Part 9: Frozen Peas and Stolen Pride

Aside from throwing stones at and performing serenades beneath my dorm room window, Noah had done a lot of other tremendously romantic things for me during our first year at the University. A few times, I would come back from the shower to find a note taped to my door. These notes spoke tenderly of how amazing I am, how much I am missed by the "anonymous" writer, and that I should not attempt to uncover who had written these notes, which were, of course, "accidentally" signed by Noah. He wrote a song for me about how heartbroken he was that I didn't ever call him back, and sang it to my answering machine while I was in class.

One thing that particularly sticks out in my mind is when he volunteered to drive me to my parents' house over spring break. I had an appointment to have my wisdom teeth pulled on the last day of break and wouldn't have been able to drive back to school myself. The car ride is a long 4 and a half hours through hills and winding roads, and is far better when you have company.

I don't remember much from the trip back to school; my mind was so foggy due to the Vicodin. I remember that my face was bruised and swollen - I looked like a chipmunk who held all of winter's stores in my cheeks - and I was mortified that Noah had to see me in such a way. My mom had packed a cooler with a bag of frozen peas (to help the swelling) and orange juice (to drink). The peas might have leaked a little, because I recall the melted ice looking a little green and sludgy after the trip was over. I remember putting the cooler on the floor beneath my legs in the front seat, and I'm pretty sure I fell asleep before we even reached the freeway.

When I awoke 4 hours later, I was facing sideways in the car seat leaning to my left, facing Noah as he drove. I opened my eyes a little without him noticing, and caught a glimpse of him with the glowing backdrop of the sun setting behind the hills outside of the his car-seat window. I saw him turn and look at me, but my eyelids were so heavy that they shut again before he could see that I was awake. I opened them once more after a few seconds, just as he turned to look at me again. He noticed that I was awake and smiled.

"Good morning, Sunshine." His voice was soft and low.

I let out a groan. "I'm.. sorry.. I didn't mean ...to fall asleep." I could barely get the words out, my mouth hurt so badly. I was a disaster.

"Oh, I don't mind, but could you please stop drooling all over my car?" he joked. I'm quite positive that I would have been embarrassed at that point if I hadn't been so groggy and out-of-it.

I managed to stay awake for the rest of the car ride, but I don't really remember anything else from that day.

Part 8: How to Fight Loneliness

How to fight loneliness: Smile all the time, shine your teeth 'til meaningless, and sharpen them with lies...
...That's how you fight loneliness; you laugh at every joke. Drag your blanket blindly, fill your heart with smoke.
And the first thing that you want will be the last thing you ever need. That's how you fight it.

Just smile all the time.

-Wilco

...

Valentine's Day snuck up rather quickly that year, and as the co-president of the Anti-Valentine's Day Coalition's Central Coast Chapter, it was my duty to hold the Anti-Valentine's Day Coalition Annual Anti-Valentine's Day Bash. In other words, a big party at my house. No dates allowed - you have to come by your loner, loser self. There was food, dancing, and a bunch of other singles really celebrating (or drowning in) their loneliness.

Plus, I made flyers.

Anyway, I needed to get my mind off of Noah. Ironically, on the morning of Valentine's Day, my friend Simon called.

"Hey, do you want to go to a fondu dinner party with me tonight?"

A dinner party on Valentine's Day? Was this supposed to be a date? If it was, I would be breaking every cardinal rule as the co-president of the Coalition. I might as well be blunt.

"Is this a date?" I asked.

"No, no, no - I mean, I need a date, but only because that's the rule of the party. Everyone is required to bring a date. But don't worry, it's not like that."

I wasn't sure if I should have been offended... After all, why wouldn't it be like "that?" I'm date-able, right? Man, this rejection stuff is hard.

Luckily for me, I'm too self-assured to take offense. So I agreed to go.

...

Simon picked me up promtly at 6:00PM. When I opened the door, he immediately presented me with a single long-stemmed red rose. I commented on how nice he looked in his suit-and-tie, and thanked him for the flower. He escorted me to his car, opened the passenger door for me, and even helped me in. When he started the motor, classical music started to play.

