Road Block Chapter 26: Yup, we skipped something, didn’t we?

There are days that are memorable, but there are days that are unforgettable.

Some days are both—and more.

This is one of those days, days that are just beyond words, days that are just perfect you want to put them in a bottle just to capture the perfection. Pictures won’t even give it justice.

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Road Block Chapter 25: Mrs. Santillan :)

Mrs. Santillan. :)

I laughed at the similar status of Ryan and Steve at Facebook. I wondered if they had talked about this—to post this status just before we fly back to the Philippines for Ryan and my batch reunion, and to see my family again after the wedding a year ago. Though I had long since changed my relationship status on Facebook from single to married (I didn’t even pass the engaged stage), I haven’t used the Santillan surname yet, for the main reason that nobody in the Philippines—except maybe my family—know that I married a Santillan.

It’s not like I didn’t want to use it—and it’s not like he hadn’t insisted that I use it on Facebook (I’ve used it everywhere else except on social networking sites)—but… fine.

There’s absolute no more excuse why I shouldn’t use my husband’s surname… on Facebook.

I refreshed both Ryan’s and Steve’s profile pages and saw the comments, asking (a) who Mrs. Santillan is, (b) if something happened to their mother, who is also a Mrs. Santillan, or (c) if either Ryan or Steve already has a Mrs. Santillan (and got married).

Maybe when I get to the Philippines, I’d change my status and my surname.

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Road Block Chapter 24: Knowing & Deciding

“Hey.”

I closed Gayle Forman’s If I Stay and breathed deeply. There were already tears on my face—I wish Steve and I could end up loving each other as great as Mia and Adam do—because of the book (which Steve bought for me, by the way, just like most of the books that are piled up next to my bed), but I think it’ll be a very good preparation for the tearfest I am about to have now with Steve.

I don’t know how I came to this, but I just need it. I need to do it, to be exact.

“I am—” Steve began to say, but he stopped, surveying my face. I guess he saw something on my face that made him shake his head. He walked over to me, his hands clamping over mine. “No, Samantha. You are not doing this.”

I closed my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts and wondering how best to tell Steve.

“Samantha, I waited fifteen—hell, maybe even seventeen years—for you. I am not going to wait for a week, a month, or whatever bullshit time you need,” Steve said, his voice firm and angry. “And why? You have to tell me why.”

I opened my eyes and I saw his eyes flashing with so much emotions that I had to look away.

“I just need time. I rushed into this with you—”

“We took our time, Sam. Hell, we took fifteen years to fall in love with each other. That is not rushing.”

I removed my hand away from Steve’s and stood up. I can’t stand Steve when he’s mad. Actually, I can’t stand hurting Steve anymore than I did in the past two decades, but…

I started to pace. Steve says it’s bad when I do that. He knew something is bad when I start to pace.

“Sam,” Steve said, impatience in his voice. He grabbed me by the shoulders and made me look into his eyes. “This is stupid and pointless. Ryan will warm up to the idea of you and me together. Just give him some time. And that accident wasn’t your fault—”

“Stephen,” I whispered, blinking the tears that sprung in my eyes, “I need to just… breathe. Seeing Ryan again after so long, and his telling me how it hurts him that I am with you and… Everything is just too much to take in, okay?”

“Fine,” he said, frustration evident in his voice. “I can step back and let you take your time. If you need space, I’ll stay away for a week or two if that’s what you need.” He paused, running his hand through his hair. “But why, Samantha—why does it feel like you’re breaking up with me?”

I was stumped, my mouth falling open, and no voice came out. “You are… breaking up with me?” Steve said slowly, and I shook my head. “I’m not. Stephen, I’m not. At least I think I am not.”

I reached up and touched his face. “I am just confused,” I whispered, and Steve’s jaw hardened.

“Honestly, Samantha, if you really are sure that you want to be with me, you shouldn’t be confused,” he replied, his voice cold. He removed his hands on me, and then he walked away, heading for our bedroom. I sighed, unconsciously shivering, and then after a few minutes, I followed him. I found him sitting at the edge of the bed, his face buried in his hands.

I knelt down in front of him, placing my palm at the top of his head and brushing his hair slowly.

