Free Manila Marriage App by Jan Elder

anything.
    Thanks to the lengthy application, he already knew more about me than some of my lifelong friends. I could be tight-lipped, too. There was no reason to tell the world my private thoughts.
    I started with my sisters and expounded on the joys of being the oldest of three girls. I explained how my mother had depended on me and how my dad had waltzed out one day and never returned. No big loss in my book, but Mom was devastated. Sometimes, she didn’t bother to get up. I’d been the one to get Lily and Brianna to school on time with breakfast in their tummies.
    When we were both tired of talking, we lowered the lights, switched on an inane comedy in English, popped some buttery popcorn—I was thrilled to see they had popcorn here—and laughed ourselves silly.
     
    ~*~
     
    I awoke to an odd soft whiffling sound. The TV was still on, and in the dim light, I could make out Timothy, fast asleep.
    He was mostly sitting up with his head resting on the back of the sofa, both arms wrapped around a throw pillow. Out of his mouth came the cutest pseudo-snore, more of a low whistle with deep rumbling notes. Mister Adorable melted my heart.
    He must have been wholly exhausted to have allowed himself to drift off while in the same apartment with a woman. He’d be nonplussed when he woke up and discovered his faux pas! It was nice to know he had a human frailty or two.
    Quietly, I watched him for a while, in awe of his perfection. I had to admit, I wished his arms were around me rather than that darned cushion!
    Tiptoeing to the bedroom, I grabbed the afghan and covered him.
    As I spun around to go to bed, I spied something black halfway under the chair. It was a wallet. How had it slipped down there? Or was it even his? Perhaps Danilo or someone else lost it when they were bringing my luggage up.
    After a brief flicker of indecision, I flipped it open. He had one credit card—good grief, just one?—two insurance cards, a school ID, and twenty-three dollars. He traveled light. Even his driver’s license picture was flattering.
    Other than his middle name was Michael, and he weighed 220 pounds, his wallet afforded a decided lack of personal information, except a flimsy, faded photograph with a creased corner. The picture was of Timothy’s mother, perhaps when she was in her early twenties. She shone a beatific smile at the camera, her long, heavy hair curling around her shoulders. There was pure joy in that smile.
    I couldn’t help but grin back, my heart warmed.
    At least he’d managed to save one photo.
     
     
     
     
     

10
     
    In the morning, Timothy was gone, but there was a note on the kitchen table.
    Once again, I’m teaching Dr. Kyun’s theology class. Lunch and shopping after that? If agreeable, meet me in my office at noon.
    Timothy
    P.S. Thanks for the blanket.
    I still wasn’t feeling quite right, so a lazy morning sounded perfect. Sashaying around the apartment in shorts, bare feet, and my hair up in a high ponytail, I made myself at home. At last, there was time to get organized. I’d start by tackling my poor, squished clothing. This whole trip had been a blur, and I was rarely so negligent.
    I inspected the closet to find Timothy had pushed his clothing to the back, thus leaving me more than sufficient space for my own. I checked out his shirts and pants. Hmm. More expensive labels than I would have expected, and everything pressed with precision and smelling of sandalwood. I wasn’t surprised at the pristine condition of his clothes. Everyone here of middle-class status or above employed a housekeeper, or so I understood from conversation with him.
    After I’d hung up everything that belonged in a closet, I sorted my socks—and why had I brought so many pairs of socks to the tropics?
    Timothy had cleared out the top drawer of his dresser for me to use and, since I’d over-packed, I needed the whole space.
    How could he be so autocratic and unselfish at the same time? Stilted and thoughtful? Shy