“I was thinking after we spoke this morning that I may have come across as being against long distance relationships.” Keeping my eyes on hers, I continued, “then I was thinking that I didn’t want you to extrapolate that to OUR future…I’m kind of weird like that, always thinking of hypotheticals.” She continued to stare, slowly absorbing my words, carefully thinking them over, “Anyway, I wanted to make it clear to you that I’m committed to you and in no way wish to hold you back from your life path, and at the same time I want to be there for you, even if sometime in the near future we end up in different schools, or cities.”
With that long-winded speech, she stared, her eyes stunned, her lips pressed into a thin line, and then, after a few seconds to make sense of what I said, she spoke, “Well, I never thought you were against long distance relationships,” she paused when I let out a breath of relief, “but, I guess you should know that I am against long distance relationships.”
“Oh,” my mind raced trying to think of what she meant, and what this meant for us.
She must have noticed the hint of confused sadness in my voice because her voice softened, “What I mean is, I don’t agree with long distance relationships. I don’t think they work and I would never want to be in one…of course, I could see myself trying if it was with you, but even then, I would be hesitant to move forward if that was our only option.”
“Yes, of course I would want to try, too.”
“Yes, well, I don’t see myself going away to grad school, or any extra school for that matter, after UCSD. And,” she blushed, “if we’re still together when the year is over, I’ll most likely look for a job in San Diego so I can stay near you.”
I sat there, staring at her in awe, as her words went straight to my heart. I was glad to be sitting—my bones instantly turned to jelly. And then my joy turned to skepticism.
“Wow, Sophie. But if you got offered a great opportunity or a chance to showcase your talents, I would urge you to go after it, wherever that might be. I would miss you, of course, but I wouldn’t want you sacrificing anything for me,” I insisted, even though I couldn’t help but hope she would never have to leave me.
“Okay, well, we’ll see. This is all just hypothetical anyways.” She didn’t seem willing to agree or disagree with me at the moment.
“Yeah. We’ll talk about it more seriously if it ever comes around.”
“Okay.”
I was thinking about our conversation as I drove her home and I couldn’t help but smile. She has been thinking about me, about us, about the future. I hoped I wasn’t blind, and she actually was falling for me.
We were outside her apartment then; this moment always stung, always came too fast. I pulled her into my arms and held her there for a moment, long enough to smell the sweetness of her shampoo, the scent of powder on her face, and feel the warmth that exuded from her body. Then, tilting her face up, I placed my mouth over hers, lightly so not to frighten her. She startled me by pressing back. For the first time I felt the urgency of her kiss, the heat flew from her mouth to mine, lingering there until I felt the tremor of her body and the burning from mine.
“You can’t kiss me like that and not let me in,” I said, my voice thick with desire.
As if I were in a dream, she cocked her head, smirked, and pulled me toward the door by the hem of my shirt. It really must be a dream.
I entered her apartment quietly, trying not to wake Tiffany; that is, until Sophie giggled, “Tiff’s not here. She’s at Ethan’s.”
“Oh, is that so,” my eyebrows lifted as I tried to analyze for any hidden meaning in Sophie’s message, but I couldn’t think clearly and decided to just fly from the gut-down on this one. I clicked my brain into standby mode as I followed her down the hall.
Dun-Da-Da-Dah! The moment had finally arrived…she led me to her room. Her space fascinated me: the posters of art, design, and fashion taped up carefully, methodically, covering the glass panes on her wall; textbooks neatly stacked on her desk; the chair she sat on when she wrote to me on instant messenger; the mirror that hung by the door where she gazed before each date; and then there was the bed—low and small, covered with light pink sheets, blanket, and pillow—where she rested her head each night and dreamed, hopefully of me.
The bed was inviting, and my limbs twitched in response. I turned to her now. She stood a few feet away from me, timid. All the teasing and urgency vanished, and she stood there, carefully watching me. Oh, how I would love to listen to her thoughts.
I decided to test her, moving closer, never taking my eyes off her. She sucked in a breath. I took that as my invitation and reached for her. My shaking hands nurtured the small of her back as I caressed her with my lips. Heat bellowed in my chest and I yearned for more, I wanted more. She gasped, her hands trembled as she grabbed my hips for balance. I crushed her lips with mine as I felt her give back. She gave into me, and I was dizzy with the intensity of it.
I led her to the bed, gently. This time I would be more careful, considerate of her naivety, and most of all, I wanted to make her feel everything I was feeling and more. I wanted to fill her with the desire that I felt every time I thought of her. Every time I looked at her. I wanted to show her that she still had the ability to feel good without losing her virginity.
I unclasped her bra and the urgency unraveled inside me. I felt lucky, honored, and even smug, that out of all the guys that crossed her path, I was the only one she allowed into her bed, allowed to touch her, kiss her, and see all of her.
