Keeping Miss Kalila

By Tara Frejas

With a job that she loves, an adorable senior dog, and a baby she fought hard to conceive on the way, life is going well for thirty-one-year old school teacher Kalila Rayos. That is, until her ex-boyfriend and first love, filmmaker Datu Alvez asks if they could try again.
Saying yes shouldn’t be too difficult. After all, she’s still also in love with him and Datu’s efforts to be there for her make her feel she truly has it all. But on top of her worries as a soon-to-be mom, a crisis that hits her school forces her to shift her priorities away from her own desires.
Will the one who got away be strong enough to stay, or will their second chance at love crumble and break her heart once more?

** Please note the following content warnings for this book: miscarriage (backstory), casual sexism, and verbal and physical abuse from a parent.
This book follows #romanceclass guidelines requiring HEA/HFN for romance, and is Heat Level 3 (at least one “open door” sex scene). **

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tara Frejas
• Release date: Apr 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9798744050740

Book preview

Keeping Miss Kalila

Tara Frejas

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

EPILOGUE

Keeping Miss Kalila

This book is a work of fiction. It is NOT fake news.

While inspired by real people and events, all characters, events, and some places depicted in this book are entirely fictional.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Copyright © Tara Frejas 2020

All rights reserved.

Please note the following content warnings for this book:

miscarriage (backstory), casual sexism, and verbal and physical abuse from a parent.

This book follows #romanceclass guidelines requiring HEA/HFN for romance,

and is Heat Level 3 (at least one open door sex scene).

ONE

In the spirit of managing expectations, Kalila decided this night was going to be disastrous.

While wishing her looming nausea would go away, she shut her eyes tight and hid her face behind the menu she pretended to peruse. It hadn’t even been ten minutes since they were seated at this charming little table for two, and already she wanted to vomit.

And just so it’s clear: by no means was this her date’s fault.

Seeing Datu Alvez do that casual, don’t-you-think-I’m-gorgeous lean against his sedan as he waited for her outside her house was easily one of the highlights of this evening. And don’t even get her started on those eyes. It’s been a while since anyone has looked at her like that—like he was appraising her entire being with his warm and steady hands instead of his gaze. Her cheeks flushed, imagining his hand reach for her face, skin brushing against skin before he playfully curls a finger around a lock of hair.

She would be lying if she said it didn’t bring her a feeling of gratification. Of desire, too.

Now, if only she could summon a different sort of feeling.

Kali, are you ready to order?

She opened her eyes, blinked, checked if the world was still spinning. Goddammit.

Give me a sec?

It took another second for her vision to recalibrate, thank god. The letters on the page seemed to float back into place. She might have known the items on this menu like she knew the back of her hand, but she needed a moment to make sure she wasn’t going to pass out. Whatever it was she caught a whiff of at the parking lot screwed with her senses so bad she could almost taste the offensive smell in her mouth.

Gross.

I’ll have the crispy dinuguan, she said and put the menu aside, craning her neck to see where the washroom was. Grabbing her bag, she added, And the mangga and bagoong, please! before excusing herself from the table.

Before a perplexed Datu could say anything, she was out of her seat, rushing to the unisex washroom that was, thankfully, unoccupied. Quickly, she locked the door, grabbed some paper towels, and hurled into the toilet.

. . . . .

Still a little lightheaded, Kalila returned to their table and found Datu on the phone. An apologetic smile spread across his face. Two minutes, he mouthed.

Instead of nodding in response or focusing on the dishes already served, Kalila took out her phone, set a two-minute timer, and slid it toward his side of the table. This seemed to jog his memory, drawing out a quiet laugh from Datu, who flaunted Marianas Trench-deep dimples on either side of his cheeks. Whatever delusion she had about being immune to this sight crumbled helplessly in front of her.

"Vito, listen. Even I want to push through with this project so bad, but at the rate things are going, we might have to shelve it. Yeah, I don’t care. A spot at the film festivals doesn’t matter if we’re putting out mediocre work."

Why, hello ‘boss voice.’ It’s been a while.

Oh, before I forget, please tell Belle to access my Studio Alipato inbox. I’ve gotten a couple of emails from the Aritz marketing executive, and also someone from Santelmo Pictures. Yes, please.

Not wanting to seem like she was eavesdropping, Kalila picked up her spoon and fork and scooped a bit of green mango salad and bagoong on her plate. Perhaps the tangy green mango coupled with the salty-sweet flavor of the shrimp paste would help ease her sicky feeling.

All right. Have a safe trip back, all of you. I’ll see you Tuesday morning.

Datu tapped her phone screen, stopping the timer at 35 seconds. Look at that—a new record, he said with a smile that faded all too quickly.

Everything okay? she asked, wincing when a bite of green mango released a potent tartness in her mouth. Immediately, she tried to neutralize it with a spoonful of warm garlic rice and crispy pork blood stew. The moment the familiar salty-savory-spicy combo hit her taste buds, she pictured her teenage self, seated at a carinderia outside school, having dinuguan for the first time in her life and loving every bite.

