing her decision.
Diana pulled a sundress from her suitcase and shook it out. She gathered her hair in a bun and changed out of her pajamas but didn’t bother with makeup. She stuffed the phone in her dress pocket along with her coin purse and walked out of her room.
Tipanan was packed with a mix of wedding attendees and hotel guests. Diana relaxed; she and her outfit fit right in with the raucous mixing bowl of people and noise. And to her relief, she found an empty seat at the bar.
She signaled the bartender. “Can I have a food menu and a pinot grigio, please?” As she waited, she willed herself to relax, focused her gaze on an older couple by the window who were having a private conversation. They appeared to be in their sixties, both with gray hair and an air of calm around them. Each held a drink in their hand, but they didn’t take their eyes off each other, not even when they sipped their drinks. They were a couple with an obvious connection, a couple with a history.
Her heart squeezed, but for what, she couldn’t put a finger on. For a nuclear family she had lost long ago? The chance at her own version of a family? Was it silly to yearn for something she knew, after almost four decades of life, might not be for her? Her granny hadn’t married out of choice, nor did her mother remarry after her father passed. Diana knew in her bones that there were no promises in life, no guarantees, and no set plans for anyone.
“Get a room already, right?” a man grumbled to her right, a barstool between them.
She spied his profile just as her wine and a menu were placed in front of her. He was unshaven, though his dark hair was close-cropped. He lifted the beer to his lips for a protracted pull, and when he placed the bottle down and pursed his lips, his cheeks caved into dimples.
Diana sipped her drink, relished its pop of flavor, and the bit of attention she’d just received. She hadn’t been with a man for at least six months; she was probably a little lonely. But she was on vacation, right? She could be whomever she wanted. “Oh, I don’t know. I think they’re really sweet.”
“Pfft.” His head jerked to accentuate the point. “Until one of them finds out that the other was sleeping with their best friend. Yeah, right.” His eyes darted toward her. “Theoretically, of course.”
“Ah.” She now recognized that slouch he was sporting as well as the cynicism in his voice. She grinned at him, not out of pity but out of understanding. “Or, maybe, one of them sleeps with another doctor during their nights on call. In the call room. Over the course of a year. Theoretically.” Goodness, she hadn’t even had half her drink and she was spilling her business. The jet lag must’ve have been worse than she thought.
He turned to her then, solidarity in his eyes. He was lean, with broad shoulders and a square jaw, which he clenched before he said, “And the one leaves the other to take care of her children while they explore this midlife crisis.”
“And they call back after a while and say, ‘I actually think it’s you I want and not that other woman.’ ”
“And the other says, ‘I would rather live alone than live a lie.’ ” His voice was redemptive, eyes flashing.
“And then they find themselves having a drink all by themselves because …”
“Because they can and why not?” He raised his beer to her.
Why not? she mused, and raised her glass in response.
They both sipped, then set their glasses down on the bar simultaneously. He glanced askance at her. “You’re a visitor. From the States?”
“Yes, and you?”
“Spent many years in the States, but this is home now. What brings you to Manila?”
“Just a vacation.” She left it at that. There wasn’t the need to say any more, though her instinct was telling her otherwise. “Are you here for the wedding?”
“You could say that.”
So he was being private, too, which was fine enough. “I’m …” she faltered. “Ana.”
“Nice to meet you, Ana. I’m Crew.” He offered his hand, which she took, noting his firm handshake. “May I?” He gestured to the open barstool next to her.