Forget Me Too

Six

I stare at the scissors beside the paper bag on my desk.

Earlier today—and I meant first thing in the morning—Sara found a black paper bag sitting silently by our door. Oddly enough, it was the same bag I checked in Caleb's car, containing the same shirt he attempted to give me.

Sara squealed her soul out upon knowing the reason why someone must have left it there.

"So you guys totally torn your top that night? I didn't know you had that in you, Oli," she chirped, poking my waist.

"I don't know. I don't remember," was the only thing I said before walking out to my room.

To be honest, I didn't remember at all. What I do know, is that I want to tear that guy's guts off his body and this shirt is on thin ice.

Of course, I cannot tear someone's—anyone's—intestines off. That is a ticket to jail. But a fitted navy blue shirt? I totally can, with little to no consequence.

In introspect, should I be tearing up an innocent fitted navy blue shirt that definitely looks cute on me? (According to Sara, of course). That would be wasting time, effort, and fabric. I hate wasting all three—or wasting in general. Plus, people don't normally shred to pieces the shirt they were gifted to. And practically speaking, I could use another shirt now that one of my few clothes had lost its purpose.

Ugh!

But where do I release my anger? My palms are itching to rip something up.

Slowly breathing in and out, I pull myself together. There's no use stressing about this.

I take the bag and toss it inside my closet, making sure it reaches the deepest part so I won't see it until I don't know how long. Stay hidden, little shirt that will undeniably remind me of Cal-- he who shall not be named. Till we meet again.

*

"So you met him again?" Greg suddenly became enthusiastic.

"Yeah," I said casually.

Normally I would be fretting about it, diving into every detail of our time together, except nothing about Caleb's relevance to my life was normal. Best was to go with the flow while staying cool. We're casual.

"I thought you're not into one-night stands?" He said while waving his fork in front of me.

I sipped my smoothie then shrugged, "Yeah, well, it's not really one anymore."

Greg gasped, looking most involved in my life than he had ever been in our four years of friendship. "Tell me everything."

"Like everything, everything?"

"Yes, absolutely. Start on how big."

"Greg!"

"What? We're this kind of friends now, we discuss our s*x lives. You wanna hear mine?"

He made it sound like we had reached a milestone that had been waiting for us for a long time. Unfortunately for him, I totally didn't want to hear anyone's s*x tale nor gossip about it. I like my business on my own.

"No thanks. Can we change the subject? Why are you here anyway?" I scooped our plates and placed them in the sink.

Greg barged into my apartment about an hour ago, because he "forgot to buy groceries and didn't have anything for dinner". A lie. He didn't live alone. Apparently, my apartment host its own feeding program and he was the sole beneficiary.

"Do I need a reason to visit my dear friend?" A tall figure appeared beside me, taking the dishrag to wipe the dishes I washed. He used to have a weird effect on me, but after years of being friends, it felt more natural and a little annoying. To sum up, nice.

"Yes, when you show up without notice. When you're bothering someone's quiet Friday night." I put a hand on my waist.

"I'm having a quiet Friday night too, what's so bad about spending it together?" He wiggled his eyebrows, then his expression turned sour. "Ugh, that sounded bad."

It did sound suggestive. Even his gestures were suggestive. Most hilarious was how he reacted, especially knowing our history. I laughed, watching him march to the living room. I finished up cleaning the table before following him.

"Hey, I'm staying over," he announced as if it was on the memo.

"So Archie really ditched you."

Greg looked over me for a whole second with a disgusted face as if I said something unbelievable, then continued switching TV channels. "Nah, he has exams tomorrow. He's been studying the whole week."

"Oh, I see." I flopped down the couch beside him. Totally get that. I would gladly ditch someone to study for an exam.

"Did Caleb ditch you?" He inched closer for the gossip that did not exist.

"It's not like he needs to not ditch me."

Truth.

"What are you guys exactly?" My dear friend was determined to chase the gossip. It wasn't even that interesting.

"Nothing. We met like three times."

