Fourth year: Chee Seng was promoted to subject head in school, and Cody quit for a new job as an editor in a trade magazine that specialised in aviation news. For travel, they decided to visit Paris, Madrid and Barcelona, and used up two eight-gigabyte memory cards for photos. They had a huge fight that year, and did not talk for a week, but things got back to normal in the end; the cause: money.
Fifth year: they went to numerous property launches to see whether they could find a place to buy, but could not reach a mutual agreement; with Chee Seng it was always money and whether they could afford it in the long run, while with Cody, it was convenience and accessibility and privacy. They adopted a dog from the animal shelter, a black Labrador they named Ninja, and took turns to pay for its upkeep: veterinarian visits, food, grooming. From the start, the dog liked Chee Seng more than Cody. They limited their travel to only Bangkok that year, and only for three days, because of the dog.
Sixth year: a quiet year of domesticity. They both changed mobile phones and upgraded their data plans. They babysat for Cody’s three nephews and niece. They went for walks in Bishan Park with Ninja; he had grown bigger and friendlier, and less demanding, and was greatly loved by the children of Cody’s sisters. They signed up for a marathon at the end of the year; Cody finished an hour faster than Chee Seng. They explored eastern Malaysia, Sabah and Sarawak, its quiet beaches and lazy, rustic towns.
Seventh year: they finally found a flat that they both liked, within their budget; after a longer than expected renovation, caused by unnecessary delays and several arguments with the contractor over material defects and poor workmanship, they moved in. The flat wiped out almost all their savings, but they finally had their own place, and they hoped things would get better; they had been fighting more and more, and over increasingly trivial things. Travels: again Barcelona, and five months later, Taiwan. There, they had a threesome with a twenty-eight-year-old Taiwanese man who worked as a software engineer in an online-gaming company. Cody chatted up the guy at Funky, a dance club, and he took a liking to both of them. Chee Seng was apprehensive at first, but Cody convinced him that it was just a one-off thing, nothing more, and he gave in eventually. They brought the guy back to their hotel, and took turns to fuck him. The guy left after they were done, but expressed interest in meeting up again, no strings attached. They did not pursue this, in any case. Chee Seng and Cody talked about what happened after they came back, and because they were both averse to the idea of an open relationship, they left things as they were. Ninja had missed them while they were away, and so they bought him a chew toy shaped like a bone.
Eighth year: Cody was promoted to senior editor, and started sending out résumés for other better-paying jobs. Less than two months later, he received an offer to work in a company that handled custom publishing for government-linked agencies. Job scope was not much different, but he did get a twenty per cent pay raise. Chee Seng was promoted again, to head of department, and complained incessantly about the increase in workload. They still fought, naturally, and when it got worse, Cody would sleep on the sofa in the living room, or go back to his father’s flat for a few days. Reasons: money and housework and Ninja. They took longer to reach a truce, and when they could not find common ground for a ceasefire, they turned the other way and pretended otherwise. The days passed, and they would still have meals together, and from time to time they would still make love, quickly and efficiently. Sometimes, to avoid the trouble or inconvenience, Cody would masturbate in the shower. Always, there were things to do, to make do, to follow up: the leaking air-con, the weekly groceries, Ninja’s vaccinations. And then Ninja died that year of heatstroke, which was primarily Cody’s fault. He brought the dog out for a run around the neighbourhood, forgetting that Ninja had grown both old and overweight. After less than a kilometre, the dog collapsed to the ground, whining in agony, his mouth lined with froth. He shat all the way to the animal hospital, and the vet kept him under tight watch for twenty-four hours, but Ninja did not respond to any treatment, so they had to put him down. Chee Seng and Cody were inconsolable, grieving for Ninja as though they had lost a son. They cremated him and brought his ashes back in a porcelain urn, keeping it at the back of the wardrobe. They threw away all of his stuff, but Cody secretly kept his leash. Chee Seng did not blame him for what happened, but Cody had already assumed the guilt. That year, they took separate trips overseas: Chee Seng to Phnom Penh, and Cody to Bangkok.
Ninth year: they went to work every day and ate out most evenings. They still talked, but about things that were of little consequence. They ran, and occasionally caught a movie at the cineplex. They went to bed at the same time, and paid the bills through the joint savings account on time. They planned to get another flat, but this time for rental income. They kept themselves busy the whole year, and tried to stay sane and healthy. They were close to the ten-year mark, an achievement, something to be proud of. Then Cody’s ex-boyfriend Terry called one day to invite him out for dinner; he was going to be posted to Shanghai for a six-month job assignment and wanted to celebrate it with Cody, for old times’ sake. Things fell into place swiftly afterwards: a few drinks after dinner, a long, nostalgic talk about their shared past, an innocent enough kiss, then the familiar touches of an ex-lover. Everything that was bound to happen happened, and that was that, the oldest act of betrayal in the history of love.
So when Ai Ling suggested the trip to Phuket at the end of December, Cody was more than willing to take it up. He needed some more time to carefully think through what he wanted out of his relationship with Chee Seng, and was hoping things would take a turn for the better.
Somewhere in the dark room, the ringtone of a mobile phone sounds: the opening chords of the Coldplay song “Clocks”. Chee Seng’s phone. The song plays for a minute or so, before it stops, and then resumes again a moment later. This happens another three times. You creep over to the pile of clothes strewn on the floor beside the cupboard, pick through the clothes—the song’s getting louder—and find the phone in the pocket of Chee Seng’s Bermuda shorts. The song cuts off just as you’re fumbling to see who the caller is. Seven missed calls from Chee Seng’s mother.
You grip the phone and sink back to the floor. After accidentally touching a button, the main screen comes on with a photograph: you and Chee Seng, taken at the beach on your first day in Phuket, the sunset draining away behind you, the sky a dark blue. Chee Seng’s arm is around your shoulder, holding you close so that you could both fit into the frame. You had tried a few times, adjusting postures and smiles, before Chee Seng was finally satisfied.
You click on his message inbox and scroll through the messages. Most of them are from you, several from his mother, and others from mutual friends. All the messages are either very recent or very old; Chee Seng has a habit of clearing his inbox regularly. He once told you that it’s because of the lack of memory on his mobile phone, but you know it’s just another expression of how he has always lived his life, his singular way of managing things; the fewer things one has, the lesser hold and influence these things have on you, he told you once.
Towards the bottom of the inbox, you see that he has saved all the messages that have come from you. You click on a message, one dated back to when you two first started dating:
Do you wanna come over to my place later? We can order in and watch a movie. Any movie, your choice. I’m fine with anything. Let me know. Miss you.
And further down, as if backtracking in time, another message: