Falling By Design

If there is something that frustrates Miguel more than freezing rain during the winter, it’s romantic cliches, particularly those he’s encountered repeatedly in movies. The tired narratives of boy-meets-girl, childhood besties morphing into lovers, and enemies making an unlikely romantic turn leave him vexed. His cringe radar pings at scenes featuring an accidental kiss or the contrived clumsiness of bumping into someone, causing one’s belongings to scatter, with their fingers inevitably brushing against each other.

Yet, when he’s actually thinking about it, he would’ve preferred those cliches or even black ice. Anything, really, other than the current unfortunate scenario: A drunken woman releasing the contents of her stomach on him.

And it’s not even a woman he’s attracted to. One would expect such scenes to unfold with a prospective partner, wouldn’t they?

“I hate my life!” she exclaims amid hiccups, wiping the remnants of her puke from the corners of her lips, her eyes weary, red, and barely open. “I was a stellar student, you know? I had Latin honors. Everyone thought I’d become some big shot!”

She pounds her fists on her chest and continues to cry, snot pouring from her nose. “Me, too! I thought so, too... But here I am... Ringing through people’s purchases and stocking shelves...”

Miguel scoffs, peeling off his now vomit-covered fleece jacket and nonchalantly tossing it onto an empty chair, creating a creaking sound in the process. He shakes his head, questioning what he’s done to deserve this predicament. His parents basically forced him to organize some sort of team-building activity with the staff, and while he admits having chicken and beer at the store (his treat, at least) isn’t the grandest idea, he didn’t sign up for the messy aftermath.

Tragically, the other three staff members, Linda, Joshua, and Baljit, essentially abandoned him to take care of the newly hired cashier, Thalia, with whom he has exchanged nothing more than brief greetings. Even before she became overwhelmingly inebriated, her interactions were limited to Linda, although Miguel did witness a snowballing of her tantrums throughout the evening.

“Get up, Thalia–”

“Argh!” she grunts, pushing Miguel’s hand away as he attempts to assist her. She’s been seated on the cold cement for quite a while now. “It’s Thalia, as in Ta-li-ya! Not Tal-ya! You can’t even pronounce my name right.”

“Sorry–”

“...Jackass.”

At this, Miguel’s lips part, his forehead creased in shock.

Is this her? The girl who consistently lowers her head whenever he walks by? The same one who always avoids sharing the same space as him?

“Okay, okay. Ta-li-ya,” he surrenders, sighing. First, she showers him with puke, and now she’s calling him names? What has he even done?

With no other options, Miguel grabs Thalia’s right arm and left shoulder to help her up, realizing she’s surprisingly slender underneath her puffer jacket. The same one she’s worn all through the Fall season, too. He winces at the amalgamation of beer and puke scents as she leans against him.

“All I’m saying is... I’m not supposed to be here,” she continues to mumble.

“Oh? Where should you be?” he probes nonchalantly, gradually leading Thalia toward the vacant room at the end of the hall. He has no idea where she resides–at least the room, typically reserved for accounting, has a couch where she can crash for the night.

“Everywhere but here!” Thalia cries. “Well, I’m leaving anyway. I’m getting kicked out of this gigantic country. The immigration officers will probably pick me up and toss me into a van and push me into the freezing ocean.”

Miguel raises his eyebrows. He’s absorbing a surprising amount of information about this girl within a mere couple of hours.

Thalia settles onto the couch, curling into a fetal position, her knees slightly over the edge. Clasping her fingers together, it seems as though she’s silently whispering a prayer.

“Thalia? Are you good now?”

When he gets no response, Miguel expels a sigh of relief. “Alright, I’ll leave–”

“This shitty life just keeps on getting shittier. Maybe it’s for the best...” she murmurs.

Okay, that certainly isn’t a prayer.

Miguel gazes at Thalia. Her tears have dried up, leaving traces on her cheeks, and her hair is sticking to them.

