CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Diane's POV

September

Life hits me again. A realization that I never wanted to show or hits me.

Tears haven’t stopped since I ran to my dorm room earlier today. Tears that have left my skin raw and tight. And every time I think I’m all crying out, the image of Justin and her flashes inside my head and a fresh wave hits. I wiped my dripping nose on my sweatshirt sleeve. I’m far past the point of caring what I look like.

"I didn’t mean for it to happen, Diane. I swear."

Lies.... Lies.

"You didn’t mean for it to happen! You didn’t mean to put your..."

My words fall apart with my sobs. I can barely see Justin’s face through my tears.

"Who is she, anyway?" He brushes his own tears away with his palm and then reaches for my face, cupping my cheeks.

"Some girl I fvcked with."

"You are my whole life. You’ve always been my whole life. Always! You know that, right? Tell me you know that!"

I swallow against the sharp knot lodged in my throat, but it doesn’t budge. I knew that up until today.

“Then why would you break my heart?”

His handsome face flinches as if I’d slapped him. Something I wish I had the nerve to do.

“You weren’t supposed to find out.”

“That makes it better?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” He hung his head for a moment.

“Look, we’re getting married next year, and then it’s just you and me. It’s been just you and me for all these years. And,” he swallows, hesitates, “this is something I’ve been thinking about. A lot, lately.”

“About cheating on me?”

“No! About, you know...” He winces. “Sex.”

That’s what this is all about?

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have—”

“No, Diane.” Justin’s face was suddenly stern.

“You and me, we’re doing it the right way by waiting until we’re husband and wife. You’re so innocent. So pure.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine.

So pure? How I wish I was not.

“It means everything to me that you’ll give that to me on our wedding night. But”—a sheepish look overtakes his face—“I’m a guy. It’s different for me.”

“How is it different?” Who is this person sitting in front of me?

“Because we’re weak! This is something I need to do. I need to get this out of my system, or I’m afraid I’ll make a mistake in the marriage life when it really matters. Or I'll cheat whenever I want too."

Bvllsh*t.

I’m listening, but I’m not believing these words coming out of Justin’s mouth.

“So we’re breaking up?”

“No.” He frowns.

“Not exactly. We’re taking a little breather, okay? Just until I can get my head on straight. But we’re meant to be, you and me.” He brushes strands of hair off my face like he’s done a thousand times.

“I’ll come back to you. I promise.”

I’m so angry and hurt that I can’t even face him anymore, so I fix my eyes on the small gumball machine promise ring he gave me on my sixteenth birthday, my sobs drowning out the rest of his words.

I guess life is unfair. Fvck the patriarchy.

March

“Look directly into the camera when you answer the questions,” the woman commands. Her honey-blonde bun, the fitted black business suit and four-inch heels and her cold gray irises piercing behind a pair of trendy horn-rimmed glasses. She could pass for one of those librarians instead of a corporate recruiter.

I adjust my practical gold-wire-framed round spectacles. “Okay.”

She readies the iPhone, sitting in the stand for taping while I fidget on my stool, tucking wayward strands of my ginger hair behind my ear and smoothing the wrinkles from my shirt. I didn’t come dressed for a videotaped interview.

I figured this job fair would be like any other; I’d wander by some basic booths, collect a few pamphlets, and talk to representatives who want to be anywhere but a library on a Saturday.

For the most part, that’s what it is. But the booth for Dela Paz Hotels is different. It’s three times the size of the others, with sharply dressed recruiters and an on-site interviewing station behind a screen to help speed up the hiring process for those who meet the basic criteria.

And the only reason I made the basic criteria is that I lied on the paper application that I filled out twenty minutes ago. Now I’m petrified of getting caught.

“Full name, please.”

I’ve always hated being on camera. I clear my throat nervously.

“Diane Kath Dizon. But I go by Diane.”

My Mama calls me Diane, and everyone else from my hometown calls me Diane because of my Mama. I’ve never liked it.

The interviewer is stone-faced. She doesn’t care what I go for.

“The role that you’re applying for?”

“Design and Landscaping”. I think that was the official title on the application form.

“And please describe your experience that will be invaluable to us, Diane.”

“It’s Diane.” I force my biggest smile and hope my annoyance doesn’t show on video when they play it back later.

“Sure. Well, first off, I love the outdoors. I grew up on a farm and have spent years baling hay, throwing bags of grain, and hauling buckets of water for the animals. So don’t worry, I’m plenty strong.”

People don’t believe who I am. My slim five-foot-seven stature is deceiving, but one look at my body in shorts and a tank will attest that I’m feminine but honed with muscle from long days on the Dizon farm.

I’ve already provided all of this information on the handwritten application form. Still, I guess they want the live version as well.

“I’ve run my own landscaping company for five years, operating out of Manila, maintaining commercial properties with excellence.”

I’ve been pulling dandelions and cutting grass around my town every summer since I was fourteen. To call what I do “landscaping” is a farce. But if it gets me this job, far the hell away from my life, I’ll say anything.

“Were any of these properties hotels?”

“Yes.” Never say “no” in an interview. Always find a way to spin it into a yes.

“Please tell me about these hotels.”

Crap. And there it is. I’ve never been a good liar.

“It was just one, actually. It’s called the Inn. It’s...an upscale bed-and-breakfast.”

Three rooms in an old house, run by my parents. By the way, the woman’s painted red lips are pressed together; I’m pretty sure my answer is not the one she was looking for.

“Okay. Thank you. I also see here that you worked weekends serving customers at a place called the Hotelia Paz for several years.”

“Yes. That’s my aunt’s restaurant. I’d help her out during the busy season.” I hesitated about using Aunt May as a reference. I can’t be sure she’ll give me a glowing recommendation if it means I won’t be coming back to province for the summer. Mama would have her skin if she ever found out she helped make that happen.

“What type of establishment is it?”

“A family restaurant.”

“So, not fine dining?”

I sigh. “No. I wouldn’t call it that.” Slapping together hot turkey sandwiches and pouring Cokes from a fountain does not make for fine dining.

“And have you ever cleaned houses professionally..."

"No,” she says, seeing me shake my head fervently, my face twisting with disdain at even the suggestion. That means dealing with fitted sheets all day long, and that sounds like torture to me.

“I see you’ve also done receptionist work.”

Finally, this is something I can answer truthfully and positively.

“Yes. I’ve worked part-time in my church’s office for years. I still do when I go home for the summer.”

“What exactly did you do for them?”

“Answer phones and schedule appointments for the Reverend. I also balance the church’s books and organize the annual party for our parish.”

Something I can’t bring myself to do again this summer, but will be guilted into doing by my Mama and the reverend. She scans my application.

“I see you’re in school right now.” She pauses, and I realize that I’m supposed to answer her.

“Yes. I have one more year in a Bachelor of Arts degree.”

The right side of my face is burning from the heat of the lamp. I imagine this is what an interrogation feels like. How much longer is this going to take?

“Are you able to commit to the four-month contract from May through August?”

“University College starts in September, and exams finish at the end of this month, so that won’t be a problem.”

She smiles. “Good. And what are your plans for after college, Diane?”

My face falls before I’m able to control my expression. That question catches me off guard. She’s talking about next summer, and all I can focus on is getting through today, tomorrow, and this summer....

But the plan? After.... I don't know.