"Was this planned?" I teased.

"No... I always listen to classical music in my car." He smiled and winked, which made me laugh. I had almost forgotten what it was like to be romanced.

The dinner party was quite formal, and Simon was right - everyone had a date. The party was at his house, which was dim-lit with pink lights and decorated with red paper hearts. The square coffee table sat low to the ground, and on it was a gorgeous spread of breads, meats, and veggies, all surrounding a fondu pot filled with melted cheese. Around the coffee table were large floor pillows, where several of the party guests were already seated and talking. Before I had time to put my purse down, Simon had already poured me a glass of champagne and helped me find a seat on the floor.

I introduced myself to several of the people I didn't know, but most of them were already my friends (or at least acquaintences), one of them being Adam.

Adam and I had known eachother through mutual friends, and we had talked on several occasions at parties and get-togethers like this one. Knowing what a music snob I can be at times, Adam made it a point to ask me questions he already knew the answers to about bands he already knew I liked ("Was Ryan Adams in Whiskeytown before he started his solo thing?" "Yes..."). It was a little annoying, but the effort was cute.

...

I won't bore you too much with the details of my party; essentially, it was just a lot of lonely people dancing to a mix of good music, eating food, and chatting away in the dark. The important thing to note is that after everyone had gone home (around 2:00 AM), my friend Hendrik - a well-dressed blonde with hair in his eyes and a brain to boot - knocked on my door.

"Did I miss the party?"

"Well, the people are gone, but seeing as how I am the party... uh, well, you didn't miss much," I said with an exhausted grin. "Come in."

"I wanted to give you this." He held out a hand-made Valentine's Day card with a picture of a gray and pink unicorn glued on the cover, and in glitter puffy paint, he wrote the words "Nic, Be my Valentine. Love, Hendrik."

"This is amazing," I laughed.

"Yeah, I made it myself. Oh - and the paint is still wet. Be careful."

Hendrik and I plopped down on my couch and turned on Adult Swim on Cartoon Network. I was far too tired to chat, and I could tell that he was, too. After a while, Hendrik and I fell asleep with my head on his chest.

As if things couldn't be more ironic, that day I went from having zero valentines to two in one night.

Part 7: Stark Honesty

Yeah, well, all is fair. All is fair in love.
Am I right? Not only am I right, I'm lonely and I'm right.

-Ben Folds Five

...

So. I haven't been completely honest with you. I mean, I haven't lied, but I have definitely been picking and choosing what to say. It's not my intention to make it sound like Noah is perfect, because he clearly is not. In fact, Adam is easily the better choice of the two.

Because Noah and I kept our nighttime visits a secret, every day had to be business as usual; acting and pretending and faking that there was nothing going on between us. We didn't share the same circle of friends, which made it a lot easier, but we were in a few university clubs together, and went to the same church. As a result, it wasn't unusual to run into him now and again.

And I wasn't the only one who would go on an occasional date, either.

Although we didn't move in the same circles, some of our friends still managed to overlap. One of these friends was a beautiful blonde named Allison.

Allison was one of those natural beauties - the kind of girl who didn't need to wear makeup at all; her complexion was perfect, her eyelashes were long and dark, her eyes were smoky gray. She had freckles over the bridge of her nose, child-like innocence, and a voice like an angel. She didn't have "style" to speak of, but kindness and mercy emanated from her, and it was no surprise that every guy within 10 feet of her became unaware of anything else.

She was my competition.

It was completely obvious that she had a crush on Noah, and I can guarantee that he didn't mind her attention.

And the worst part? She was impossible to hate. Believe me, I tried. It backfired, and she ended up as one of my closest girlfriends.

...

Stacy, another good friend of mine, called me in a flurry, saying she had important news to share with me. Now, Stacy is the gossip between my friends and I, and very often over-excited about things, so I try not to take her too seriously. But, I agreed to meet her at our favorite cafe to talk.