Truth again. I meant it. There wasn’t anything else more than excessive flirting and s****l contact. Okay, maybe a little excessive s****l contact. But that was how far it will go. I'm not someone who miraculously falls in love after getting laid.

Well, he did text me occasionally and we followed each other on social media. His i********: was full of guitar and song covers. It was such a treat. Even though I said I was in love with his voice and maybe his smell and his lips (if that's possible), I'm not into the man. At least not romantically. He was nice and everything, but we went really fast with things and the sequence we were going was definitely not the one I prefer.

"You met three times and you f****d twice out of three. You know what, I get it. You're f**k buddies."

My forehead wrinkled in disbelief with a sprinkle of disgust. I started kicking Greg lightly using both my feet.

"What? Eww, don't call it that!"

*

"Dude, I think your guy wants to be more than just being f**k buddies."

My ears prick from her words. "What the heck, Sara?" I turn around to see my roommate holding a small pot with what seems to be a peony planted in it. "What is that?"

I continue beating eggs. More force exerted now. Poor eggs, they would have been peacefully beaten if a certain person didn't make an irksome addition to my collection of stress.

"Uhm, a potted plant? Gosh, that guy, whoever he is, is smart. Sending a potted flower? There's no way we're throwing this away." I heard her place the pot on the table. "It smells good too."

For three days straight, random items are getting delivered to our door every morning. The shirt, of course, was the first one. Yesterday, it was a box of cupcakes from a famous bakeshop owned by some famous Youtuber. Dani Ortiz is the name if I'm not mistaken. The reputation precedes it. I care zero about the YouTube baking community, but my roommate apparently is an avid fan.

Lastly, the potted flower which I'm pretty sure Sara is already planning where to display. She welcomes any possible home decor with open arms.

As much as I hate it, I must agree with what she said. He's damn clever, giving a potted flower knowing too well I wouldn't be able to disregard it. Damn that man.

I finish cooking the omelets, serving them to my roommate, who has decided to make the small pink potted peonies into our dining table's centerpiece. In all fairness, it does compliment the dark wooden table.

"What?" She asks, looking defensive. "This is my apartment too. For all we know, this could be meant for me."

Huh. That's right. It did not occur to me. Maybe the cupcakes delivered yesterday were actually for Sara too. I've been overthinking this Caleb situation, becoming petty when I shouldn't be. It couldn't have been meant for me. Way to go, Sara.

"You're rig--"

"Kidding!" Sara sticks her tongue out, "this is yours and the cupcakes too. Don't even think about it." She waves a hand up, swatting air.

"You're annoying."

Completely ignoring me, she continues slicing her food into small pieces as she shoots me questions. "Why is he sending stuff anyway? Did you guys fight about something? Do f**k buddies even fight?"

The term makes me grimace.

"I don't know. No. And please stop saying that."

"f**k buddies?"

"Sara!"

The subject makes the food rancid. It isn't too good to start with. I have very standard cooking skills and this conversation isn't helping in any way.

"Okay, gosh. Well, if you're not fighting, then what's all this stuff for? Is he bored?"

I snort. Bored? That's funny. "Yeah, maybe. Now stop asking questions, will you?"

Frankly, I don't consider us fighting. Fighting requires an exchange of blows between parties. Meaning both sides should be participating. I'm not. And they have a certain kind of relationship. We don't. Besides, the last time we spoke, I was clear and serious about what I said.

"Can't, sorry. Do you really not like him, though? ‘Cos I'm confident he's into you."

I frowned at her. My roommate is so busy prying in my life, she's making a gossip of her own. How can she be confident when she doesn’t even know the person? "Do you want me to call Henry? ‘Cos I'm confident I don't wanna talk to you anymore."

She stops for a moment then shrugs nonchalantly. "Actually, yes, I kinda miss him."

I rolled my eyes. Of course, I will not call her boyfriend over. Last night he was here getting all chummy in the living room. I don't want to deal with a flirting couple two days in a row.

And will not be able to do so anymore, since Sara is already on the line with him. Fortunately, talking to her boyfriend seems like an effective way to take her off my back. I should probably thank Henry when I see him.

