How Can I Love the Heartbreak

TWO: Together Upon the Desolate Road

TWO

'Together Upon the Desolate Road'

They met at a conference for lawyers about six years ago. She wouldn't say it's one for the books, not the love at first sight kind of love story. She'd been irritated at him, and rightfully so, for he had a knack of drawing attention to himself by always arriving late at the conference hall even if he's supposed to be a keynote speaker for it. He had grated on her nerves, and she had for a long time since then call him Aga acerbically (as a manner of reminding him that he was never maaga for anything). 

But, whether she had liked it or not, he had won her over with his charm and easy-going manner, with his dimpled smiles and innocent ribs of his own. He had been friendly and patient with her irate manner, never really becoming mad at her even when she had been positively murderous.

It's odd, in a way they were two peas in a pod, both graduating with latin honors from law school (she was from Ateneo Law and he was from UP), coming in close ranks in the bar exam, with her snagging the first and him coming in close second (and that's why she'd found his name familiar when presented to her during the conference). But they were also so vastly different, that they seemed polar opposites almost — she is a stickler for being punctual, and he didn't seem to care much for it. She is stern, bordering neurotic, and he's...well a free-spirit, and perhaps that's why she's been drawn to him. She is the ying to his yang.

Perhaps, Paula Abdul had been right all along — opposites do attract.

It had taken more than a hot minute for them to become friends, and it had been only friendship at first — he's fresh out of a relationship, and from experience, Carmela has learned not to trust men. But Fern had taught her how to believe and trust a little more each day.

It's another odd thing in the laundry list of odd things she's encountered since meeting him. Where she has never seen even his shadow (despite all the moments in time that they could have met or crossed each other's paths) before the conference, she'd found herself constantly around his presence after it. She'd been standoffish at first, understandably and reasonably, of course, but he had wormed his way into her life and good graces (and later on, to her heart), and had been able to thaw the invisible wall of ice she had built around her.

It had started with friendly emails, turning into small conversations, until they'd started hanging out with each other, talking about everything over coffee or dinners. She would even invite him over for a meal at her home sometimes.

That year had taken a drastic turn on both of them, and they'd found themselves closer to each other than they have ever been with any other friend of the opposite sex — not that she's against it, or that she never had male friends...but Fern had been different. He'd been her shoulder to cry on, she had been his. She told him about the unfair expectations her parents (both lawyers) have placed upon her shoulders, and he would entertain her with stories of failed blind dates.

They had been funny at first, until they hadn't been, and they'd become tiresome and repetitive, and she hadn't realized what it was at that time, couldn't call it for what it is —jealousy, plain and simple. But he had, he had known, had felt the same way.

"I promise not to go on blind dates ever again," he had told her over dinner one night.

They had agreed to meet in her favorite restaurant in the city, when he sprung that on her. She'd been poised to argue, ready to tell him through gritted teeth that it's okay, he can have any choice of women that he so desired. It would be a big, fat lie, of course, but she isn't about to tell him that she doesn't like him going out on dates with women that's not her.