“Who would’ve known there’s this side of you, eh?” he mutters to himself. Turning his head, he searches for something to cover Thalia with, fumbling through drawers until he discovers an old blanket tucked away in one of the cabinets.

“Thanks... Boss,” Thalia manages to say, hauling the blanket up to her nose.

“Not ‘jackass’?” he mocks, and he receives a snort in return.

“I’m anticipating an apology,” Miguel whispers, half-smiling. “Don’t go hiding from me again.”

He trudges toward the door, leaving the dim light on. Before stepping out, he casts one last glance at the peculiar woman on the couch, pondering how much more she’s concealing—or rather, how much more she’s hurting.

The following morning, Miguel wakes up early, his neck hurting from sitting up all night in the inventory room. He checks the accounting office, relieved to find Thalia in deep sleep, the blanket on the floor. He picks it up and covers her with it, and then runs to his car to get a quick shower and change of clothes.

He returns at the store in half an hour, peeks at the accounting room, and then upon confirmation that the girl is still safe and sound, he lazily occupies a stool by the cashier. With his legs crossed, he cradles a cup of hot coffee in his left hand. His gaze fixates on the world beyond the smudged glass windows, where the heavy snowfall has painted a frosty veil, obscuring the view.

It’s only the beginning of December, but the temperature has plummeted to a bone-chilling -15, with a biting wind chill of -20. Edmonton, Alberta is certainly not for the fainthearted.

Beside him, Linda meticulously performs a cash-out for yesterday’s sales, while Joshua is on the floor, completing the restocking of recently delivered bottles ofDel Monteketchup and an array of Filipino local varieties. Neither are displaying any signs of hangover.

Unlike the woman in the office, who remains conspicuously immobile, showing no signs of getting up.

“We’re opening soon,” Linda murmurs, concluding the task of filling out deposit slips. “Should I check on Thalia?”

The wall clock by the door catches Miguel’s attention, its hands signaling the approaching 8 AM mark.

Miguel offers a shrug. “It’s fine. She can sleep in a little bit.”

Linda steals a glance at the boss’s son, her long black braids cascading over her right shoulder. Is she interpreting his response correctly? “But she can’t afford to miss out on the hourly wage. We all heard about her situation last night.”

Joshua, straightening his posture, nods in understanding. “It’s the typicalbalikbayanstory. Forced out of the country to work in a foreign land, only for all the money to go back to the family left behind. But it’s still not enough.”

(Trans: balikbayan - A Filipino migrant worker who occasionally returns home – ‘balik’ means ‘return’, while ‘bayan’ means ‘homeland’)

“Is it the same for you?” Linda inquires.

“No, I’m just a second-generation, university part timer,” he replies. “But my parents went through that before they could sponsor me.”

Born and raised in Canada as a third-generation Filipino immigrant, Miguel’s lack of immediate response speaks volumes. He’s never stepped foot in his homeland, and the native language remains just jumbled sounds, a missed link to his roots. He silently grapples with his ignorance about many of the experiences Thalia and Joshua have shared.

The fragments of the previous night slowly resurface in his memory. Thalia’s words linger–her exhaustion at the tender age of 25 and the poignant admission of losing dreams to responsibilities she has no choice but to bear.

“Is Thalia an only child?” he finds himself asking.

Linda, surprised with Miguel’s sudden interest in their colleague, responds, “No, she has a younger sister who’s still in high school.”

“What about her father?”

“Her father’s been gone for years. Before she moved here.”

“And her mother?”

“A homemaker in the Philippines.”

“So she’s a breadwinner...” Miguel mumbles. “And away from her family.”

Joshua approaches the till, setting aside the empty container. “She did vent quite a bit last night. Seems like she had another job back home... I feel kinda bad.”

“Mm. She’s strong. And has a lot of story to tell,” Linda adds, glimpsing at Miguel, who hops off the stool.

As he crumples the paper cup to discard it, Miguel asserts, “Let’s keep last night under wraps, okay? No need to bring it up.”