35
It was the day before Valentine’s Day. I laid out everything I purchased on my bed, carefully arranging each item inside a small wicker basket. I winced, remembering all the trouble I had at the mall today. Shaking my head, I thought: Sophie has me going to Fashion Valley, into a sanctuary of all-things-girly, to shop for her. I was grinning like a four year old boy whose dad was about to take him to his first Padres game, opening day.
Sophie’s worth it. Worth everything and anything.
The day was long and tiring. I took a Physics quiz and then headed straight for the mall. I decided to get her some perfume—a scent we’d both enjoy—sort of like my version of a hickie, I mused, showing the world, elegantly, that she belonged to me. Smell is a powerful tool. It captures and provokes memories, good or bad, and can also captivate someone, put them under a spell.
The store was a whirlwind, suffocating, with all the scents and products, and with all the prissy, overly made-up women (and men) in black suits that strolled down the aisles. I thought I would get good service when I saw all the unisex, black-clad employees; however, in my faded jeans, running shoes, and wrinkled polo I only got pitiful looks from each well-kempt “specialist” that passed by. I kept telling myself that she is worth it. Holding the box now, weighing it in my hand, pleading that I picked the right scent, hoping my time wasn’t spent in vain.
I popped two ibuprofens in my mouth as a nagging headache was forming. I cursed under my breath, reliving all the scents I just subjected myself to, many of which I had to smell at least twice before picking Hanae Mori’s Butterfly perfume. I smiled now, remembering the tantalizing aroma and soft sweetness of fruits and florals, and the delicate glass bottle with a butterfly cap. Everything about the perfume spoke to me, symbolized Sophie, my Sophie.
I packaged all the items gingerly, the perfume and a few other pieces, including a poem, in the basket. My nerves were getting to me now, overwhelming me. I worried about the poem, a poem with only a few words but a powerful statement. Powerful words that revealed my feelings. Feelings that I hoped were mutual.
Holding a clear vase filled with hand-picked, personally assorted, red and white roses in one hand, and a basket full of goodies in the other, I stood, anxious and uptight, waiting for my Sophie to open the door.
And there standing before me, elegant as Grace Kelly, mesmerizing as Aphrodite, and with the presence of an angel, was my Sophie. Her eyes radiated with happiness, her tantalizing smile wid
ened, and her face gleamed with pure joy.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I said, extending my armful of gifts.
“Oh wow!” she exclaimed, thrilled by the surprise of the gifts, and hopefully, of me.
“Thank you, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t think I’d be able to see you today. I just assumed we wouldn’t be able to see each other until the weekend.”
“I know,” I whispered, holding her close, “But I had to see you on Valentine’s Day.”
She blushed as I kissed her lips.
Her eyes gleamed, “Come into my room, I have something for you, too.”
She picked up her gifts and all but skipped to her room.
“Here,” she said sheepishly, as she handed me a wrapped box and a large handmade card. “Open it,” she said eagerly.
“Okay, are you sure you don’t want to go first?”
She shook her head, “No, I want you to go first.”
I wasn’t about to argue with that, but usually women couldn’t wait to open their gifts the second they got their hands on them. I momentarily forgot—Sophie’s not the norm.
I examined the card first. I felt a lump in my throat, noticing the hand-cut hearts, glued sequins, the time it must have taken to make, and then my vision started to blur as I read the note inside:
Dearest Liam,
I am so lucky to have met a guy like you: kind, considerate, understanding, patient, intelligent, dedicated, passionate for the things and people you love and hold dear to your heart, and of course much, much more.
It amazes me sometimes how a guy like you can like me as much as you do.
I appreciate and treasure all the things that you’ve done and blessed me with, especially the little things, like the way you hold my hand, open my door, give me the time I need to feel comfortable, shower me with kind words, and most of all for just caring about me.
I’ve had many first experiences with you: first date, first serenade, first holding hands, first opening the car door, first kiss, first boyfriend, first intimate moment, and my first Valentine…as well as, all the places you’ve taken me, such as, Lake Murray, Old Town, Hillcrest, Little Italy, and I’m sure there will be more to come.
Thanks for always planning our “date” activities, since now you probably know that I’m pretty indecisive when it comes to these matters, for I generally don’t care what we do or where as long as I’m with you.
So, on this Valentine’s Day, I just wanted to express my gratitude and appreciation for all that you’ve done and for being such a wonderful person and boyfriend.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Sophie
“Wow Sophie, thank you,” I managed, choking back tears, “It means a lot.”
She grinned widely, “Open your gift,” she urged.
I was so moved by her words I didn’t think she could have gotten me anything that could compare.
“What? Wow, you got me an iPod?” I was flabbergasted that she spent that much money on me.
“I noticed you didn’t own one and I wanted to get you one. I thought you could take it with you on your jogs or in between classes.”
“Wow.” Sophie surprised me again. “This is great, thanks,” I added as I opened the box.
She pointed, excitedly, “There’s also an inscription on the back of it.”
“Really?” I turned the slick black iPod around, and there, in tiny engraved letters read:
liam-wherever u take me
I will be with u-sophie
“Thank you,” I breathed, and leaned in to place my lips softly over hers.
