Two Doors Down

Four

There were four days in between the phone call and Sunday, and that entire time Luigi did his best to prepare. He had looked up the digital exhibit so as not to look completely clueless, Googled the restaurant to have a clue on what to wear, among other things. His Ninang also caught him on Saturday while he was comparing three of his nicer shirts all laid on his living room couch, and she had saved him from his predicament.

"Too preppy, too Tito, and this one screams 'trying too hard'," Ninang had remarked as she was putting extra ulam she cooked inside his fridge. "Wear that collared white shirt I got you last Christmas."

"It screams 'look-I'm-an-artist', Ninang. Literally. With the torn sleeves and everything."

"Exactly why I got you that thing. We want this girl to know what she's signing up for. Hala, bilis, try it on and let me see."

Of course it fit, and when Sunday came, he wore this exact shirt. Luigi paired it with pants he had meticulously ironed and hoped for the best as he stood in front of her door.

He knocked three times. It opened and there she stood, looking immaculate in white.

"Hi," he said, beaming at her. Luigi was nervous, but he had prepared well. He did away with the flowers and hoped she would like what he had planned instead.

"You'd think we talked about our outfit choices," she remarked, giving him a sweeping look in return.

Luigi could only hope she liked whatever she saw.

"A good sign, maybe."

"Maybe. Interesting touch," she said, hand lightly touching the spot on his forearm where the sleeve was torn.

"Interesting good or interesting bad?" he asked.

"Well, let's say no other man I know can pull this off like you do."

"Great. I take my ah-rtist aesthetic seriously," Luigi said with a laugh as Patricia let go of his sleeve. She obliged him with a giggle. He waited for her to lock her apartment before leading her to the elevators.

"Okay, artist," she said playfully, "Speaking of aesthetic- what do you think I'm going for?"

Luigi gladly took this opportunity to take her in once more. She wore a simple top with an eye-catching skirt that reminded him of origami. Her hair was straight and cascaded smoothly around her shoulders and back. She left the glasses on, which he liked, because even dressed up and smiling at him, it reminded him that she was still that annoyed girl in rabbit slippers that made his heart jump.

"Serial art collector," he answered. "Like you're going to buy the entire collection and piss everybody off during the after-exhibit bidding."

"There won't be a bid after the exhibit, no one can buy anything except souvenirs, and all the art will be shown on giant projectors. And with my non-tenured state university instructor allowance, I won't even be able to afford the cheapest souvenir," she said with a laugh as they reached the parking lot.

"What do you teach?"

"Undergrad Marketing. A year ago they also came up with a new elective course and as I was the youngest in the faculty with the lightest teaching load, I was assigned that, too," she answered. "What do you do?"

"I'm a photographer."

"Fashion? Commercial? Anything specific?"

"Whatever lands in my e-mail, to be honest," he replied, to which she laughed. "I used to just do everything I'm offered, but now I have the luxury of choice."

"That's always good. So the one where you were away for three weeks...?"

"That was for a magazine."