Rhythm

Ena

Copyright
2014 by Ena

All rights reserved.

Cover Design 2014 by Nerlisa Bayani

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and
retrieval system, without written permission from the author,
except that brief quotations embodied in critical articles and
reviews are permitted.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters,
places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Visit my website at
authorena.com

For Bee.
You are God’s instrument in making me realize the value of family
and whom God used to always remind me that life is beautiful.

“Most of the
time we forget that what our family needs more than anything in the
world is time. When we lose money, we can always have it back, but
it’s not the same with time. January 1, 2001 comes only once, so
when it pass, guess what? You can never bring it back. No amount of
money or title in the world can be compared with the time spent
with our family. Nothing. And for me, if only every person in this
world considers their family as their first ministry, this will be
a better place.
If only
.”

Grant Peterson

Rhythm

“Wait . . . what? N n no . . . why?”

I am struggling for air. I think I’m going to
faint or vomit. Or both. This isn’t happening. This should not
happen. I cannot let this happen. I have to focus and deal with the
matter at hand maturely. I can do this.

I take a deep calming breath as I tilt my
head with added fake confidence.

He also tries to stay calm, but his grip on
the wooden chair negates his soothing voice that utters, “Rhythm,
please don’t make this hard. I want a divorce, and I think we need
it. You need it. I am doing this for us. I want to save whatever is
left in our relationship. Let us be friends.”

He never called me by my first name. Sure, he
called me different names, but all these years—six years of
marriage, two years of dating, one year of courtship . . . nine
years—he never called me Rhythm for nine freaking years
.
This is big. This is different. Now I think I don’t know who am I
talking to. Who is this man in front of me?

No . . . no . . . I can’t take divorce. I
don’t want a divorce. Marriage is so much sacred for me that I
cannot accept divo—argh, I don’t want to think about
that
word. Whatever his reason is, I know that we can still work it out.
Besides, I love him too much and I know he loves me, too. So I’ll
do anything to stop him.

“Friends? Love, we are the best of friends.
Remember?” I try to play it cool and dumb.

“No, you don’t understand.”

“Then please make me understand.”

“Rhythm . . . I . . . we . . . how should I
say this? I . . . don’t love you anymore.”

I try to speak but not a single word comes
out. The words are strangled by my own misery. Did he really say
that? He did. Oh, no. He did.

What am I going to do? Squall? Yell?
Plead?

Man, that hurts. A lot.

“Is there someone else?” I ask the first
question that pops in my head. There must be someone else,
right?

“What
someone else
are you talking
about? Can’t you see why am I doing this?” He lets out an
exasperated breath. “No, of course not. You don’t see it. You never
do.”

What is that supposed to mean?
The
further our conversation goes, the harder it is for me to
understand what he’s talking about. I can’t seem to unveil the
predominant motivation as to why he is asking for the thing I dread
most. I make a mental checklist of the possible reasons, but I
can’t think of something. I mean, yes, we have misunderstandings,
we argue sometimes, we go through what every married couple goes
through, but I can’t point out what could be the tipping point for
this huge decision. Why now? Why on our wedding anniversary?

“How about Alexa and Will? I want what’s best
for them, and I believe that it is of their best interest if we
don’t do what you want. Grant, our kids just turned five years old.
They are practically still babies.” Huh. I’m playing the Kid Card
now. They are his weakness.

I can see the shift in his mood. There you
go, baby. Think about it, and please stop this nonsense right
now.

“I prefer to talk about them with our
lawyers,” his voice cracks a bit, but he tries to appear
composed.

“Grant, we should talk about this more.
Please, I need to know what went wrong. But now, can’t we just
celebrate our anniversary peacefully?” I am hoping he’ll say yes,
but seeing the irritation looming on his face, I am betting he’ll
say no. Three times.

With a resolute shake of his head, he says,
“No, no, no. We can’t do that. I am leaving . . . now.” As if on
cue, he turns his back on me, gets his suitcase—
when did he
prepare it?
—and leaves.

I wait for my tears to pour. I wait for
myself to go crazy and wail. Surprisingly, I can’t. I am too
shocked to let out my emotions. The pain I am feeling right now
overwhelms me that I can’t move, think, and breathe.

Why did he leave me? What did I do or didn’t
do that made him fall out of love of me? How am I supposed to live
my life without him? What will happen to me? To our family?

I am startled by the small arms that hug me.
I don’t realize that I am slumped on the floor, my hands shaking. I
turn to see my baby girl with a questioning look. Did she see what
happened? Did she hear what Grant and I talked about? My, I hope
not.

“Mommy, why are you not happy-happy?” The
concern is evident in her sweet little voice.

“Honey, I am not happy-happy a while ago, but
now I am. Because of you. Where’s your brother?” I shift my mood
from gloomy to happy even if I don’t feel like doing it. I cannot
grieve. I have to think of my two little angels and be strong for
them.

I stand and carry Alexa to Will’s room, then
I do what I haven’t done with them for a while—I play with them.
And I almost forget why I am heartbroken.

Catch the key word?
Almost
.

