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"Meet my fiancé, p'. His name is Tol. Mom and dad already know him."
Tin's voice is coarse as they stand together in the temple. "We will begin to share our life together... in the house that you built."
Tol squeezes his hand gently before laying down the wreath of orchid and jasmine. In the picture, the lady smiles at him with kind eyes just like Tin's.
It's not Tol's first visit to Tin's hometown, but this time is for their engagement. The road back from the temple winds through the mountains under gray, cloudy skies. They seems to have been the only travelers for quite some distance. Tin drives in silence, and Tol lets him, immersed in somewhat different thoughts.
While paying respects, it has occurred to Tol that Tin's sister, the accomplished architect who built their gorgeous home in Chiang Mai, probably didn't get to know her brother as... queer. Not that she had to assume otherwise, at any rate. Still. Tol has never considered himself to be the superstitious type, but for any reason, he now finds himself almost asking for some kind of omen for assurance.
Clap!
The rumbling thunder from afar echoes through the valleys, as drizzles start to blur the windshield. Well, if this were an omen, it doesn't look like a good one. Rain is certainty not supposed to be surprising in the rainy season, but in the rhythmic sway of the wipers, Tol is feeling an unjustified sense of defeat.
"Tol, what's wrong?" Of course Tin notices.
"Nothing, I... um..." Tol stammers. If they are to have a conversation about inner insecurities, there are better times and places for that. "It's an emotional trip, this time." He tells the half-truth.
"I know," Tin nods.
They go back to silence. As the mountain road takes them to the next turn, the sky suddenly opens up. Brilliant rays of the sun pour down through golden clouds, against the purest of blue.
"Look! There's a rainbow out there, right over that peak." Tin notes, with a child-like glint in his eyes.
Indeed there is. Faint but undeniable, the token of peace hovers above the mountains like a waving flag. I can take that as an omen any day, says Tol to himself.
"The Irish say that there's a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow." Tin adds, unaware of all his inner monologue on a different topic. "Must be a good omen for your job application, Tol."
"Not sure about that," Tol chuckles softly, pointing to the ring on his finger that he's yet to get used to:
"Haven't I been granted my lucky pot of gold already?"
With a slight sigh, Tin pulls the car over the narrow shoulder, emergency lights flashing.
"Well, doctor, what's the emergency?" Tol asks smugly.
"You're making me too swooned to drive, Tol."
The car pauses there for a while, until an irritable truck driver arrives behind them honking.
Regarding that job application, Tol has already had another serious conversation the week before.
"Don't pull any strings, dad."
Tol warns. This is not how he's supposed to talk to his father, but he knows that dad understands.
During Tin's coma that seemed to have lasted forever, Tol had finished university, started his first "job" in his father's office, then quitted in no time. Just as he suspected, he will never get to do anything real or learning anything new in that position. And life is not a melodrama where the president's son, straight out of university, can just waltz in and take over with an empty mind and emptier hands.
"Well, they are a farang bank opening their first regional head office in Chiang Mai. There are no strings that I know of, if I were to try." The seasoned businessman answers calmly. "Don't feel bad if you don't get the job, Tol -- although, if you do get in and survive there, I'm sure even our pickiest board member will be wanting you for a mid-level management position here in a few years."
Mid-level management. Such words still sound somewhat comically distant for now, but Tol nods in all solemnity.
"If you get the offer, Tol, that in itself will be grand-party-worthy."
"I don't need a grand party, dad, thanks for the thought though." Tol shakes his head with a smile at the familiar inclination to extravagance. "All I want is my own career and my own paycheck." Looking out towards the garden, he sees Tin admiring a rare bloom at his mother's behest. Their silhouette stirs something in his heart:
"It's time I learn how to take care of myself... and my family."
"Good luck," Tol's father stands up to give a solid squeeze to the young man's shoulder. As far as Tol remembers -- even across all the timelines, this is a first.
Did I ever work this hard back in school?
Tol yawns as the clock ticks over midnight in silence. The technical interview he's preparing for is standardized enough -- which also means that the availability of reading material and sample questions can reach the point of overwhelming. Quantitative this and that... wait, where was I?
