And they lived happily ever after…

In celebration of Valentine’s Day on Friday, I’d like to share with you some true-to-life love stories, but whose main characters I will have to shield to protect their privacy:

 

The ‘Gay-shas’

Dara and BFFs Kiko and Fifi all work in the same industry, fashion publishing. When they met, Dara was a junior fashion writer, while Kiko and Fifi were fashion stylists. They had many things in common — they loved branded shoes and bags, barhopping, and they were all attracted to men. They called themselves the “gay-shas.”

 Dara fell madly in love with Alex, a top photographer, though he was married. Kiko and Fifi frowned upon the relationship, but they supported their girl friend’s privacy. One day, Dara got pregnant. She was driven out of her parents’ home, so she rented an apartment that became her love nest.

One day, Kiko and Fifi got a text from Dara that she was already in labor in a hospital and Alex was in the middle of a big-time fashion shoot. Could one of them please come and hold her hand?

Her two male best friends rushed to her side without a second thought, even if they, too, were in the middle of a shoot. When they found out Dara didn’t even know what a hospital bag was, had no baby things whatsoever, they forged a plan. Kiko was assigned to buy the necessities of a new mother, including sanitary pads and underwear; and those of a newborn baby, including baby bottles.

Fifi was assigned to stay by Dara’s side as she was in labor, dutifully wiping the sweat off her brow every time she had a contraction. After Dara delivered her baby girl, the nurse immediately turned to Fifi and asked him, “Are you the father?”

“Of course not!” Fifi answered indignantly, then smiled a victorious smile and let out a big “Yahoo” when he heard the baby girl’s first cry.

Then Kiko rushed in with baby things in a cute quilted bag with bunnies on them, and the nurse asked him, “Ah, you must be the father?”

And Kiko raised an eyebrow and said,  “At lalong hindi ako!” Then he and Fifi hugged each other, then gave each other high fives and screamed, “Mga nanay na tayo!” as Dara smiled weakly from her bed.

Alex the photographer eventually showed up, but soon after his daughter (named “Francesca, after her two surrogate “mothers”) was born, he left for greener pastures abroad. Dara, with the help of Kiko and Fifi, raised her daughter, who is now a tall and fashionable young lady, beauty queen material. She is the fourth member of their “forever” club, “The Gay-shas.”

Francesca is all that her mother — and the two men who loved her and her mother unconditionally — hoped she would be.

 

Flower power

Tinette is an attractive travel executive, who because of her looks and connections, always lands in the society pages. Dindo is a rich banker, whose first marriage has been annulled.

After Tinette and Dindo were introduced by a travel writer, Dindo was immediately smitten by the head-turner. But he had to wait in line, because so many other men, most of them foreigners, were after the dusky Tinette.

Finally, after several tries, Tinette agreed to go out with Dindo. She asked him, “Do you just want to have sex with me or are you also hoping for a relationship that lasts?”

Dindo was floored by Tinette’s frank questions. But he was hooked by her and so he said, “I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you the minute I saw you.”

“Okay,” answered Tinette. “But I have three non-negotiables. One, you must never be jealous of the time I spend with my widowed mother. Two, you must never be jealous of my job because it is my first love. Three, I love flowers, and you must send me fresh flowers even when you’re no longer courting me.”

Dindo didn’t say anything. After that date, he kissed Tinette goodnight at her doorstep. Tinette had a heavy feeling in her heart that this would be their first and last date. She was too upfront and demanding, she could see that now. Sayang, she had started to like the salt-and-pepper-haired banker.

Then at 4 a.m. the next day, her cell phone rang. It was Dindo, and he was back in her doorstep.

“Dress up,” he told her sweetly.

Curious, she did as he told her and her eyes still dreamy from sleep, she opened the door to her home. Dindo was waiting like a bright-eyed boy. He still hadn’t slept till the moment he dropped her off the night before.

“Okay, I agree I will never be jealous of the time you spend with your mom and your job!” he declared. “Now, come with me and let’s see if I can fulfill your third requirement.”

Then Dindo drove Tinette to the Dangwa bus station, where thousands of fresh flowers were in bloom, the morning mist glistening like diamonds on their petals.

“And,” Dindo hugged Tinette. “I promise to send you all the fresh flowers your heart desires.”

By the time the sun rose, they were officially a couple.

Second chance at love

Sandy and her husband Raul were driving home from Tagaytay with their year-old twin boys and the yaya when a bus hit their car head-on. Their car fell down a shallow ravine, but unbeknownst to Sandy, Raul died on the spot. Sandy, the yaya and the twins were rushed to a hospital in Silang, Cavite. The yaya was very concerned about the baby that was in her arms, and her last words to Sandy were an apology and the hope that the baby would live.

Sandy, who was in pain and in and out of consciousness, and her twins were rushed by ambulance to Manila, and she could hear the doctor telling the driver that if they weren’t in the big hospital in 20 minutes, one of the twins wouldn’t make it.

Thankfully, the three of them made it. But Sandy wasn’t told that Raul and the yaya had passed away. Her attending doctor had deemed it wise to keep the news from her till she was better. They always gave her the excuse that he was too sick to be visited in his room or to visit her in hers.

One night, as she was in bed alone, Sandy saw Raul. He was in a hospital gown, and he told her to take care of herself and their twins.

“I am going somewhere first,” he told her. “And you will follow me. But not in a very long time.” Then he kissed her and left the room.

The next day, Sandy asked her doctor to allow Raul to visit her again as he did last night. The doctor, one of the country’s foremost, turned pale, then decided it was time.

“Sandy, Raul is gone,” the doctor told her gently.

“That’s impossible, he was just here last night!” Sandy screamed. She was hysterical the doctor had to give her a sedative — the first time since her accident that he gave her one. Thus, Sandy says that looking back, she is sure she was completely lucid on the night Raul “visited” her.

Sandy was given a day’s pass to attend her beloved Raul’s burial. It took her six months to recover physically and emotionally, and work was her therapy.

Sandy worked in the business center of a five-star hotel. She met Chris, the British CEO of an oil company, one December seven years after she was widowed. He told her he was staying until the second week of December, and they went out a couple of times.

One day, Chris told her he had to stay longer because his business in Manila wasn’t finished. On Dec. 24, he hinted he had no one to celebrate Christmas Eve with and so Sandy invited him to her family’s Noche Buena so he would have a taste and feel of Pinoy culture. He was a client, but she didn’t feel it was work because she had started to like Chris.

Before going to her house, Chris told her he needed to buy presents at Rustan’s for his nephews in London, since he wouldn’t have time to buy them in London as he was arriving there on “Boxing Day.”

Chris had fun during the Noche Buena. His eyes were twinkling like the parols in the garden. During the exchange gift portion, Sandy’s thoughtful parents made sure their guest had a gift to open.

Then suddenly, Chris excused himself and re-appeared with two big boxes, the same ones he had bought at Rustan’s for his nephews in London. He went straight to Sandy’s twins. “These are for you.” Turns out Chris had no nephews.

Not long after, Chris became the father of Sandy’s twins, and two more children of their own.

And they all lived happily ever after. (You may e-mail me at joanneraeramirez@yahoo.com.)