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those
global workplaces that was always on, all day all week. I crossed
the street from our condo complex to the business park area and
wondered what it was like to work there. It reminded me a little
bit about being in another country.
    Which, by the way, always made me uncomfortable when
I heard it from other people. Because I didn’t mean oh clean up
this place a bit and it looks like a different country! I meant, I
always associated working in Manila with living at home, with my
parents. And then living in another country with doing my own
groceries, paying my own bills, and then seeing them at Christmas.
So this was a strange in-between, strange but not unwelcome.
    I went into a random building, the closest one, and
stood in front of the building directory listing for a few minutes.
They were companies I had never heard of, and didn’t seem to have
existed six years ago, when I first looked for a job on my own. I
had no idea what to do.
    My phone rang. "Roxie," I
said.
    "Weekend plans?"
    "Nothing. I’m going to try and
avoid my mother for now."
    "Oh come on. You can’t be mad at
her for the Megan thing."
    "She does this to me. She forces
my hand. She knows I hate it when she forces my hand."
    "You were planning to leave
anyway."
    "Of course."
    "Unless you really
weren’t."
    "I sent nine job applications just
now. I so am going to leave."
    "Whatever, Moi. I just need to go
see my grandma today but after I can pass by for dinner. Do you
need anything?"
    "I need a job."
    "No, you need money. Nobody needs
a job."
    "Fine, I need money. Can you give
me money?"
    Roxie laughed. "You need to get a
job. I’ll see you later."
    The security guard asked me what I wanted, because
why was I standing in front of the directory for that long. I said
no thanks and headed out, striking that building off my list.
    Then I went into the next one, and did the same
thing.

    -/\/\/\-

    The guy who was always hanging out
at the driveway to smoke—his name was JM. I met him when I got back
from my tour of the business park.
    JM looked crazy hot. I was still reeling from my
elevator ride with Lucille and made a mental note to check if my
judgment had become severely impaired since coming home, because
why was everyone so good looking all of a sudden? Was it an NV Park
thing? So JM was cute from a distance, but even better up close. He
was definitely some sort of actor or model, because no one looked
like that naturally. Even though I saw Ethan at the gym, this guy
was bulkier than him just about everywhere I dared look. There was
something about JM that was as composed, as artificially
constructed, as Matilda, but it didn’t have anything to do with
surgery.
    He was also really nice.
    "Do you live here?" he asked, as I
walked in.
    "Yeah," I said.
    "Do you know how to get the
mail?"
    "You mean the combination
lock?"
    Just behind the receptionist in the Tower 3 lobby
was a small room that was lined with mailboxes. Each unit had a
corresponding one, and when I first moved in I was also given a
combination to the mailbox lock.
    I didn't get it right the first time. Or the second,
or third. It probably took three days and hitting the mailbox
several times before I figured it out.
    JM and I walked to the mailroom together but I stood
a polite distance away when he started fiddling with the lock.
    "Does your combination have the
number seventeen?" I said.
    "Yeah."
    "Don't turn it exactly to
seventeen. Make it a little off to the... Yeah, like that, almost
eighteen."
    He paused, felt it click, and then
pulled the little door open. "I thought it was me. I was too stupid
to figure it out."
    "I felt that way too."
    "Thanks. Sorry, am I keeping you
from something?"
    "It's not a problem."
    "I'm on the eighth floor, in case
you want to hang out sometime."
    And then he went back to his spot on the driveway
and started another cigarette.

Chapter 8

    I was (am) a self-starter. A doer. I had initiative.
I was self-motivated. Back in the early days of our