chapter two

i r e n e

***

Irene did not grow up in a privileged household.

Her family had been middle class at best, both of her parents working corporate jobs in order to support their daughters. While some may argue that she had been privileged in more ways than others, this was only because her parents worked themselves to the bone in providing them with a high-quality education. The tuition fee for a private school—an international school in particular—is no joke. Majority of her classmates had hailed from the upper-class tier, their multiple homes, exotic family vacations and branded everyday items a wake-up call to Irene’s reality.

She and her sister didn’t always get what they wanted. Her parents established a reward system wherein exceptional grades were to be asked in return. Sometimes, their wishes would be fulfilled if their expenses left them with extra to spend on which was a once in a blue moon occurrence. And other times, they would be tight on their budget, prioritizing their necessities over the stylish new shoes the girls had yearned for. Irene would be behind her peers on the latest trends, but she had been appreciative of her parents’ efforts nonetheless.

What was important to her was she had clothes to wear, food on the table and a roof above her head.

So Irene learned the value of money, and just how difficult it is to earn for a living. She had guaranteed to her parents that she would not be taking everything they have done for her for granted. The hardships they had gone through weren’t a walk in the park.

How much more for people who are struggling to survive today in this economy?

It led her to vow to help the less fortunate, however she can, even if it entailed handing two of her beloved Burberry coats to a poor shivering stranger.

And the deed was worth it.

Because in the five years Irene has been working, her generous paycheck is more than sufficient to sustain her needs. It’s high time she gives back. The woman’s helplessness had been a giant stab to her chest, her heart shattering into bits at the image of her worn out clothes in the freezing weather and the spare change in her hand.

Irene just had to do what she could.

And seeing her for the second time by the convenience store must have been the Lord (she isn’t the most religious person out here, but the gist is there) showing her that their paths are meant to be intertwined, that she could somehow be an instrument in making this person’s situation less miserable.

Although the hesitance within the stranger couldn’t be clearer, Irene concluded the woman may have felt undignified after being captured scouring for food in the trash. Anyone would have. Irene only wanted to be of help, but she would never be one to impose, so she opted with offering her coat, umbrella and a few bills again, in substitute for buying the woman the groceries she would have originally done.

Irene might have been partially soaked by the rain, but she trudged to her apartment with a victorious smile brightening her temperament.

But somehow…something about it didn’t sit right with her.

She just couldn’t pinpoint what it is.

“Are you thinking about what I said?”

Jennie probes from the other side of the kitchen island. She sets aside the minced meat into a ceramic bowl before shifting her eyes on Irene, the diamond encrusted Chanel pendant resting on her chest twinkling as she moves to grab a vegetable.

This next-door neighbor of hers, on the other hand, has had a wealthy upbringing. It’s reflected through her luxurious boutique-like wardrobe, exquisite tastes, and the state-of-the art kitchen appliances shining in their expensive magnificence.

Her apartment bears the typical one-bedroom layout, a shoe-rack by the door as you enter, and an open kitchen viewing the dining and living areas. The floor-to-ceiling glass doors and windows of the veranda serve to introduce natural light into the apartment. A small hallway by the living room comprises two doors, one leading to the toilet and bath, the other to the bedroom. For the laundry room, it’s adjoined by the storage near the kitchen.

What makes this apartment otherworldly from Irene’s is the place being remodeled from scratch to comply with Jennie’s preference. Irene has difficulty processing that they both live in the same building, the glamorous modern Art Deco style a sharp contrast to Irene’s modest home furnishing. The construction price for this kitchen alone probably cost a fortune, an amount that probably equals to Irene’s bank account.

Irene props her arms on the on the sleek granite countertop to observe Jennie’s exceptional culinary skills across her, the weaving of the cutlery submitting her into a trance. She replies without reciprocating the younger woman’s gaze, “No, I’m not thinking about what you said.”

“Why not?”

Jennie would not let go of their abandoned topic freely. Her stubborn trait has gradually revealed itself in the year Irene has gotten to know her. She multi-tasks between chopping the carrots and regarding her older friend obtrusively, her cleanly shaped furrowed eyebrows refusing to relax.

