After that movie date disaster, I moved on to the next plan. A friend asked me to take on a dinner assignment somewhere near Good Guy’s workplace. I thought it was a best excuse to invite Good Guy over and scrutinize him further layer by layer. I had it scheduled and informed him about it a week before. Who would refuse a free dinner, right?

The big day came after a pretty bad week in the office. It culminated in a hyper-charged Friday and as expected of an unlucky day, I went through that exasperating series of unfortunate events. That meeting in the office did not go quite well as I ended up a toast on my seat. On my way, I almost mauled a taxi driver for his overcharging meter so he dropped me off in the middle of nowhere. My feet inside those black pumps hurt from walking because some freaky taxi drivers decided to become choosy of their destinations that day.

The world has gone mad.

When I reached the restaurant, I was already in a fight mood. I was this angry volcano ready to spew out hot molten lava at the slightest provocation.

Good Guy came a bit late and he apologized profusely. While we’re having dinner and catching up on our post-movie date lives, I was mentally assessing whether I wanted him to be a boyfriend or just a friend who I only see four times a year. The basic question was “Why do I like Good Guy?”. Then, a whole lot more. Was it because he got promoted? Overflowing talent? Kindness? Or was it because I was left with very few choices since my prospects have recently crossed over to the “dark side” to become pink butterflies?

What would his best friend my ex-boyfriend say? And why in the world does my ex’s opinion still matter?

It turned out that the seismic effect of our first meeting on him has gradually worn out in the passing of time.

I don’t blame him. After all, that was almost a decade ago when I still held the throne of his ideal mate. People change and their preferences shift from Jollibee to McDo and then Burger King. While Good Guy morphed into a rock star from an obscure and extremely shy guy, I remained the faithful girlfriend of his best friend. Now, there is no compelling reason why he would waste his time on someone who is not even Jessica Alba‘s toes nor the penguin she fed in the movie. Women started rearing their heads toward his direction. What sort of peculiarities do I have to stand out in the mob?

The truth is I was the only one experiencing the after-shocks while he was there enjoying his gyoza.

The dinner lasted for an hour. The conversation progressed from appetizers to museum curators, dead people and nothing else. There was no after-dinner-let’s-have-coffee talks, not even a walk in that polluted park. He had to go back to work. I was also tired and sleepy and my feet hurt already. I was pretty exhausted for anything romantic I fell asleep in the bus.

I woke up one fine morning and decided to take matters in my own hands. I would have not been labeled “stalker” in my early years if it weren’t for my reputation of stalking boys I had a crush on in high school and getting their vital information their sweethearts did not even know about (i.e. parents’ names, siblings, ambition, definition of love – don’t ask, it sucks.). It’s time to put the old charm to work.

Two weeks after I visited Good Guy in his museum and rubbed elbows with people whose names I only read about online, I sent him a text message inviting him to watch a movie with me in two hours. (Brushing his teeth and travel time were included in the calculation). But not without a bribe that said “It’s free”.

Good Guy quickly jumped on the free movie trap. In less than two hours, we were at the cinema lobby.

He looked tired and sleepy and crumpled all over. I felt guilty about breaking his siesta just to watch Indiana Jones with me leaving him with not much time to put on his make-up (hehe). Actually, Good Guy is not exactly your kind of metrosexual guy who sprays Axe on himself to attract flies. It no longer surprises me whenever goes around wearing whatever shirt or pants he could grab from his closet, walks on his extra large slippers and carries with him a backpack like an Abu Sayyaf alerting mall security with suspicion.

It was the first time he saw me with a make-up on, wearing jeans and a girly blouse. None of those intimidating corporate attire that often made me look like his mother. This was a deliberate change in tactic – act weak, act girly. I guess that made him go blink blink in a funny way when he saw me from across the lobby. He probably failed to guess what actually hit me…or him.