Joshua and Linda can’t help but exchange furtive glances.

While Miguel occasionally swings by the grocery store to drop off supplies or lend a hand when someone’s on leave, his interactions with them have typically been limited. He has never shown any inclination to delve into the personal aspects of their lives.

Joshua attempts to clarify, “Which one? What shouldn’t we talk about?”

“All of it. If she doesn’t bring it up, then we won’t discuss it. She didn’t mean to spill her secrets, especially not with me present.”

Linda agrees in private. Thalia hasn’t confided in her, but she senses an underlying aversion that the young lady harbors toward Miguel. She probably didn’t want him to know a single thing about her.

Miguel might not be the friendliest, but he’s not a bad person. In the context of being the boss’ son, he is quite decent, making Linda wonder why Thalia constantly avoids him.

Or maybe Thalia isn’t avoiding him because she doesn’t like him. Perhaps it’s the other way around?

“Aren’t you considerate, my good Sir?” Joshua teases, playfully elbowing him. Miguel retaliates with a flick to his forehead. With a deadpan expression, he states, “Thanks for cashing out, Linda. I’ll take the deposit.”

Seeing Miguel exit the store and head toward the parking lot, Joshua rubs his forehead and muses, “Do you think something happened when we left?”

“Like what?”

“Not sure,” Joshua says. “I feel like something’s changed–”

His words are cut off abruptly as the bell chimes, signaling Miguel’s return. “I forgot my car keys.”

Thalia doesn’t like to drink. And it’s not because she doesn’t like how the alcohol tastes–it’s mostly due to the fact that she is a lightweight. So, when she wakes up with a thunderous hangover, she ponders why she didn’t see it coming. The immediate desire for relief has her wishing she could just disappear.

And seriously, where the heck is she?

Summoning the last shreds of her willpower, she sits upright. Glancing around, her head feels so unsteady that she won’t be surprised if it rolls off her neck.

She’s in the accounting office. What time is it?

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me...”

The store is about to open, and if she heads home to change, she’ll miss a good two to three hours of work. Not to mention the dreaded commute.

Never mind that her head’s about to split open. She springs off the couch, hastily folds the blanket (where did that come from?), and slides her sneakers on.

As Thalia steps onto the floor, she’s met by the expectant gazes of Linda and Joshua, but it’s Miguel’s stare that gets under her skin. Indifferent to the first two, the boss’ son is the exception.

There’s something about the way he looks at her with those deep obsidian eyes framed by a pair of full eyebrows. LikeDua Lipa’seyebrows. And his finely sculpted lips seem to be set perpetually in a straight line.

It’s almost as if he’s appraising her worth, and there’s an unmistakable indifference in his demeanor towards all of them.

Thalia can’t stand him.

Why is he still here?

Quickly brushing her hair with her fingers and wiping her face with her sleeves, she catches a whiff of an unfortunate scent. Perplexed, she wonders where it’s coming from, thoroughly checking herself but finding nothing amiss on her clothing.

“I’m sorry. I have to go home quickly to change,” she tells Linda and Joshua and then throws Miguel a half-hearted apologetic look. After all, he is her superior. “I’ll come back right away.”

“It’s alright!” Joshua answers, waving a hand dismissively.

“We can hold the fort,” Linda adds reassuringly.

Thalia offers them an appreciative smile and strides briskly past Miguel. However, she halts abruptly, remembering to grab her backpack from the locker by the till. Carelessly slipping on her gloves and pulling on her toque, she notices Linda and Joshua seamlessly continuing their duties.

But Thalia can sense Miguel’s eyes on her. Before she can walk past him again, he says, “Don’t bother coming back.”

A/N:Uh-oh, First chapter in and Thalia seems to be in trouble already...

But before that--how’s everyone doing? I’m so happy to be back with a new story for y’all. Please stick around and leave some votes and comments when you can! Cheers!