Welcome to Envy Park by Mina V. Esguerra Page A

took, and gave.
It was that until it wasn't as gentle, and wasn't as light, and I
was straining against him and out of breath. This was nothing to
joke about.
    This was a great kiss. I didn't
want it to end, but we couldn't live with lips fused together. I
had to, like, sleep, and eat, and talk again at some point. Not now
though. And when I thought it wouldn't get any better, his mouth
sort of swooped down and took the last of my conscious thought with
it...and then disengaged. So softly that I was aware of it only
when I felt the air against my lips again.
    The slight breeze came to my face
next, because he had let go of my jaw. And then he stepped back,
gave a slight, polite nod—and walked not back to the elevator, but
in the other direction, toward the fire exit. His footsteps as he
bounded down the stairs echoed in the tenth floor
hallway.
    All night I thought about him in 9J.

Chapter 10
     
    Moi,
    Did you get my last email? My mom says Tita Mara’s
been talking to you about it, so maybe you’re just busy. But yeah,
I really need hot water. I know it’s always hot there, but it’s a
thing. My mom wants to send money over to get one installed and if
you have it done now then you’ll have hot water while you’re
staying there.
    You really don’t take hot showers? Try it. It’s life
changing.
     
    Megan
     
    The other thing that made me
excited about coming home was the thought of decorating my own
place, from scratch. It started when I had to buy a few things for
my room over in Singapore, and before I knew it, I had spent three
straight days just wandering inside IKEA. And even after I got the
"few things," I kept coming back every few months for new curtains
and somewhat-matchy rugs and bed sheets.
    Knowing that I had my own place at
NV Park to look forward to however made me just go on full amateur
decorator overdrive. I had vision boards, color wheels, boxes of
"found object inspiration" and took trips to museums to "meditate
in artistic spaces."
    One time I was invited to a garden
party and I randomly picked up a shell lodged between two pebbles
on the floor—then it came to me that my own apartment’s theme would
be "home by the beach." For a second I had been transported back to
an early memory of playing at a beach back home, and it instantly
calmed me. I wanted that feeling. I wanted my own place to feel
like the one I could seek refuge in when the world got crazy. I
wanted it to be an escape.
    I worked with an initial palette of yellow, blues,
and nutty browns. I wanted wood furniture and glass accents. My bed
frame, coffee table, and kitchen/dining table were variations of
each other. The room didn’t get a lot of sun because of where it
was located in the building, so my curtains were a creamy yellow
with orange print on the inside, and regulation boring beige facing
out.
    But yes, I did not have a water heater installed. I
had opted out of it when it was offered to me, because seriously,
it never got cold enough to need it, or so I thought. Not that I
had a say in this, apparently.
    There was an appliance store at the mall and I
checked it out, after my afternoon errands. They carried three
brands of heater, the kind that you installed next to your shower
head, and they would all look ugly on my brand new bathroom wall. I
didn’t want to buy it right then, so I asked dumb questions, except
I encountered competent salesmen who convinced me that one
particular brand was a good buy, and installation was free.
    Hmph, I thought. I would think about it.
    How did I end up at the burrito place again?
    I had been thinking about my wall, and how exactly
they intended to install this unsightly contraption. I was going to
have to invite a burly man into my place so he could drill holes
into my wall. How could I say no though, when it was as good as
paid for?
    Then I thought, maybe after four years, once Megan
graduated from college, I could tell her to take the heater with
her. But I’d still have the holes