“You’re welcome.”
“Okay, your turn.”
“Okay,” she anxiously turned to the basket and carefully unwrapped each gift: hand cream, body lotion and perfume.
“Mmm,” she noted after spraying a little on the inside of her delicate wrist.
“You like it? I wasn’t sure if you would…I mean I like it, and after smelling all the scents, I thought this one fit you best…but if you don’t like it I can always get you something else,” I stammered.
“No, I love it, thanks.”
“Okay.”
Then she went over to the box and I reached to place my hand over hers, “Um, I’d rather you wait to open this gift…alone,” I said hesitantly.
“Why?”
“Well…um…never mind, you can open it now if you want.”
She nodded. My wavering uncertainty piqued her interest.
I watched her anxiously, as she slowly opened the box, watched as her eyes widened and her throat caught on her breath as she pulled out a heart-shaped piece of rose quartz. I knew it would be cold and heavy in her hands, but her warmth would slowly override the chill just like her hands always warmed mine (I hadn’t noticed how cold my hands were until I met Sophie).
She then took out the folded piece of plain white paper. My heart raced as she carefully unfolded the note, read my words, taking in the meaning up to the last five words. I read it with her, reciting the words in my head as I watched her eyes fall over them:
Here is my heart,
For it has always been yours from when we first did meet;
To part is not to part if heart joins heart;
Hand in hand, thought in gentle thought,
So long as my heart keeps time with yours, it will always be yours to keep.
I love you, Sophie Park
I heard her gasp as she looked at me, her eyes filled with shock and wonder. Silence flooded the space between us.
I stammered, “I’ve been thinking it for a long time and I figured I should just let you know,” I looked down, sheepishly.
There was a pause and Sophie softly replied, “Thank you.”
I guess I saw that coming. Not like I expected her to throw her arms around me and say “I love you” back. I was fine, my ego only slightly splintered; at least she wasn’t resistant to my attempt at a Shakespearean love address. Loving her came naturally and it was the right time for me to express it to her. Plus, I would wait to tell her those special three words out loud when she was ready to return them. All in due time.
“Thank you for the flowers and the gifts,” she managed, “and thank you for coming over.”
“You’re welcome. I can only stay for another hour before I have to get to class.”
She nodded.
She was sitting down beside her bed, curling her legs up and holding them with her arms. She started fidgeting with her fingers like she always did when she was contemplating something or displacing nervous energy. I could tell she was deep in thought, probably about the poem and those three potent, little words.
I decided to break the spell and slid in next to her. She leaned against me, placing her head on my shoulder. I could feel her edginess die down and her breath again became slow and steady. I put one arm around her and there we sat, in silence, huddled in a loving embrace, up until the final second when I had to leave.
~ Sophie ~
36
Twirling the stone heart around my hands, smelling the roses placed squarely on my desk, drifting my eyes toward the bountiful array of scents and creams, and resting my eyes on the tiny white piece of paper with his words so perfect and pure…my heart ached and swelled in its warmth and love.
Liam’s words struck my heart and unraveled my senses. His perfection thrilled and terrified me: his genteel manner, his brilliant nature, his passion, his drive, his compassion, and his love for me. I felt like it was all too much, all too fast, all too real. Can it be possible that I could be enough for him? That his love will last, this strong, forever? Will we marry, have kids, and live happily ever after? Without regrets, without misery, without loss?
I had never believed in fate, but having Liam come to me during the time when I started to finally figure out who I was and what I wanted, I started to rethink everything that I held true to my heart. I started to believe in fate. I believed it was fate that brought Liam and I together. Fate that our love
grew so fast and so strong. Fate that I finally got what I wanted—happiness. Complete and utter happiness.
The joy I felt right then was unnerving. The longing I felt for Liam when we were apart was painful. And the knowing that we would be together for as long as our hearts could beat lifted my spirits and filled emptiness with calm. I knew then, had never been more confident, more sure than I was at that very moment, that Liam was the man I was supposed to marry. The man I was supposed to love and honor. The only man that would share my bed and my heart. The only issue was to figure out how to express this compelling love to him.
And, just on cue, I received a text from the man I was falling in love with:
Thank you for the gift and card. You are becoming so special to me, I only wish I could do even more.
I grinned, more confident now than I’d ever been on my feelings for Liam. How could anyone resist?
37
Pulling out the clean and hot load of fluffy whites, I wondered what Liam was doing at this very instant. Every time I thought of him I smiled. Tiff usually gagged—probably jealous every time I talked about him and all the sweet things he did for me. Of course she was thrilled for me, but I couldn’t help but hear the edge of jealousy that caught in her voice every now and again. It made me feel good. I felt good. I finally felt complete somehow. Whole.
Excitedly, I headed back to my computer to see if he might be by his. I couldn’t wait to see him tonight. Maybe I’d finally be able to take down my guard and share my feelings with him…maybe.
Itchy Bonsai (11:13:54 AM): Sophie are you there?
Sophie's Smile: A Novel Page 15
