29
People say March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb, but it never quite feels that way in the Northeast, where March comes in like a dark, roaring blizzard and out like a slushy, unending question mark.
The sun sets a little later, the ice melts a little faster, the B line still experiences 20 minute delays, with shuttles from Sutherland to Boston University East.
I worry about whether I’m making the right choice.
This will be my fourth night at Lia’s, and as much as we both love a sleepover, I’m definitely overstaying my welcome.
But this time has served its purpose: with each day I’ve felt more and more sure of what I have to do with Andy.
It’s just that when I think about actually having the conversation…
it’s too terrifying. So much history, the tenderest feelings of one of my favorite people in the entire world, all resting on a few minutes of discourse. My head could explode from the thought.
It’s snowing pretty hard when I step off the train and start walking towards Lia’s building.
All-season athletes jog past in bright jackets.
A yellowed armchair sits abandoned on the curb, collecting a layer of fine white flakes.
The nearby stoplight flashes red as six lanes of cars and two trains honk furiously to claim right of way.
An older man in an unzipped coat and a Bruins hat tosses blue salt across the pavement.
Normally I hate all situations that make me cold—snowfall being an obvious one—but this particular, contemplative headspace I’m in makes the storm feel sort of nostalgic.
During my and Lia’s sophomore year, there were two days when Ashmore classes were canceled due to record-breaking snowfall and it was an absolute free-for-all.
I remember it so well. Andy and Nolan trekked through snow banks higher than their heads to come over to our dorm room, and we greeted them with boozy hot chocolate and a night’s worth of dumb games.
Truth or dare, smash or pass, text or shot—the third being our favorite, where you had to either send an embarrassing text or take a shot.
We kept score on a whiteboard with our initials scrawled along the top: N. A. S. A2. I’m pretty sure I squealed out loud when she realized it spelled NASA, and we did bits all night long about being members of an elite scientific community.
It was stupid, but we didn’t know it in the drunken haze of a late night with new friends that felt old. And when we re-read the whiteboard in the morning, after falling asleep in various corners of the living room as only college kids can do, it was Nolan who decided the name would stick.
“I love it! N-A-S-A.” He pointed to each of us in turn like the meaning wasn’t both abundantly clear and recently established. “It was meant to be.”
At the time, it really felt like it was.
“Sophie?”
The sound makes me jump, and I’m slammed back to the present.
“Andy, hi! What are you doing here?”
My best friend is standing in front of Lia’s door. The snow collected in his dark hair and across his shoulders suggests he’s been here a while.
“Is this okay? I wanted to talk, but if you’re not—”
“No, yeah, it’s okay. It’s…” I remind myself to smile. “It’s good to see you.”
“I did what you asked,” he rushes out. “I thought about this decision, and what I really want.”
He takes a step towards me, but his posture is as stiff as I’ve ever seen it. He’s nervous, and I am too. God, am I nervous. I wasn’t expecting to have this conversation now, didn’t have a chance to choose my words, don’t know what to say next. So I just ask, “You did?”
“I, um…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, folded and crumpled and refolded. “Sorry if this is weird, but I wrote notes.” He rubs the back of his neck with a self-deprecating smile. “I didn’t want to forget anything, or say things wrong like I usually do.”
“Oh, okay.”
He unfolds the note, a slight shake to his hands that I pretend not to notice. Then he starts reading.
“I’ve lived within an hour of Boston my whole life, and I’ve never liked change. All the big changes in my life have been terrible. My dad left, then Owen left, and I was always worse for it. So I became the kind of person who never changed anything.
I had routines and structure and that was comfortable for me. But then you came along.”
He looks up at me then, and my heart is a captive animal, beating against the cage of my ribs, restless and feral, even when he breaks our eye contact to look back down at the page.
“When you moved in, it shook up all my routines, and it was the best wakeup call I ever had. Because this past month I realized it’s not really change that scares me, it’s losing what I love. And that’s you, Sophie. I love you. I—”
A fake marriage, real jealousy, and one hidden heir waiting to complicate everything.
See where the trouble starts on Lokepub.