We weaved our way between strategically placed tables and chairs until we finally sat down at a tiny table in the back garden. Once we were comfortable in our metal seats, Stacy informed me that Allison and Noah - yes, Noah - had started to date. I was mortified. I could feel my stomach climb up my throat and hoped that the blood rushing from my face wasn't a key indicator as to how I was feeling. I forced myself to smile and share Stacy's excitement.

This is what happens, I guess, when a guy wants to keep you a secret.

Part 6: Whatever Happened to Romance?

In my university days, I don't remember needing as much sleep as I require now. I do, however, remember one particular night in the dorms: around 1:00 in the morning, I heard a loud crack against my darkened window. My heart rate rapidly increased, but I wrote it off as either sleep deprivation or the over-exertion of my brain (I was, after all, studying for Chem 257: Intermediate Chemistry for Biochemists).

But it happened again - Crack! That time couldn't have been my overactive imagination.

I walked over to my second-story window and opened it. A rush of cold November air hit my face. It was freezing outside. There, on the ground floor stood Noah, wearing a black zip-up hoodie and jeans. He was holding a guitar. As soon as he saw my face appear in the window, he started to strum, and a few moments later he began to sing.

I saw my neighbors' lights begin to turn on, and, giggling with delight, I whispered that he should probably come up to my room before the RA awoke.

We stayed up talking that night until 4:15 in the morning - only then did we realize how late (early) it was, and we both had classes in the morning. I walked him to the door, and we hugged - really hugged - goodnight.

Part 5: Logic and Reason

As you have all probably guessed, I ended up marrying Adam. Why, you ask? Well, if I remember correctly, I mentioned that my final separation with Noah lasted 8 long months. Those 8 months were the 8 months prior to our Christmas phone conversation, and I haven't heard from him since. And I'm not sure if it's my over-active self-talk or the cold hard truth, but I think my email is what scared him off.

Either way - as I see it, love is so much deeper than stomach butterflies, sweaty palms, and heart murmurs. And although I felt those things for Noah and not Adam, Adam was the one who was there. He was tangible. He was the one who let me cry to him, who picked me up and dusted me off; the one who had balls enough to tell me how he felt. And since I am of the opinion that love goes deeper than physical attraction - and Adam was my best friend - I figured... why the hell not? Besides, my parents loved him, and that's more than can be said for 95.3% of my ex-boyfriends.

In a lot of ways, I felt pressured to get married and, being a semi-compassionate person, couldn't bear seeing Adam's heart broken.

Plus, I was on the rebound. Noah's disappearance, however expected, didn't exactly go over well with me.

...

Adam and I were married in the spring. It was a beautiful, warm day and the ceremony proceeded without a hitch. Not a single hiccup. It was a small wedding in a tiny chapel on a hill - nothing extravagant; I was surrounded by friends and family, and that's all that mattered. And for the sake of my artist's budget, I recruited my friends and their talents: my friends who attended the Culinary Arts Institute in San Francisco prepared all the food, my peers from the Art Department at the University took the photos, and my brother's indie rock band, Mega, played at the reception. Everything was perfect.

Well, seemingly.

I really hate to say it, and I pray to God that Adam never reads this, but the moment our pastor said "You may now kiss the bride," I had an overwhelming feeling of dread. The deed was done, and there was no turning back. I almost didn't kiss him - it took every ounce of strength I had to actually lean in for it.

What the hell was I doing?

Part 4: Everyone but Me

I met Noah at freshman orientation in college. The college we attended is located on the coast of California, and inevitably, the town was filled with surfers and wanna-bes; tall, blonde, and tan. I, being Chinese, am on the shorter side, brunette, and porcelain white. In order to welcome us, the college held an ice-cream social in the upstairs auditorium, as an opportunity to mingle with the other new students.

In case I forgot to mention, during my last few years of high school, I was in a "punk" stage that I hadn't yet grown out of, and wore nothing but cut-off Dickies, band t-shirts, and black Doc Marten 10-eyed boots. I carried with me a black messenger bag covered in patches of my favorite bands at all times. I'm not sure if it was the safety-pin adorned attire or the bright red-ish pink hair that fended people off, but the ice-cream social was anything but social for me. So, I stood near the back, alone, eating my free Neapolitan with sprinkles.