Tol knows that he can trust his father in the no-interference agreement, as the rejections from a handful of other positions stand proof. Rejected for an internship for the lack of experience? What does that even mean. Tol does not complain about what he asked for, although whatever he is asking for is not the easiest to name precisely. Am I trying to prove something? Although he knows that Tin will call him Nong always and forever, he is not the clueless university student anymore, not for a long time. Real adult life is what he's going for. That's one way to put it.
Even the cats are sleeping now and nowhere in sight. Or perhaps they're jumping up and down in the kitchen, as the muffled sounds suggest.
"Here, time for a sanity break."
Tol raises his eyes from the papers with a slight jump. "Did I keep you up, p'Tin?"
"No you didn't," Tin doesn't hold back his own yawn as he sets down the steaming bowl on the desk, "I took a nice long nap in the break room earlier, then had one too many orange coffee courtesy of Pin."
"How do you know this is my favorite at home? " Tol feels his stomach grumble as he stares incredulously at the little bowl of shrimp wonton soup, "I don't know if mom even remembers."
"The helper lady is kind enough to share." Tin smiles smugly. "This is just the microwave version from the freezer, though."
The hot steam is making Tol's eyes tear up somewhat. He digs the spoon into the most delectable cuisine to possibly come out of a microwave.
"P'Tin,"
"Hmm?"
"Will you still love me if I don't get the job?"
Tin grimaces at the obvious non-question, but there is no mockery in his eyes. He pulls over another chair to seat himself by Tol's side.
"Remember, Tol, you've saved me. Even beyond life."
Tol swallows. "That's what I should be saying."
Tin smiles. His palm guides Tol's head to his shoulder, fingers tousling his hair the way that Tol knows all too well:
"Then, surely we can handle more than a job application."
Tol doesn't have anything else to add. He eats each and every piping hot wonton slowly. And Tin doesn't do anything more than sitting with him. After sipping the last bit of broth, Tol takes a glance at the messy spread of notes over his desk, then says:
"I think I should go to bed now instead of going crazy over these equations."
"Solid decision." Tin nods, grinning. "You have the doctor's approval."
In the garden-facing window of the hospital's go-to coffee place, Tol's full-blown business suit is certainly attracting the curious attention of onlookers. Meanwhile, the doctor in scrubs doesn't seem bothered by that.
Tin has offered to pick him up from the interview over lunch break. The technical interview from last week had been a narrow pass, but passing is all that matters. Then, according to urban legends, the behavior interview that follows is where they trip you up with all the psychological subtleties. After an entire morning's hard grilling, Tol has no heart to recount all the potential trip-ups he suspected in retrospect. He just wants the day to end, and then maybe convince Tin -- Zebra will do just as well -- to binge-watch some innocuous rom-com with him while cuddling on the sofa.
"I've said you looked sharp earlier, to keep it professional." Tin's glances are not so subtle or innocuous in between sips of his iced Americano. "Tol, what I really meant is..." he lowers his voice:
"You look damn hot."
"Stop it, p'Tin." Tol is feeling the burn from his earlobes, despite the potent AC or the icy soda in his hands.
"So, how do you want to celebrate?" Tin asks in all earnestness, "I can move my shifts around with Sing to open up the weekend."
"Celebrate?" Tol let out a slight sigh, "The HR said it might take up to a week to hear back."
"Eh, we don't need to wait for that." Tin shrugs. "It's the process that mat --"
The ring from Tol's phone cuts him off. Tol stares at the caller's ID. This is going be either really good or really bad. Tin gestures to ask if he should be giving him space, but Tol grabs his wrist. Then he presses Answer.
"Mr. Aekkarin Wijitkul," the HR on the other end starts with the unnecessarily formal legal name:
"It is my pleasure to confirm our acceptance of your application. The formal letter detailing the offer will be sent out shortly. The interview panel particularly recommended the level of interpersonal maturity demonstrated in your answers, which is all the more to be appreciated for an early-career professional. Congratulations!"
After all, not everyone gets to live through life's darkest trials in multiple rounds. If that counts as a privilege, Tol feels no guilt about it. Plus, hasn't there been some good omens from -- not that Tol has any capacity to recall that, being held breathlessly in the doctor's arms that are all too strong.
"I know you've got this, Tol!!"
Tol laughs, letting Tin ruffle his gelled-up hair as much as his heart desires.
END