Page 4 of Hate You to Love You

‘Peter and Peter. Peter was the manager of a bar I worked at during my hospitality days. He met his partner, Peter, on a dating app and now they’re getting married in September!’

‘Hold up. They’re both named Peter?’

‘That’s not the point,’ Addie stresses. ‘One Peter is the manager of a Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the other one is a vegetarian.’

‘And your point is?’

Addie squints. ‘They are polar opposites. If they can see past their differences, I’m sure it’s just a matter of time until you find someone.’

‘Isn’t it weird to date someone with the same name as you?’ I laugh. ‘Like, how do they even address each other?’

‘Honey, who cares?’ Addie says.

‘Wait a minute. What about when they’re in bed together? Do they cry out their own names?’

Addie throws a peanut M&M in my direction. ‘They could shout call me by your name!’

‘Funny, hilarious, the crowd goes wild,’ I deadpan.

‘Wait, maybe that’s what you need! A European love affair,’ she suggests, eyes bright.

‘Absolutely no way,’ I protest. ‘Look at how badly all my dates have been lately. I’d probably need to take out some high level of travel insurance if I wanted a holiday romance. I think I’m destined to be alone forever.’

‘Oh, come on.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘You’re a cutie. You give boy-band energy.’

I cringe. Addie loves to point out the dark, loose curls that tend to fall into my eyes at the most awkward times, and my baby face that she often declares has the smoothest skin she’s ever felt.

Addie leans towards me. ‘Whoa! Is this spiral of self-pity coming from the same guy who forced me to watch Sleepless in Seattle seven times? How many lectures did I get on the importance about Meg Ryan’s grand gesture of running to the top of the Empire State Building?’

‘Yes, it is. Because that movie is exactly that: a movie. Purely fiction.’

I could understand Addie’s surprise at my cynical outlook. When I first started at Sparked a little over three years ago, I’d been hired to write monthly lifestyle features. What started as short write-ups on places to dine in Sydney and interviews with C-list celebrities turned into a recurring feature called Love, Carlos. My boss, Tamara, loved the angle I took with my writing, excited that my voice appealed to twenty-somethings so well that my posts doubled the engagement the site was getting from the previous year.

I mean, to be fair, I am a twenty-something, so it shouldn’t have been a total surprise.

Over time my pieces transitioned, blending life stories, reviews and advice. I like to think Carrie Bradshaw would be proud.

While now I write about anything from the types of first dates to avoid to the best neighbourhoods in Sydney for a budget-friendly night out, my favourite pieces to put together are still anything related to books, and most importantly my true literary love: romance. Growing up, romantic comedies were the only movies I could watch on repeat, and graduating to reading romance books as a teen felt like a natural step. While other teenagers my age were going on dates at the Westfield food court, I was falling in love between the pages alongside Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy in Pride and Prejudice. I could get that same feeling I found watching rom-coms within the pages of a book. They made my heart full.

It was my parents who introduced me to romantic comedies. Dad had an endless love for cinema and, while he and my mum always encouraged my love of reading, our shelves at home were lined with more DVDs than books. Dad devoured everything from film noir to Studio Ghibli movies to campy B-grade horror flicks. He adored My Neighbour Totoro as much as he enjoyed Piranha and Rear Window. But the movies that brought him the most joy were the rom-coms. ‘These movies are about happiness’, he would always tell me. Whenever the beat of ‘Dreams’ by The Cranberries drops during the opening of You’ve Got Mail, it’s like I’m transported right back to those happy evenings on the couch, watching movies with my parents. I may have inherited my dad’s uncooperative hair and my mum’s short, stocky build – but I also got their romantic outlook on life.

It was the same outlook that had made my parents move from the Philippines to Australia. Dad used to tell me that the movies he watched reminded him that there was a whole world out there, full of magic, just waiting to be discovered. Luckily, Dad’s job as a project manager at a prestigious Filipino architecture firm made it easy for him to find a similar job in Sydney and coupled with my mum’s job as a financial branch manager, they could afford to make the move. Angelo and Dalisay Reyes looked at life as if it were a movie and anything was possible.

But that was then. This is now. Real life, I’ve found out, doesn’t always come with a happily ever after. While the credits roll at the end of a movie, time keeps spinning in the real world.

In the two and a half years since my dad died, my love for romance has slowly been fading away, and so did my passion for writing anything meaningful for my column. Gone were the days when everyone at work would gather round, excited to hear my pitches. Today’s meeting had seen me pitching yet another boring and hastily put-together article about dating in your twenties. A rehash of the same topic I pitched last week, only this time I was going to write about the best bars in Sydney to be dumped in. I had the experience after all. On the rare occasions when I did find a piece of my old self, beaming with enthusiasm for my work, my chest would grow tight. And that glimmer of positivity would vanish into an endless pit in my stomach, a pit that had opened up when I’d discovered that nothing good ever really lasted.

‘Did someone jam the printer again?’ Simon, our head of digital marketing, calls out from the copy room.

When no one answers him, he pokes his head through the doorway. ‘Addie, I need your help with the printer.’

Addie ignores him and shoves another handful of M&M’s in her mouth.

‘Addie!’ Simon repeats, scratching the side of his shaved head.

Instead of responding, she keeps her head low and gestures for me to do the same. We might as well be hiding out from the raptors in Jurassic Park, which – considering Simon’s favourite pastime is terrorising his colleagues – isn’t that wild of a comparison.

After failing to get a response, Simon makes his way towards Addie’s desk and hovers behind her. ‘Did you not hear me? I need you to work your magic with the printer.’