“Steve, I have to fix Ryan. I have to end it with him. I have to finally face him after how many months of skirting around the issue that he and I aren’t over formally—”

I heard Steve let out a shaky breath and he looked up at me, his eyes pained. “Not that I don’t trust you, Sam, but your record with these kinds of things aren’t really good. The last time you want to end things formally with Ryan, you ended up shacking with him and going into these out-of-town trips and all that shit. Sam, I am not going to endure another video—”

I silenced him with a kiss, my fingers tangled in his hair’s fine mess. “Steve,” I whispered against his lips, and he pulled me closer to him.

“I trust you, okay? It’s Ryan I don’t trust. He loves you—or at least he did—and now that he saw that you’re happy with no other than me, he’s gonna want you back, Sam,” Steve said, groaning as he pulled me onto his lap. “And seeing that he managed to already confuse you—”

I shook my head. “I know I love you, Stephen. Can we hold on to that?” I whispered, and he nodded.

“I love you,” Steve whispered into my ear, cradling me in his arms.

I nodded. “I just need a couple of days, Steve. Just a couple of days,” I whispered back. He looked into my eyes as if wanting to find something in them, and then he nodded.

“I love you, Stephen,” I whispered again, and I felt him pull his arms tighter around me.

“I love you, Samantha,” he whispered back, but there was this catch in his throat that told me of his doubts.

I let Stephen hold me, like he did when I came home from Atlanta after “breaking up” with Ryan.

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Road Block Chapter 23: Road Block

In the Amazing Race, there is a road block. It is a task that only one person from the pair racing may perform. In road rules, when you encounter a road block, you have to do a u-turn or you find another way that’s free. In any case, if you are that person whom the road block is placed, you can’t go back. You have to face the music and surrender yourself to the authorities.

In life, a road block could be an event, a person, or an experience, one that stops you from going to where you wanna go or pursuing what you want to pursue.

For Ryan and me, our road block had always been Fate itself. We never got a sane chance. Or we do get that sane chance, and we just end up screwing it up. That’s it, for me and Ryan. We got a lot of chances and we screw it up. We thought every couple in the world has unlimited chances at love.

For Steve and me?

It’s Ryan.

It’s always been Ryan.

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Road Block Chapter 22: Yuan

“I saw the video.”

I looked up from the book I was reading, Emma by Jane Austen—another one that came in the mail and was sent by Steve—and saw Yuan, a wide smile on his face. Ah, Yuan.

Yuan Edmund Chua.

He wears jersey #8 for his college basketball team, a university that plays in green and white, and he’s damn good. He goes to the same school that Sean goes to. Actually, I would not have met Yuan if it wasn’t for Sean.

Okay. Rewind.

A couple of weeks into my relationship with Sean, I already did the meet-the-family. I met his lovely sister, Michelle, who was a year younger than I was but was going out with someone older than she is—and yes, if you said Yuan, claps for you because you are right. Yuan is a year older than Sean is (and therefore about three years older than I am) and has served his “mentor” in playing basketball and in virtually everything else. Sean and Yuan are like brothers—so I actually somehow got used to seeing Yuan around as we double-date all the time with him and Michelle.

I hit it off with Yuan—no excuses. He’s this tall, muscular, square-jawed guy whose hair is always up in spikes (although he—thankfully—realized that maybe he can slack off with the gel and just let his hair stand up naturally). His eyes are small, almond-shaped, his eyebrows thick, his nose just right, occupying a cute spot on his face. He has lips that seemed like they were lip-glossed all the time because they’re always kissable and wet. His ears stick out of his head a little too much. He wears a beard that makes him look a bit older than he actually is.

Yuan—just to compare—is a nicer, hotter and sexier version of Steve, and he’s one who isn’t afraid to actually express himself—one thing that virtually set him apart from Steve. He exudes this level of confidence that I don’t dare cross, and I think it came along with the fact that he’s a hotshot basketball player who is being recruited into the National Team even though he’s still in college.

And he has served as the referee between me and Sean whenever the latter and I fight.