I am finally able to enjoy my breakfast, quietly. It's all going great until Sara slams her right hand on the table.

"I get it now!" She says, pointing accusingly at my direction. "He's ugly, isn't he?"

"What?" A chunk of omelet got stuck in my throat. Bashing my chest, I chug a cup of water, bottom's up. I'm completely oblivious to what she's saying.

"The guy," she gestures at the tiny potted peony, "I've connected the dots, he must be ugly."

"There aren't any do--"

"First the shirt, you guys were screwing so intense he ruined your shirt. He's good at s*x. Then the cupcakes. I follow Dani Ortiz on i********:, her clients are mostly celebrities. If he was able to buy something from her shop, then he's either influential or rich. Or both. And he gave you flowers in a pot instead of a bouquet, that's a smart move. Granted he's good in bed, influential or rich or both, and not a mediocre suitor, then he must be so ugly that's why you don't like him. He's basically a melting pot of turn-ons, aside maybe his face."

Perhaps I dislocated my jaw from how low it dropped. This girl's thought process is amazing. She's rendered me speechless.

"Wow," I look at her, completely animated. We might be taking this animation differently, but as long as she shuts up, I'm totally fine with that. "How did you know? He... he looks... hideous. Freaking ugly, fugly."

She snaps her fingers triumphantly as if my "confession" is a Grammy award. If only she knows who she's calling ugly, I'm positive she won't be able to speak.

---

The following days continued to be noisy.

Sara sticks with her narrative that 'the guy' is some rich but ugly character and that's the reason why I don't like him. Unsettling enough, it feels like I'm the bad person here.

After the potted peony, a posh-looking bouquet in a fancy box came in, which became a decorative piece in our living room. Now our apartment looks extra elegant.

Then yesterday, it was a bottle of chardonnay. Who sends wine at 8 AM? Apparently, Caleb of Thirdhand.

God knows how much I wanted to smash it into pieces. That would be so satisfying. But I will save that for the weekends when I'm finally free from studying. My written exam tomorrow that I've been cramming for, this whole week doesn't permit my weird leisure activity—yet. This is also why I let Sara do whatever she wants to all the deliveries we're getting.

Caleb may piss me off, but he's not enough to ruin my studies. Never.

I walk out of my room to get a glass of water and probably a snack bar too. Going home, I went straight to studying like the diligent student my parents think I am. That was noon, it's already 8:30 PM. I hadn't even changed my clothes yet.

"Oh, hey Oli." Henry is lounging comfortably on the couch while watching TV. "I didn't know you were home."

"Yeah me too," I reply sluggishly.

Sara comes out of the kitchen holding a bowl of popcorn.

"Oh, hey Oli. I didn't know you're home," she giggles as she passes me by.

I simply rolled my eyes.

"I almost forgot. Did loverboy send anything today?"

I hear Henry ask who loverboy is.

Caleb's nickname in Sara's brain has been upgraded from 'f**k buddy' to 'loverboy'. It wasn't any better, but a PG-sounding nickname is undeniably more acceptable.

Now that she's mentioned it, "Actually, no."

There is an instant surge of pride. Have I finally won against that nuance of a man?

My mind goes to a small celebratory mood and takes an ice cream instead of plain boring water. I deserve a treat.

"What a bummer. I was rooting for him," Sara says.

I have no idea where she's standing in this fiasco.

"Too bad for you, then."

I'm about to go back to my room with my celebratory ice cream when the doorbell rings. "I'll get it."

The couple has cozied themselves on the couch, it would be rude of me to bother them. Taking a detour to the door, I peek at whoever's on the other side.

"Did you guys order food?" I ask, opening the door for the food delivery guy.

"No," Sara shouts like the door is miles away from the living room. "We're gonna order pizza, though."

"Huh? Then who--"

"Delivery for Ms. Oli Ramirez!" The food delivery guy, who looks nothing like a food delivery guy, announces enthusiastically.