He replied with Yeah. Twice. The first time sounding more like he was convincing himself, the second time with more conviction. He scratched his brow and paused to study her face. How’s the crispy dinuguan treating you?

Like a VIP at Aling Pacing’s carinderia.

Instantly, his eyes lit up. Oh…my gosh. Did you know they’re still open?

Of course, I do! I ate there when I was doing some volunteer work in Quezon City. Maybe two months ago?

He pointed at himself. Two weeks ago.

Grabe, the food still tastes the same, ‘no? Kalila gushed and ate another spoonful of rice and dinuguan. Ugh, if I weren’t working so far from QC, I’d eat there every day.

Pasay isn’t far.

Ten years ago, maybe. Nowadays, it takes two hours to get there.

Minimum.

Korek! she exclaimed with a laugh, watching Datu shell his shrimps with a spoon and fork. Years later and his precision still fascinated her, especially since she had attempted it once at a cousin’s wedding and inadvertently flung chili garlic shrimp at her Tita Mayen’s elaborately coiffed hair.

Want some? he offered, raising the spoon with a shelled shrimp in it, ready to be deposited onto her plate. That she knew this was going to be his next move pleased and alarmed her at the same time.

Sure.

Five years have passed since the last time she sat down with Datu for dinner. Five years since they broke up. Her expectations had been low when she, distraught over her sick aspin, dialed his number the week before to ask for help. She didn’t think he’d ditch a prior appointment, drive to her place, and bring her and Rainbow to a vet he knew, but he did, anyway.

In hindsight, Kalila realized she should have known he’d do this. The Datu she knew would drop anything for her if she asked. At least until his priorities shifted and she became an afterthought, a Post-It note buried under piles of scripts, betacam tapes, and empty cigarette packs.

So, what are you working on now, rekdi? she asked as he set three pieces of ready-to-eat shrimp on her plate. The monicker worked like a string that pulled one corner of his lips up in a smirk.

For love or for money?

Tell me something about both.

Well…I’m happy to say we have a steady stream of commercial projects—TVCs, music videos, stuff like that. Helps pay the bills, feed ourselves. We were going to do a new short film to feed our soul, but I guess it’ll have to starve for a couple of months.

Funding problem?

A shrug meant yes. I thought the Summer Crush gig was going give us a little financial push, but we’re still short. A pause, then a sigh. Maybe I shouldn’t have pitched something so ambitious.

But then it wouldn’t be you.

Look at you. Armed and ready with the right words to say, he remarked, grinning. I’ve always loved that about you.

For a split second, Kalila assumed Datu would backpedal, say something to water down the sentiment. None came. Instead, he beamed at her, his eyes shining with what she could only describe as delight. The sight was making her dizzy.

No, wait. She was actually dizzy.

Datu, will you excuse me a moment? I think I need some fresh air.

. . . . .

The park just outside the restaurant strip was a lush green space smack dab in the middle of Makati’s Central Business District. Often spotted here were employees from nearby offices taking a brief respite from work, the health-conscious who jog around the park, and families bringing their kids to dine out and play. Perhaps it was because school was still out for the summer that Kalila had already seen three couples with kids having a stroll in the five-ish minutes she’d spent sitting at this park bench. One couple was pushing a fancy-stroller around, while another was sitting underneath a tree, watching two boys running around with their action figures. The last pair had a little girl in a bumblebee dress, sitting over her father’s shoulder and smiling for the photo her mom was taking.

Seeing all of them somehow made her feel a tiny bit better.

She heard a soft rustling behind her, crunchy leaves yielding under the weight of someone’s footsteps. A glance up and she saw Datu park a plain brown paper bag on the space beside her.

You all right?

Mm-hmm.

Okay.

He sat with her and didn’t make a fuss out of the dinner that got cut short. Instead, they fell into a conversation about his work, her work, and all the other things in between. He made her laugh with funny anecdotes from their last film shoot, and she got him interested in Bahay Munti, an educational facility in Pasay City where she works as a teacher. They burned through a lot of topics so effortlessly and without a hint of awkwardness, it made Kalila’s heart smile. Five years apart didn’t lose her a friend, after all.

Except she wasn’t sure it was right to still call Datu a friend. They’ve crossed that bridge a long time ago, a leap they both took and cherished while it lasted.

Oh, hey—are you coming to our high school reunion week after next? she asked while showing him photos on her phone of Bahay Munti students who recently had their moving up ceremony.

I don’t know. Are you? Datu replied, the deep baritone of his voice feeling like a caress over the shell of her ear. She only now realized there was very little space left between them, and if she so much as turned her head, the tip of her nose would brush against his cheek.

That made her nervous.

Y-yes.