He meets my eyes again, and whatever he sees there has him stepping closer as he repeats, “I love you. I am in love with you.” There’s almost a laugh in his voice, like saying the words aloud is a relief. “I am. I’m completely in love with you. I’ve—”
He suddenly remembers the paper. His eyes dart down, desperate to find his place again, and I think it’s the cutest, purest, most lovely thing I’ve ever seen.
“I have been in love with you for almost a decade,” he reads, “and I’ve spent every day of that time wishing for you. Savoring every moment with you and convincing myself that staying your friend was better than risking it all by telling you the truth. Finding excuses to touch you, and hold you,
and speak to you. Brushing your hand and thinking about it for days. Watching other people fall in love with you, and you fall in love with them, and torturing myself knowing I would never be enough.”
Tears start to gather in my eyes, thick as clouds.
“Loving you became part of who I am. Loving you made me want to be a better person. Loving you became my deepest, most precious secret, and I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it didn’t have to be a secret anymore. I should have told you every day.
I should have screamed it from the rooftops and whispered it in your ear and written it in every book I touched. And—”
I take a step closer, something molecular in me pulling towards something molecular in him. The movement catches his eye, and he looks up again. Then, with something between resignation and determination, he shoves the paper into his coat pocket and breaks from the script.
“—and I know I might be too late, or this might be too much. If you don’t want me, I get it. But if that’s how you feel, I still hope we can stay in each other’s lives, because you’re the most important person in mine. And if by some miracle you really do want me too,
I’d love to go on this adventure with you. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I can’t imagine Boston without you in it. I barely made it through this week.”
He laughs again, and I do too, and the sound is honesty and desperation and hope.
“And yeah I’d be sad about moving away from Nolan and Lia and my mom, but they’ll always be there. And I don’t really want to move away right when things are getting better with Owen, but I just love you too much to stay behind.”
He reaches up to touch me, finally, cupping the sides of my face.
“I just love you. There’s no future for me here without you. So please, give us a chance. Give me a chance. Please.”
I’m left staring in awe at this thoughtful, sweet, brilliant man, standing in the snow loving me so deeply. I’ve been scared for so long—scared I would never deserve a love like this, that it wasn’t in the cards—but here he is, holding out his hand and teaching me how to be braver.
“You love me?” I ask, though it’s not really a question.
“I love you,” he whispers, still holding my face.
In that moment, I realize there’s one thing I want more than anything else in the world.
And, for once, I’m not afraid to ask for it.
Even though it’s crazy. Even though it’s asking for too much too soon, I don’t care.
After years of hesitating and doubting and fighting to make my feelings small enough for other people to handle—I know what I want, and he makes me feel brave enough to go for it.
After so many almosts, maybe we can have one at last.
Voice heavy with emotion, I say, “Okay. You can come with me. On one condition.”
“You name it. Anything.”
I look him straight in the eyes as I say, “Marry me.”
A million reactions flicker across his eyes in an instant—disbelief not the least of them. His brow is furrowed and his mouth is laughing as he asks, “What?”
“I’m asking you to marry me, Andy.” He goes to respond, but I shove a finger over his lips. “Wait. You had your turn. Let me have mine.”
When my finger draws back, he looks like he’s wondering whether the words “marry me” have an alternative definition he’s never encountered, but I don’t give myself time to doubt. I go for it, talking faster than I should to plead my case while I have the chance.
“You’re my best friend, and I love everything about you. I love your dry wit, and your unnecessarily fancy vocabulary, and the way you listen so intently. I love your dimples. I love the way you run your fingers through your hair when you’re nervous or thinking hard. I love how tidy you are,
and how meticulously you follow a recipe. I love the person I am when I’m with you. I can’t imagine ever loving anyone else even a fraction as much as I love you. You take care of me, and I feel safe with you. So wherever we are,
whether we stay in Boston or move to San Diego or join the first colony on the Moon, I’m asking you to marry me. Please, Andy. Will you marry me?”
I watch his expression melt in real time.
And with those final words, Andy is lurching forward, bridging the gap between us and crushing my lips to his.
My arms circle his neck as my feet leave the ground.
Snowflakes collect on our shoulders as tears streak down our cheeks.
All our history collapses into one moment and we’re finally here, loving each other so much it hurts, the way we’ve always loved each other but new and more because it’s out loud and forever.
Andy pulls back just long enough to say, “Yes.”