She was there, after the typhoon, tugging the sad, yellowed plants upright. A brush jabbing at the muddy tiles, an aimless hose splattering.
He clattered the mug on the glass table to avoid alarming her, but she had already seen him.
"Quite the storm for December, huh?" he said.
Tala feigned surprise, twelve feet over and a hundred and fifty up, aware that he took coffee most every day out there on the fifteenth floor, gazing over the ornamental lake through the tropical morning haze. Today he had watched her, and she felt a flush of color. Why did he sit out here on the tiny balcony? What did he do? Perhaps he hoped to see her mother inhaling that first cigarette, still dressed in her nightclothes. What did she know? Only that she would catch the edge of her mother's tongue if she didn't make more of an effort. The brush moved with renewed urgency as she engaged her English brain.
"Yeah, s'posed to pass south, they said. But hey, what do they know?"
The words surprised her. Why did she try so hard? He laughed, and she grinned.
Her mother may sleep for another hourānothing disturbs her, neither earthquake, nor typhoon nor the ceaseless thrum of Manila's traffic. Tala would set her coffee maker off before she left for work. Unable to function without morning caffeine, what she did between seven and midnight, they never discussed.
It was what people didāmanage. Rent an apartment, buy an education, bring up your kids well, provide food, pay and pay more, hoping to stay lucky. Now that Tala had worked part time for two years after senior high, the savings helped with her afternoon 'Business Studies with English' course fees.
Self-conscious that she still wore night clothes, she hurried.
He was alone, always. No parties, no girls, no noise. Then he traveled, for a week, a month. Once, it was three months.
Those eyesāwhen she met him shuffling envelopes and plastic-wrapped spam at the mailboxes in the lobby and her face caught fire.
"Hi neighbor, I'm Brad."
"Tala. Pleased to meet you." Please god, let the ground swallow me, she had almost said 'sir'.
Monday, last week, it had been the elevator. Why did it go slower in the morning? Maybe it needed coffee, too. As his lock tumblers clattered, she had held it whilst her instinct was to punch B, close door and justāescape. A bulging blue and yellow backpack with a miniature teddy bear hanging still from its zipper marked her for what she had been three years ago. Cringe timeāshe must fix that.
Polite, always. Never forward, he had fixed their apartment lock when her mother's key stuck, filed burrs and oiled the movementāundemanding and perfect. You could hate these people.
"Good morning, Tala. I hope that pack isn't as heavy as these. May I give you lift? I'm going through Makati right now."
"Oh, no thanks. My bus passes the next block."
God, she'd never survive arriving at work in a car driven by 'Joe'. The collective imagination of peers is a terrible thing. Tala squinted at his security lanyard in the lift's reflection, but she could only read 'US' something on the strap. And why did he carry two laptops?
She was there, outside his door, angry and upset. If Tala wore makeup, it would have runābut she was past caring. Perfect scores all year and now she had failed herself. This had cost her the schedule. No time and a blue screen that taunted. Tomorrow was the deadline for 'English language and its role in the Philippine's international statusādiscuss'.
"Hey, don't worry," he had said, "we'll have that fixed in no timeāI hope you got that essay saved to a thumb drive."
Tala wanted instead to write a treatise on 'the most annoying person you ever met', but swallowed it.
"Come in. I just need some tools and we're set. Grab a soda from the fridge."
"Uh, it's okay, Brad."
"Well, take a beer for me."
Aha, alcoholāa weakness? Tala looked around, open-mouthed. The apartment was spotless, as if no-one lived thereāa show-place. How do people live in perfection? A towel and sweatband hung by the door.
"I'm sorry Brad, you were leaving, right?"
"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter, I can go anytime."
Another glance at his body under gym gear embarrassed her. What the hell was she thinking?
A bulky holdall gave her eyes the excuse to disengage.
"You take this, I'll bring the rest."
The crumpled baggage label on its strap read JAL.
"My favorite place."
"Huh?"
"Tokyo!" She said, jabbing an excited finger at the tag.
"Really? Me too. The food, the weird culture, the cleanliness and, well yeah."
"The girls. You forgot the girls."
That smileāhe looked goofy but cute, she thought.
"Should I be discussing this with you?"
Asian reflex saw a hand cover her mouth. The moment passed but its effect etched.
The clutter contrasted in the few steps across the public area. Why couldn't her mother make more effort? As Brad set down his backpack, she stuffed an errant bra behind a cushion.
"There's a flat box at the top of your bag. If you pass that over, I'll set it it up."