Rhythm

This is impossible. Grant has been courting
me for almost a year now, and his persistence doesn’t waver even a
bit. I met him and Lola, my best friend, on my 17th birthday
celebration with some of my friends—okay, classmates, not friends.
He transferred to Michigan for his senior year in high school and
followed me here in South Carolina for college. If that’s not
persistence, I don’t know what is. Now my dilemma is, how can I
make him understand that no means really no? Yes, he is what every
sane woman would want to have as a boyfriend. What with his tall
(6’2”), dark and handsome look, his tantalizing ocean-like blue
eyes, his sense of humor ever present, his mind-boggling
intelligence—minus the nerdy look. Who wouldn’t fall for that? I
wouldn’t because I am not a sane woman. What is even harder to
grasp is . . . why me? I am barely five feet tall, I am as pale as
the snow—almost, I have gray eyes which bothers me for some reason
I can’t quite fathom, have thick eye glasses (completing the dweeb
look), have a body of a child (with mild anorexia), have a social
life that is non-existent. I am what every sane man would not want
to have as his girlfriend, yet here Grant is, walking towards his
victim—me. It doesn’t even faze him that we have an audience. He’s
holding a dozen red roses in his right hand, a box of chocolates in
his left, and he’s got his drop-dead gorgeous smile.

Whoa! Drop-dead gorgeous smile, Rhythm.
Really?

Well, yeah, but it’s not like I would fall
for it.

He gives me the flowers and chocolates plus
his drop-dead gorgeous smile
.
“Hey, Barbie. These are for
you.”

Barbie? What part of me is like a Barbie?
That’s Grant. He calls me various names—even inappropriate ones.
One day it’s sweetie, the next it’s air because apparently for him
without me he’ll die, other times it’s RIP—as in
R
hythm
I
sabelle
P
ratte—but you will never hear him call me
by my first name. I don’t know why, though I never dare ask him. I
just let him call me whatever he wants to call me. Honestly, there
are times that I am waiting for it, but not today. I am so not in
the mood for him and his wits. I want to be alone, so I say,
“Thanks,” and accept his gifts but with much indifference. I don’t
even look at him nor lift an eyebrow at him. I hope that he’ll take
it as a sign that today is not the perfect moment for wooing me and
just vamoose.

“You are most welcome, my lovebird. Any
requests for the next set I’ll give to you? Dark chocolates?
Tulips?” The emphasis on the word
my
is not missed. He is
talking to me as if I want what he’s doing. He is oblivious to the
inner turmoil that is happening to me. I don’t want to snap at him
because he has done nothing wrong, so as softly as I can, I say,
“None. Thanks.”

“Well, I will just surprise you then.”

His look is smug as if I just gave him my
sweet yes. I don’t get it. I don’t get him at all. I gather my
things and start to stand when his hand on my arm makes me stop. I
look at him in disbelief. He never touched me before. “What?” I
snap.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just
that you seem different today. Is there anything I did that bothers
you? Did I say something wrong?” he sounds sincere and by the look
he’s giving me, it seems that he is truly worried about me.

“Look, Grant. I cannot go on like this
anymore. You cannot do this anymore. I appreciate all the efforts
and attention you have been giving me for almost a year now, but I
can’t let you go on. I don’t want to mislead you.” I sigh. “Grant,
I am not ready for any romantic relationship right now, and I guess
I won’t be ready for the next five years or so. Can we just be
friends?” I don’t realize that my dour mood is caused by this
decision I have been contemplating. I am dumping him, and I do
believe that it is the right thing to do, but something tells me
that it is not. Well, I cannot take it back, can I?

“Babe, what do you mean? We’ve been doing
fine. What happened?” He is shaking his head in disbelief as if
there is
we
all along. Apparently for him, I am breaking
up.

Oh, man. This is getting so confusing . . .
and depressing.

“There is no we, Grant. There will never be.
Goodbye.” I leave in a hurry. I don’t want to hear anything from
him anymore because I might doubt my decision in dumping him.
What’s the most shocking part? I do the last thing I expect myself
to do. I burst into tears.

---

“Hey, Rip, are you okay? I’m not aware you
are capable of crying.” My roommate and best friend, Lola, always
calls me Rhy. But ever since she heard Grant calling me Rip, she
howled, like really ugly howl, and never missed a beat to torture
me by calling me with that name. I always appreciate her humor, but
hearing that nickname now just brings more moisture to my sweating
eyes. I cried from the moment I walked out from Grant until I
reached my dorm.

I don’t understand myself. Why am I crying
over saying no to Grant? I never wanted to have a boyfriend, and I
almost always make sure to be unattached to the people around me. I
only allowed one person to be close to me, and that is Lola.

“I am not crying. My eyes sweat, that’s
all.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Why are your
eyes
sweating
?”

“I had an eye exercise, that is why.” I give
her my version of eye roll.

She laughs really hard. “Fine. By the way, I
ran into Grant a while ago. He asked my number.”

My eyes stop sweating. Have I heard it
correctly? Grant wants Lola’s number? Not even a day has passed and
he is already moving on to his next victim? Huh. I made a right
decision then. Womanizer.

“Really? Well, you would look great
together.” Gah. I can’t hide the bitterness in my tone, but really,
they would look great together.

Lola is a very pretty young lady. She is 5’7”
in height. She has blond hair. She has green eyes, which I always
admire. She has the perfect vital statistics there is on planet
earth. She is a very affable person. Simply put, she is everything
I am not, which makes sense that Grant decided to court her after
me.

Lola doesn’t waste time, she keeps on
laughing.

“Are you jealous, Rip?”

“No I am not!” That came out differently. Am
I shouting? Yes, I am definitely shouting. By the look Lola is
giving me, either she is amused or annoyed. I don’t care. She can
have a Grant feast now that we are officially not together. Yeah,
whatever.