From behind, I heard a voice say, "I've never met anyone who has actually heard of that band before." I turned around, and there he was. The biggest dork I had ever seen in my life. And he was pointing at a patch pinned to my bag. He was wearing khaki cargo shorts, a ringer tee, black faded Converse low-tops (with tube socks!) and black-rimmed glasses a la Buddy Holly. His dark curly hair was short and lacked any sort of style. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself, "Hi, I'm Noah. What dorm are you in?"

I remember thinking, "Dear Lord, why do You always send me the dorky ones?" But I accepted his hand and replied, "Yosemite, Tower 1. I'm Jehoadan."

We chatted for quite a while, and I discovered that we liked all the same bands, were from the same area in northern California, and had actually gone to a few of the same concerts. We ended up exchanging phone numbers that night and began meeting for lunch in the cafeteria every Thursday at 1:00.

By Thanksgiving of that year, he had already won my heart.

Part 3: Into the Spiral

Christmas break had just commenced and instead of having dreams of sugarplum fairies in my head, mine was filled with thoughts of a certain young man. I had sent the email to Noah one week earlier, which had all my feelings and thoughts neatly wrapped in a tight little package, and was almost certainly waiting in his inbox yet to be read. A wave of foolishness and regret rushed over me the more I thought about it.

I wasn't exactly a stranger to a casual date here and there - while Noah and I were on hiatus - and since I had no commitment to him, I wasn't afraid to mention any of these dates to him. Could that be the reason he wouldn't commit - because he thought that I couldn't? Panic struck as I realized what I had just done, and I had an overwhelming desire for a way to reverse a sent email. (Seriously, why hasn't anyone devised this feature yet?)

...

On Christmas day, as tradition, my family traveled to San Francisco to spend the day with my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, who all conveniently lived in the city. My whole family speaks fluent Chinese (except my brother and I, of course), so these family get-togethers were relatively boring for us. We sat on the couch and watched as our family talked loudly and laughed and gestured, and every once in a while we'd hear one of our names and our ears would perk up. We'd ask what was being said and my mom would look at us, laugh as she barely managed to get out the word "nothing," and ultimately, we'd end up cursing the day we forgot how to speak Chinese. If it weren't for the television, I really don't know how I'd have survived holidays.

As I sat on the couch and watched the news in Chinese, I felt a vibration under the seat of my pants. My phone was ringing.

"Who, in their right mind, would call me on Christmas day?" I wondered. I pulled out my phone, but the number was listed as "Unknown." I usually don't answer if I don't know who's calling, but curiosity sometimes gets the better of me. Especially on holidays.

"Hello?" I stood up from the couch and walked into the nearest bedroom, closing the door behind me.

"Nic..." That's what friends call me for short - apparently "Jehoadan" is too hard to pronounce, and "Nicole" is just one syllable too long.

"Yes?" I asked.

"It's Noah." My heart stopped. And after the usual 'How are yous' and 'Fine, thank yous,' he got right to the point. "Look - I can't talk long because I'm in Mexico with my family, but I was at an internet cafe and briefly read your email... I would really love to talk to you about it. But I think we should talk in person as soon as I get back."

I hesitated. I couldn't tell if it was a good kind of "we need to talk" or not. His voice was cheery, but maybe that was just all the holiday spirit. "We need to talk" conversations are never good, right? I swallowed hard and managed to say "Sure, of course" without sounding too preoccupied.

"So, how is your Christmas going?"

"Good!" I lied. "It's always nice to see family."

"Great! Well, I really should be going... long distance and all."

"Oh, right... Well, let me know when you're back in the country. Have fun in Mexico!"

"I will. Merry Christmas! Tell your family I said hello."

Click.

That was it. My heart was pounding. This guy was the love of my life, and this all seemed so easy, so casual for him. Why was I suddenly nervous?

