Something Complicated

Chapter Eighteen: To Love and Second Chances

Apparently, Jester has convinced dad to buy him a new pair of basketball shoes in time for their school's annual intramurals. It's his first time to join a tournament so it's quite a big deal.

We already went to three stores, but Jester is still unable to find the perfect pair. Honestly, I have never thought buying basketball shoes can be as complicated and as time-consuming as choosing which book to buy when you're under budget.

"Honey. I need to check the department store. Maybe the pillow cases are on sale."

That's the thing about mom. She loves collecting pillow cases. We have so many of them at home that changing pillow cases every two weeks is just usual.

"I also want to go to the bookstore to check any book sale," I take this as my chance to visit my favorite place in the whole wide world. If mom's treasures are pillowcases, mine are books.

"Okay. I can go with Jester. Let's meet here after an hour," Dad easily agrees. Maybe he thinks we are not really of help.

While on my way to the bookstore, I send Stefan a message. He texted me earlier just to say that he's driving his mom to the mall.

Me: We're at the mall, too.

Stefan: Really? Tell me how bored you are. I never understood why people spend so much time here.

If you're living in a city, most likely your favorite pastime is to shop or to eat out. We have more malls here than parks or museums. Dad used to blame the traffic on sprouting shopping establishments, but I read in the news that it is more of a sign of a growing economy.

Whatever. I'd rather have more libraries than malls. Or, okay, have more malls if that means more bookstores.

Me: I'm on my way to the bookstore. Maybe I'll spend an hour there sniffing books.

Luckily, there are few people at the bookstore. I settle myself in the empty corner between the Classic and Romance shelves. As I sit on the floor, a copy of Persuasion catches my eye.

Stefan: What are the odds that we're going to a bookstore, too. Mom wants to buy books for her niece.

Me: You? Going to a bookstore? I hope you don't burn and die.

Stefan: Hopefully not, or the world will weep. How's the bookstore there?

Me: I don't know. It has many books?

Stefan: HAHAHA. Nice try.

I put the copy of Persuasion back on the shelf and start perusing Pride and Prejudice, which is my favorite Jane Austen book. Actually, it's my most favorite classic novel of all time. I take a picture of it and send it to Stefan.

Stefan: What's that? I know it's a book. You don't have to be sarcastic with me. But why did you send me that?

Me: I met my first boyfriend in that book.

Stefan: And who could that be?

Me: Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley

In the few seconds of waiting for his reply, I think that maybe he has gotten bored of me. So when he sends me his picture holding a copy of Pride and Prejudice, I gasp.

Yes, gasp.

Stefan: I already met the Darcy guy, and he's a snob. He didn't even say hello back.

Me: Ha! He was aloof and proud at first. Then he fell in love.

Stefan: All guys are aloof and proud until they find their match.

Well, yeah. For sure, he is talking about Aubrey, on how she is his match and how they are meant to be. He waited all his life to be noticed by her. That summer, I was just a distraction until they finally got together. Funny thing is even now that they broke up, he still thinks about her.

It is always about her.

And it is always me distracting him from her.

Me: Speaking from experience, Manzano?

Instead of answering my question, he sends me a selfie with his tongue sticking out. I study his face for a few seconds before saving it in my photo gallery, you know, for future use.

More than a year has passed and a lot has happened since that summer, but I know deep inside it will be hypocritical of me to say I never wished Stefan Manzano had fallen in love with me instead.

I open my front camera and send him a photo of me with my fist up in the air. I caption it with "To love and second chances."

To love and second chances. That I repeat to myself.