Over time, I had grown close to Yuan, and he’s not bad a guy. He’s actually sweet. So even after he and Michelle broke up a year ago, he still stayed in my life and in Sean’s. And even though Sean and I had broken up a couple of months ago, Yuan and I never stopped being in contact.

Road Block Chapter 21: Loving You is Easy*

I woke up with the worst headache ever, and the sunlight that was peering through the pinprick-sized hole in between the curtains of the room. I tried to cover my face with a pillow but I couldn’t pull—“Shit!”

I scrambled out of bed, grabbing one of the blankets in the process, and aimed to cover my body before Steve stretched and woke up.

“Sam?”

Why exactly don’t I recall that I was here? Or what I did last night?

I looked around and I can see all my clothes and Steve’s clothes strewn all over—my underwear just above the lampshade, his pants on the nightstand, my bra on the hallway, his shirt on the doorknob. I couldn’t find my tank top, so it was probably taken off somewhere between the main door and the hallway.

Wow.

I remember now.

“Sam, get back to bed,” I heard Steve say halfway between sleepiness and post-drunken haze, and I slowly walked over to him and sat on the bed. He’s naked. He’s so butt naked it’s so sexy. How can a doctor be so sexy like that?

“How many times did we do it last night?” I asked him spontaneously, and he guffawed. “Sam,” he said, shaking his head, amused, patting the space beside him. I tied the blanket around my chest and waited for an answer. I saw him wince as his eyes caught the sunlight, and I jumped down the bed and shut the curtains close so that no sunlight would peek through. I went back to him, still waiting.

“What, Samantha? You think I was counting?” he said, and he flopped back down on the pillows.

“That sucks,” I muttered, suddenly feeling sad.

“Sucks that what? That we slept together?” Steve asked, sounding hurt.

I turned to him, shaking my head. “It sucks that I only have a vague recollection of what happened last night when we made love. I don’t even know what it felt like—”

I collapsed into giggles as Steve pulled me back to bed and was atop me in one quick move. “And here I am thinking you regret it,” he said, shaking his head, a wide smile on his face.

“Oh no,” I told him, a naughty smile on my face. “I don’t. Amazingly, I don’t.” Steve leaned over and kissed me on the lips, and then he traced kisses down to my neck down to my cleavage, and just before he was about to untie the blanket around my breasts, I asked, “Do you?”

Steve stopped, looking up at me from my breasts. “Regret what happened?” he asked, and I nodded.

“I don’t, Sam,” Steve answered honestly. “Frankly, like everybody said last night, it’s about time. You and I have been playing cat and mouse for so long.”

I found myself somehow agreeing with him.

“You still have to tell me what you told them,” I said, and he nodded. “Right after I remind you what happened last night—all versions of it,” Steve said with a smile on his face, and I pulled him closer to me, putting my lips on his as I felt him release me from the blanket.

The best Christmas gift to give and receive ever? Lots of love—figuratively and literally.

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Road Block Chapter 20: I FADE.

Beach batch reunions.

Somebody had the grand idea of having a beach party-slash-reunion in December, one of the chilliest months of the year.

I think that someone was Nathan, my supposed promdate from four years back (we all know what happened to that), but then again it’s not entirely his fault. There was something weird about this reunion—so weird that everyone made it a big deal… big deal to make me come to the reunion.

And when I got to the meeting place, I immediately found out why.

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Road Block Chapter 19: Couple’s Dare

“Rocking the rock star look, Samantha?”

You know, walking down the streets of Manhattan with someone commenting on your clothes isn’t a normal occurrence—if anything, it is actually weird.

So I turn, ready to raise hell on whoever spoke, and then I end up smiling.

“Stephen!” I exclaimed, attacking him with a hug which he received rather graciously. “Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen you in—”

I felt him inhale my hair and stroke it slowly. “Two months,” Steve filled in. I released him from the hug and he took me in, black coat, sequined tank top, skinny jeans, leather boots and newly wavy, now chestnut brown hair.

I shrugged. “I’ve been busy,” I quipped, and he gave me that smirk that only he can manage to pull off.