I heard my mother calling my name through the door, and a mention of "dinner." I shoved the phone back in my pocket, wiped the sweat from the palms of my hands, and joined the rest of my family.

Part 2: Cruel and Pretty

In high school, I was sort of the geek, the ugly duckling, and the late bloomer. I was anorexically skinny, although I lacked the eating disorder that usually accompanies such thinness. I had terrible acne that covered not only my face, but my arms and back, as well. My glasses were large, thick-framed, and I preferred it that way because it covered my pimple-prone face. I was in marching band, maintained a 4.0 GPA with all honors classes, and actually enjoyed our assigned readings in both history and literature. I was an obvious tomboy, and my parents hated the way I clothed and presented myself; they wished I could be more like the popular girls at school, with their mini skirts, smooth skin and large breasts. But I just wasn't like that, at all. Even if I had wanted to be.

Boys at school had no interest in me whatsoever, and some of them were even cruel enough to play pranks on me by writing love letters and slipping them into my locker, snickering from their hiding places, watching me blush as I traced the words with my fingers and clutched the page to my pounding chest. Yes, this stuff happens in real life and not just in the movies, and unfortunately, I was the butt of these malicious jokes.

...

By college, my skin had cleared, my hair had grown long, I discovered contact lenses, and my sense of style improved... You would not have recognized me at all, and it happened almost overnight. The boys who played pranks on me in high school were falling over themselves to ask me out on dates, and I was finally able to exact my revenge by turning each of them down. (They had all flunked out of college half-way through our first year, anyway.)

I looked a hundred times better on the outside, but inside, I still felt like that lanky girl from high school who constantly hid her face as she pushed her falling glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

Part 1: The Happy Ending or the Broken Heart?

I didn't marry Adam because I loved him. I married him because he loved me.

I had been in love with another boy – Noah, to be exact – for many, many years. Our relationship was complicated and we didn't talk about it with others, nor did we talk about it with ourselves. He would just show up at my door without calling, I'd let him in and we'd spend the night in each other's arms. Afterwards, he'd disappear for a month without a phone call or even a simple hello as we passed in the halls. This continued for years – quite literally – and each of our meetings grew more and more intense. Over a period of 47 months, we had moved from awkward conversations and short, meaningless hugs to long, heart-felt embraces that neither of us wanted to end and gentle neck kisses underneath sheets and blankets in my small studio apartment bedroom. And the more passionate we became in our brief, impromptu visits, the longer we would spend apart.

The final separation lasted for 8 long months without a visit or a word. I had almost forgotten about him. Almost. Until Adam asked me to marry him. Then, like a tsunami, the memories and feelings came flooding back, and I realized whom I truly loved. I loved Noah.

I needed to know what was going on between Noah and I, what I meant to him. I had heard from a friend that he had moved from our small college town in California to Portland, Oregon. His address had changed. His phone number had changed. It suddenly dawned on me that I had completely lost track of him. I still had his email address, if that hadn’t also changed... Was I to pour out my heart into an email and trust it to convey exactly what I was feeling across miles and miles of wires and air waves?

...

Adam was my best friend. I met him during one of the times Noah and I weren't talking or seeing each other. He knew about my love-meetings with Noah – he was one of the only people I had ever divulged that secret to, and the only one that I felt I could trust.

I would be lying to say that I wasn't attracted to Adam, but my heart was still completely and utterly Noah's. During those long eight months of no contact, Adam and I grew closer. So his marriage proposal came as no surprise.

Prologue: No Right.

I love him, but I don't have the right.
I love him... but I don't have the right.

He understands me like no one else could; he can sense from halfway across the world exactly what I'm feeling, he knows what it takes to make me laugh, to make me open up, to make me long for his touch.

I'd drop everything for him - in a flash, a second, at a moment's notice.
I've been so unaware of my heart, and of what love could be.

That is, until he.

I want a love that stops all time. I want a love that knows no distance.

And he doesn't feel this way about me. At least, I don't think.
I'm too afraid to ask, because...

I love him... and I don't have the right.

Is Love a Choice?

If you can't be with the one you love,
...love the one you're with

?