If not for the rectangular bag slung over his shoulder, I wouldn't even think he's delivering food. His outfit comprises of neat white long sleeves and a bow tie. Definitely like a server in some fancy restaurant.

I must be staring at him because he clears his throat and repeats the same exact words. I can't help gaping in disbelief.

Fuck.

I spoke too soon.

Fuck. My. Life.

"Can I come in?" He peeks inside and I follow his gaze.

"Uh, okay."

Dumbfounded, I lead him to the kitchen. Sara and Henry send confused looks as we pass. Too bad I'm as clueless as they are.

"Parvus flos?" I read the tiny logo on the thermal bag he's taking out the food from.

"Isn't that the new restaurant downtown?" Henry asking almost made me jump.

The couple suddenly pops up beside me, giving Mr. Deliveryman a small audience. He nods in response.

"Really? So, you do deliveries too." It's Sara's turn, though she looks more intrigued by what Mr. Deliveryman is preparing than the answer to her question.

"Actually," Mr. Deliveryman pulls out the last container from the bag then closes it. "We don't. This was a special order."

"Interesting," she says slowly.

They turn to my direction at the same time, like a big smack on my face. All I can do is cover my face with my hand out of shame. God, I want to cry.

Mr. Deliveryman bows, informing us that he "will be taking his leave." Henry accompanies him to the door while Sara attacks the food.

Special order huh? That explains his getup. They probably don't have delivery staff and sent a server instead. Props to him though, it must be hard carrying all this stuff when it's not even part of his job.

I release an exhausted sigh. Ten minutes ago, I was celebrating, now I'm about to cry out of embarrassment. That guy really finds the best ways to get to my nerves.

"So these are from your suitor?" Henry comes back to the kitchen.

"Of course. I knew loverboy had it in him." Sara, who had already set the table, cheers.

I melt down the chair, crumbling with my dignity. I drop my head on the table, listening to plates clattering and the couple chitchatting.

"These look expensive."

"Right? Gosh, it's good, try this."

The scene I first saw upon raising my head is Sara feeding Henry. I roll my eyes at them. Their affection is way more annoying tonight.

"Your guy must be loaded then," he says almost incomprehensibly from chewing.

My guy.

"I thought so too," his girlfriend slurs her words as well. "And he's ugly, that's why she doesn't like him."

"Or a bad person," he chimes. "Maybe he's a drug dealer."

"A mafia boss?"

"Oh! He's old, isn't he?" Henry points at me.

Sara shakes his shoulders, wide-eyed, "A sugar daddy!" then they high-five to celebrate their epiphany.

"Please chew first before speaking. Or better, don't speak at all." I glare at both of them but get completely ignored.

"Yesterday it's that," Sara points at the cupboard using her lips.

"The chardonnay?"

"Yep."

"Mom has them at home. She only opens it for special occasions, though."

"s**t really? It's that pricey?"

Henry pulls out his phone then taps its screen.

I can't believe I'm watching this unfold. They're talking as if I'm not in front of them. "I'm gonna study," I get up, scooping my ice cream to put it back in the fridge. No use for a celebratory ice cream. Nothing to celebrate. I'm totally defeated here.

"What? At least eat-- OMG, really?"

I spin to see what the girl is screaming loudly for. Henry raises his phone to my face, showing a picture of the same wine in our cupboard and its price.

My face twitches to a frown. "What the heck? That could feed me for a month."

Learning how much the chardonnay is, is gasoline to my fire. What is Caleb trying to prove here? Throwing all this money for nothing because I'm never meeting him again. The only thing he achieved is piss me off further. Looking at the stuff on the table, that's probably worth the same as our monthly food budget.

In a poor attempt to suppress my anger, I massage my temples. Sadly, the trick is faulty. The plan was to smash that bottle into pieces, but now that I know how much it costs, I won't be able to just throw it away. Forgive me, I'm not as rich as Caleb of Thirdhand.

"Suck it." I head to the cupboard for the bottle of Chardonnay that will not be staying there for long. If I am going to release my anger on a bottle, might as well do so when it's empty. "We're drinking tonight, people."