“Busy forgetting about you-know-who and in the process disappearing from my life too?” he said, and I detected a slight hint of bitterness in his voice. I gave him my best grin, hooking my arm in his and urging him to walk. I still have some Christmas shopping to do as Christmas is in a couple of days, but meeting Steve again is always a welcome interruption.

Steve looked the same. Older, wiser, and clean cut now, but still the same Steve that I left after that morning I broke down. He tried to call me but I didn’t want to talk to him just yet. The days of not talking to him just stretched to weeks, and then to months. Before I knew it, I had cut Steve out of my life too.

Kim is another story. She told me that after I left Atlanta, Ryan came home to their house with just the announcement that the engagement—and the relationship—was over. He offered no other explanations—just that, the relationship failed and has been failing for a long time already. A month later, he took Nessa home and introduced her to their family.

“I like you better. Way better, Sam. She just gives me this vibe, you know? Like hey-you-can’t-trust-me vibe,” I remember Kim telling me, and I just laughed it off.

I’m happy for Ryan. I mean… seriously happy.

“I just wanted a clean slate, Steve. I’m good now. I can come back in your life,” I said smartly, and he looked at me, those same gentle eyes still holding me in the same regard as if I was still fifteen and it was the night of the prom where he first held me in his arms and danced me to a nameless tune that he was humming.

“Then let’s celebrate with a bang, shall we?” he said, and I frowned.

“How?”

“A couple of doctors and some of my friends from the hospital and the community are holding a Christmas party tonight—” he glanced at his wristwatch—“well, in an hour, and it would be good if you can come.”

“So we can celebrate?”

He grinned. “That and more,” he said, and I nodded.

“Sure. I have the night free.”

Steve fixed me an intense stare. “Good.”

I smiled my most flirtatious smile. “Good.”

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Road Block Chapter 18: Sean

“Samantha.”

I looked up from the gym application forms that I was fixing, filing, and entering into the database (yes, Sarah’s uncle’s gym is high-end and popular like that) when I saw Sean—not the Biggerstaff.

*cue heart skipping a beat or two here*

“And you now know my name how?” I asked, immediately regretting how that came out so snobby. Hey, give this to me. The past few days had been crap—“breaking up” with Ryan, helping Richard fulfill all of Miley’s cravings right (not that they are hard—one of them is to try and find Nerds at 1AM—but I am very happy that her pregnancy is relatively easy compared to others), trying to perk up my parents after that blow in the business, and helping my mother think of creative ways to name the carinderia, plus what types of food we are going to offer—and I just had to vent it on someone. Plus, hey, midterms are just around the corner.

All in all? I guess that spells… FUN—not.

Sean reached up to scratch his head in a cute why-are-you-harassing-me kind of way. “Um,” he began, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “You have a name tag on.”

I cussed inwardly at this realization. What the fudge. Good job, Montez.

“You didn’t earn it,” I said, shuffling the papers and not looking at him. His eyes are distracting in a good way. Looks at you like Piolo Pascual would when he’s flirting with you (not that I have firsthand experience of it, but I watch his movies). “Not a fair deal if you ask me.”

He leaned over the counter and stopped me from moving. He was touching my hand, and all my internal wires just went haywire. I had to pull away. “Well, let’s start over. Clean slate. Tabula rasa,” Sean urged.

I raised an eyebrow at that foreign term. Fine. Context clues entail that tabula rasa probably meant clean slate.

I took a deep breath and then shook my head. “You can’t un-forget what you already know, Sean.”

Sean looked at me, an amused smile on his face. “You are just so… adorable it makes me weak.”

I rolled my eyes. “Does that line work for you all the time?” I said, sighing in frustration.

“First time I used it. You tell me.”

I shook my head. “I reckon you change pickup lines.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

He could have winked for all I care. I shrugged, returning to my papers. “Excuse me. I have work to do,” I told him. I thought he would just leave, but he stayed there, hung around, and watched me as I typed my first three application forms.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” he asked, and I stopped, looking at him almost irritably.

“It’s not my habit to reveal my schedule to total strangers.”

Sean gave me a shrug that was halfway between cute and adorable. “I just wanted to see you again, Samantha. Is that wrong?”