She inched away, dropped her phone into her bag and tried her hardest not to stare at the sweat-sheened valley between his collarbones. Somewhere between discussing rehashed storylines and the cost of colored chalk, Datu seemed to find undoing a few buttons on his wine-red shirt necessary. Which was so inconvenient because hello, hormones!

Do you want to take a walk?

It was more of a suggestion than a question, really. And when he agreed, Kalila immediately got up on her feet and followed the stone path leading to a row of shops. Thank goodness the nausea was gone. Now she needed to expend all this pent-up energy.

Wait for me! he called out, catching up to her in just a few strides. Their sweaty arms touched for a brief second, and Kalila inched away as discreetly as she could. I have something to tell you.

Shoot.

He took a big stride and stood in her way, prompting her to stop in her tracks. She might have gasped at the sight of his beautiful face, and she pinned the blame on the light coming from the street lamp behind her. Beads of sweat trickled down the sides of his forehead, and Kalila watched the rising and falling of his shoulders as he said, "Okay, uh…here goes.

I…never thought I’d be able to spend time with you like this ever again, Datu said, sounding like he was catching his breath. "When I saw your name on my phone screen last week, I thought…‘There’s no way it’s real.’ But it was. And it might sound irrational but when I heard your voice and saw your face it just…brought me back to a good time in my life. Which I deeply missed.

And I know we were both freaking out over Rainbow that night but… Datu pressed a hand to his chest. It felt wonderful…just seeing you again. And if it’s okay with you, I’d like to continue spending time with you…

What do you mean?

I want to ask you out. On dates. Plural.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Why?

Because I want to try again, Kalila. I want to take a shot at another chance with you.

Oh god, Datu. I…wow, this is a lot to process. Kalila pressed a palm against her forehead, reeling over this sudden display of candor. Again, something she should have expected. "I don’t think you…want what you want. I…I don’t think you will want what I think you want when you—"

The conviction in his eyes started to fade, and Kalila felt dread creep into her racing heart. Kalila, it’s all right. You can just tell me.

With a sigh, Kalila simply said, I’m pregnant.

TWO

Anyone who knew Datu Alvez as a child was acquainted with his fiery temperament. Relatives often attributed this to his birth order. After all, it was always the middle child who acted out, and always the middle child who got the scraps.

He wasn’t the pride and joy. That was Isagani. He wasn’t the sweetheart, either. That was Pio. To his parents, he was simply Datu. The disappointment, if Geronimo Alvez was being generous.

His father used to like having friends over and often held brandy-induced spur-0f-the-moment talent shows in their living room in San Juan. He would tell everyone how my Isagani learned how to play the piano at three! and how angelic my Pio’s singing voice is! followed by Quick, quick! Mga anak, show my friends how good you are!

Only the shy, reclusive Datu didn’t have anything to show, and this often prompted his father to say: Datu makes me wonder if we had babies switched at the hospital.

Because there was boisterous laughter that followed every time, he filed away the statement as a joke. The more he heard it, though, the more he felt like he was the joke.

For many years, and in countless different ways, he had sought his father’s approval and failed, to his chagrin. Only after he had brought home his first Best Short Film award at the annual CineMagiting Film Festival did he decide to stop trying to impress Gerry Alvez. Because what was the point in trying to impress someone whose eyes wouldn’t even spare you a single glance? He would rather focus on mastering his craft than play the Look Dad! I Made This! game.

And so these days, Datu took pride in the fact that he’d mastered two fine arts: Getting Shit Together, and, more importantly, Not Giving a Fuck. He was often unruffled and in control. A feat, considering the industry he worked in.

Tonight, however, it took only two words to unravel him.

I’m pregnant.

It was hot out here, maybe several-degrees-from-hell stifling, and yet he could feel the tips of his fingers grow cold.

So, like…a food baby?

He regretted it the moment he said it. Nope. No way to save that.

No. His gaze fell on the hand Kalila pressed over her stomach. The absence of an obvious bump confused him for a second. Like…a human baby.

Oh.

You idiot, he told himself. You couldn’t have asked Kalila first if she was seeing someone before inviting her to dinner and launching into your TOTGA speech?

Confused and bewildered, Datu felt like he needed to lie down and process this.

I’m sorry, I was under the impression you— he mumbled, paused. When you kissed me before I left for La Union, I thought it meant something.

She blinked and looked away, chewing on her bottom lip as though regretting what she had done the night he’d taken her and Rainbow to the vet. He had to be at a gig north of Metro Manila the next day, and before he left, Kalila had thanked him. With a kiss on the lips.

I’m sorry. I was very emotional, and so overwhelmed…

He deflated. How was he thirty-one and still losing his shit over a fucking kiss like he had not played tonsil hockey with random women before? Sometimes, a kiss is just a kiss. Nothing more.

Sorry, I didn’t think to ask if you were seeing anyone, I just assumed right away that—

"Oh, no. I am not seeing anyone."

Say what,