I bought the tickets, he volunteered to buy food. Gentleman, eh. Thank goodness, he has quit taking Boy Bawang to the movies. (Woo-hoo! An upgrade!) While waiting in line, we talked about a lot of things from my bad singing to his blossoming career. And he gave me something. It was a book I was borrowing from him.

While watching the movie, we were busy nibbling on our chips, whispering trivias in between “Did you know this sequel cost blah blah?” and rolling our eyes each time someone burst out a gut of laughter.

After the movie, he asked if I enjoyed it and I said the worst line ever, “Yes. Is the LRT still open?”

Where the heck did that come from?

I should have said “yes” which might have segued to “Hey, let’s have coffee and talk about what a wrinkled Harrison Ford is doing in the 2008 sequel.” But words escaped me. I left my heart and brains at the cinema, probably in one of those empty popcorn buckets.

I really do have this nasty habit of saying the wrong things at the wrong place and time. So we said our quick goodbyes and parted ways at the gate. I didn’t even try to look back. I really should have. But for some insane reason like pride, I didn’t.

Arrrgh!

And some more. Those MRT rides where we were seated so close to each other I could actually smell his breath and tell what he had just eaten. Our shared interest in the arts. And the early mornings we spent jogging together made my friends wish they could borrow him too.

My girl friends envied me for having a close male friend I could count on when my desktop suffers memory loss or when I need an instant movie date. He may not be aware of the fact that aside from being my personal mechanic, he was also my savior when boredom strikes the hardest.

But since I was busy investing emotionally on this other guy, I didn’t see Good Guy for all his worth. Any romantic thoughts about him I regarded as an incestual desire worthy of hell that made me wince and go “yuck”. Not that he’s “yucky”. He was my boyfriend’s best friend.

Apparently, this turned out to be one of the biggest regrets in my history book. Lately, he’s been out making a name for himself and meeting more girls while I dug myself deep in my new-found career and rescuing my already doomed relationship. We hardly had time to see each other. Like all the tragic stories of those people who came in late, I’ve missed out on his growth years. By the time I forced myself back into the scene, it was a little too late. Things had changed.

I found myself wishing I should have been attentive enough to see him not just as a well-meaning friend but a potential mate whose lousy pick-up lines had actually melted me into water. I wish I have not wasted those years in a relationship with his best friend that ended up in a bin. I wish I have spent those times just getting to know Good Guy more – the other things he does, the other books he reads, the kind of music he listens to, and decipher the mystery why girls with long hair are so special to him. (Although every time I asked him about the hair thing, he’d shrug it off and call me silly.)

This time, you won’t find me sitting idly by the wishing well, or waiting for the next planetary alignment. I do really like him. And it’s time to put my imagination to work and do something.

Three months ago, one of my closest male friends named Good Guy asked me for help. He was holding an art exhibit somewhere in the city and he wanted someone to make sure his guests were well-fed. So I gave him the group who catered my cousin’s wedding and took care of the reservation until the opening night. He was very happy he included my name in his thank you list.

I remembered arriving in his showroom with a couple of our close friends. When I spotted him talking to a bunch of guys (one of them was cute), I headed straight to the bathroom to freshen up. My hair was a mess. I didn’t want Good Guy and company to see me like I had just stepped out of an ancient wardrobe.

From the rest room, I went straight to the buffet table and had my noodles and tea there in such a feel-at-home fashion. I could even take a nap on the couch without me worrying about what Good Guy would say. I was there the entire night forgetting my manners and the reason why all of us were all there. It was his night as a celebrated artist and that reality didn’t sink quite well in my empty skull.

Finally, he managed to break away from a group of all-black costumed emos and joined us shaking our hands. His firm grip brought to surface certain things about him that so intrigued me since Day One. Like he couldn’t look straight into my eyes. But when he would, he’d shift his gaze to the nearest wall, picture or a plant. I’d like to think that he just couldn’t believe I could wear a decent piece of dress that night.

By the way, that was the first time we shook hands after so many years. I thought we really should do it more often.