I looked up, and I probably had made him back off because of the glare that came along with my look. “Sean, you’re a nice guy. It’s just that… nice doesn’t cut it for me right now. And it’s not what I need. If anything, I just need to be left alone. Can you do that?” I said, my voice heavy. Sean shook his head.

“I can’t,” he said, and I groaned. “Come on, Samantha. Even if you have a boyfriend or something—I’m assuming that’s the reason why you don’t wanna have contact with me, and it’s all too good to be true if you’re single—I can still be your friend. Even just a friend, Sammie.”

I gave him another glare. “If you want to be friends with me, don’t you ever call me Sammie,” I said, my voice coming out as cold, and he looked affronted, but he nodded. “I… I have too much baggage, Sean. You’re too nice to be bogged down by my problems.”

“That right there, Sam, is a big mistake,” he said, and I frowned. Another regular at the gym, Arnold, entered, and I handed him a locker key—Locker 13 is his regular locker. He gave Sean a curt nod so I knew they are probably acquaintances. Sean returned the nod with a small smile. When he turned to me, the smile was gone, replaced by a serious face.

“You just made me even more interested in you, Sam.”

My internal barometer told me uh-oh.

“Then resist. Try not to be interested. Because I am seriously bad news. For you. Or for anyone,” I said, and I stood up, buzzed for Aimee, another one of the receptionists and a good friend, and asked for a ten-minute break.

“Sam—“ Sean said, catching me before I get to the exit.

I looked at the hand he placed on my arm and tried to gather myself. “I mean it, Sean. Stay away.” I removed his hand and started off, walking away.

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Road Block Chapter 17: Your Ex-Lover is Dead*

The phone rang off the hook since I returned from Atlanta. It could either be Ryan or Steve—I really don’t care. I want to just… disappear.

I made a mental note to arrange for my phone numbers to be changed. New life includes not having contact with the old people in it.

I stood up, taking my chocolate chip mint ice cream with me. I pulled the phone’s cord out of the socket, effectively killing its shrieks. I love the fact that I have work tomorrow—something to bury myself in while forgetting what happened.

I went back to my seat in front of the television. I had Grey’s Anatomy, Criminal Minds, CSI New York, Bones and a Yankees game on my TiVo. Being a couch potato has never been this good and this easy. Burying myself in life based on science and empirical evidence is better than dealing with emotions.

WAY BETTER.

Yesterday I went to the jeweler and got myself a new bracelet with my name on it, and I had the charms that Steve gave me attached to that bracelet.

Mental note #2: Send the other engraved bracelet back to Atlanta where it belongs

And then I spent the entire afternoon yesterday ridding my house of anything Ryan—which is relatively easy since I haven’t really unpacked my things since I moved in a month ago. I did the unpacking yesterday, boxing the things I don’t need (read: Ryan’s things) and placing them in the spare room, along with the gym bag I brought from Atlanta.

Mental note #3: Put life in compartments

Chocolate chip mint ice cream, for the freaking win.

I took out my mental recycle bin, threw all my mental notes in them, and started to cry.

Bawl is more like it.

Or breakdown.

Pathetic. Pathetic this life is.

I ignored the knocks on the door. I have not been what you can call friendly ever since I got back—I spent most of my time in the office, only coming home to change clothes and grab at least three hours of sleep before heading back again. I haven’t spoken to Ryan (not that he had made any attempts to contact me) or Stephen—and I feel it was unfair for Steve since he doesn’t have an idea what went on in Atlanta.

He tried though, to visit me in the office, but I had Angel tell him I am in a very important client meeting—a lie.

“Samantha, please. Open the door.”

Steve. At my doorstep. Pleading.

I am sorry, Stephen. The Samantha you know and the Samantha you want to see is not in the house.

I placed my iPod on its dock and turned up the volume on the song playing.

Live through this, and you won’t look back.

Live through this, and you won’t look back.

Live through this, and you won’t look back.

There’s one thing I want to say, so I’ll be brave.

You were what I wanted.

I gave what I gave.

I’m not sorry I met you.

I’m not sorry it’s over.

I’m not sorry there’s nothing to say.

I’m not sorry there’s nothing to save.**

She’s dead.

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