“Because you’re making a big deal out of nothing.” A chopped carrot flies to Irene’s arm, and she toys with it in her fingertips.

Jennie opens to retort but goes against it at the last second.

“Lisa!”

“Yeah, boo?” Lisa answers from Jennie’s recliner in the living area.

The tall woman angles her head at the kitchen and hits pause on the Netflix drama that she has been watching. She has been uncharacteristically quiet that Irene has forgotten about Jennie’s permanent guest in the apartment. Lisa is a chatterbox, unnerving Irene on their first meeting, but has since crept into her good graces after being accustomed to her talkative nature. Whatever drama had been playing must have been that binge-worthy to render her mute in the past hour.

“If you were a stranger,” Jennie says to her girlfriend, slowing her pace in wielding the knife. “What would you think of unnie?”

Irene blows an airy exhale. It has been days, and she would have thought Jennie would be exhausted in defending her case.

“Is this a test?” Lisa asks anxiously. “Whatever those Cosmopolitan articles you’ve been reading say, I am not cheating on you.”

“It’s not.” Jennie rolls her eyes.

Irene distractedly ponders at how many eyerolls has Jennie sent her girlfriend in the course of their relationship. She has been witnessing a handful of it ever since she’s had the pleasure of being friends with the two. It’s all good-natured teasing, a part of their back-and-forth couple’s banter, Irene knows that very well. She must admit she wouldn’t mind if her future relationship were to be as easy-going and strong as theirs, with the ideal mix of maturity and fun.

But the ideal partner has yet to be found.

“Then why?” Lisa swings her long slender legs off the recliner and onto the floor. The silk black and pink pajamas say she’ll be sleeping over for tonight, backed by the furry feline Lisa has brought during her arrival and is temporarily imprisoned in Jennie’s bedroom at Irene’s horrified shrieking at Colonel Kimchi experimentally sniffing her foot. She walks sluggishly to the stool beside the oldest of the trio and hops up on it.

“Making a point,” Jennie says, really pulling out all the stops to prove her statement.

“Hmm.” Lisa her chin thoughtfully and juts out her lower lip. She rotates the stool to face Irene as she studies her. “I’d say unnie’s pretty, like suuuper pretty. Someone I’d give a doubletake when passing by. Maybe even shoot my shot—” Jennie pauses her chopping and raises an eyebrow. “—in another life! C’mon, babe, put down that knife.” Lisa holds out her hands in front of her to shield herself.

Jennie merely chuckles at her girlfriend’s theatrics. She carries the chopping board over the pot of boiling water on the stove and pushes the vegetables down with her knife, then reverts to Irene like her girlfriend’s comment expounded on everything. “Get what I’m saying?”

The neighbors have been at a debate for the past three days. A debate Irene has half-heartedly indulged herself in to appease her friend. Jennie has discovered this “phenomenon” as she had exaggeratingly put it. There apparently seems to be a person reacting unusually peculiar towards Irene from their Saturday night-out. Irene can’t recall who she had been referring to because she doesn’t keep tabs on the strangers she’s met in their weekends. The younger woman would go on about how it’s the mystery of the century, the precise reasoning unregistered because Irene has blurred out her argument in favor of nodding along absentmindedly.

“She shot another bad boy down?” Lisa’s swift hand pounces for the bowl of minced meat at Jennie’s distraction.

Jennie, alert as a hunting animal, slaps her girlfriend’s hand before it’s in a reachable distance from the bowl possessing the goods. “Unnie always shoots guys down. Good or bad. Girls too. She’s a freakin’ machine gun.”

“Oh right, babe!” Lisa jumps in place and derails their topic, the seemingly never-ending debate postponed yet again to Irene’s relief from the momentary desertion of the subject, and to her annoyance from the from the anticipation of it being unearthed once more by some other time. “Rosie’s sister needs help in baking for a charity event. She has to train someone for a few days.”

“Rosie has a sister?” Irene queries. That’s an information she isn’t aware of.

“Yup. A tiny little being.”

“Oh. Never knew.”

Irene and Rosie have been acquainted, conversing shortly with the Australian native whenever she has to assist Jennie in hauling Lisa’s drunken to the young veterinar