Valentine's Day

February 14th loomed just days away. Of all the many (ahem) boys I had dated, all three short relationships had included Valentine's Day in their span. My experience told me that this holiday of LOVE was usually a disappointment. My girlish hopes placed expectations so high that they couldn't help but be let down. It's not that my significant others had been scumbags who had forgotten the holiday and tried to make takeout Chinese and a dying dandelion pass for a romantic evening or anything of the sort. In fact, it was the planning that always made the night so exhausting. I remember how awkward I felt when my high school boyfriend picked me up for a date on Valentine's. He wouldn't tell me where we were going so I wasn't sure how to dress or act. I felt silly eating out at a fancy restaurant (we were only 16) and he took me to a play that had more adult humor than I would have liked.

Then there was last year, when my freshman college boyfriend and I had foregone an evening alone to join the rest of our friends at a school dance. It was nice, but still not what I had always imagined. And being one of the few steady couples among a crowd of first-daters, the evening felt trivial and inconsequential when it should have been significant and memorable.

So despite the deepening level of my relationship with Jeff, I wasn't looking forward to the big V-day as much as, say, my roommates.

February 14 arrived on a Saturday. Early in the morning, the first of our apartment's flowers arrived. My roommate's boyfriend had sent her a beautiful spring bouquet in a modest glass vase. It had a mix of purples and pinks and blues. No roses. I thought they were absolutely beautiful. I began to get a little excited. I wouldn't mind a bouquet like that. Something fresh and fragrant that I could have on my desk while I studied. My outlook began to brighten.

I knew Jeff was coming around 4:30 to pick me up that evening, so I made sure to get my grocery shopping and errands done early so I could shower and get ready for the night. I rushed around town to get everything done and pulled back into my parking garage just before noon. I loaded both arms up with my grocery bags and hobbled towards my apartment. Turning the knob as best as I could with two spare fingers, I kicked the door in and dumped my bags on the table.

"Um, Carly?" my roommate called from the front room. "I think you should go check your desk."
"Why?" I asked, confused.
"I just think you should."

Intrigued, I quickly put my perishables in the fridge and walked through the living room towards the bedrooms. My roommate watched me with a smirk, and I couldn't help but smile as I wondered what would be waiting for me. Images of tulips and irises flashed across my mind as I opened the door to my bedroom. What I saw there stopped me dead in my tracks. I quickly shut the door.

"What the heck is that?" I asked aloud. From the other room my roommate started laughing. Cautiously I opened the door again, peering around the corner to my small desk. Sitting on top of the laminate oak surface sat a foot-and-a-half-tall vase. And in that vase were 12 of the tallest, fullest, reddest roses I had ever seen. Next to the vase sat a bottle of my favorite perfume and a CD with Jeff's handwriting scrawled across it: Carly's Love Songs. I stood there in shock, staring at the most extravagant floral arrangement I had ever seen. I wondered how much this must have cost. I knew by now that Jeff liked to spoil me, but this was beyond anything I could have anticipated. I also worried about my roommates. We all had boyfriends and would most likely all receive flowers before the day was up. I was embarrassed by my flashy bouquet and hoped my roommates wouldn't see it as a ostentatious gesture. But at the same time, I was giddy and flattered to have received such an extraordinary gift.


I spent the next few hours trying to get my school work done before the big date that night, but between the 3-foot bouquet that was always in my peripheral and my new CD that filled the room with gooey love songs, I couldn't focus very well. Finally I shut my books, put away my papers, and started rummaging through my closet for the perfect I'm-spending-Valentine's-Day-with-my-serious-boyfriend shirt. An hour later, I was dressed, primped, and primed for a night on the town. Right on cue, Jeff's knock sounded at 4:29 pm. I grabbed my coat and new CD and we were off.

First stop was the Macaroni Grill. After we had been seated, Jeff suggested we make things a little interesting.

"I think we should order for each other."
"What?" Oh boy, this did not sound like a good idea at all.
"It'll be fun. You order for me and I'll order for you. It will be a test to see how well we know each other's tastes."
Luckily, it was an Italian restaurant so there were very few things on the menu that didn't look appealing to me. But I was nervous to give up my choosing power. I was also nervous to order for Jeff. Our sushi experience had told me he wasn't a garbage disposal and there was a possibility I could order something he would hate.
"C'mon. Humor me," Jeff's egging overpowered my objections.
"[Sigh.] Ok."

We ordered, then sat back and talked about who knows what while waiting for our food to arrive. After a few minutes, the bus boy brought out our two steaming plates. I had ordered Jeff the honey balsamic chicken; he had ordered me a creamy pasta dish. For a few minutes we ate in silence, then we politely asked how the other liked their meal. "It's good," we both replied unconvincingly. Another few bites and Jeff admitted ordering for each other maybe wasn't the best idea. I suggested we trade, and he compromised by giving me a hefty portion of his in exchange for an equally sized sample of mine.

After dinner Jeff asked me what I wanted to do. This confused me because he had acted as though he had the entire night so carefully planned. A bit of prodding revealed that he had planned dinner early to make sure we weren't late to the next event, and now we had a little bit of time to kill.

We got in the car and started driving. Being a local, Jeff knew the area better than I did. Before I knew it, I was completely turned around and had no idea where we were. We listened quietly to the CD Jeff had made for me, enjoying the ambiance of an approaching sunset. Soon Jeff turned off the road onto an empty dirt lot. The lot sat on a hillside and from it we could see the entire valley below us, including all of Utah lake and the mountain range beyond it. It was beautiful and very romantic.

I had brought my camera with me, so we balanced it on the roof of Jeff's car and put the self-timer to work. As the flash went off, the thought crossed my mind that this would be a good picture for a wedding reception video. I hurriedly pushed the notion from my head, wondering where it had come from.


Apparently we had killed enough time, because Jeff opened the door for me and I slid back into the car. We drove back down the hillside and found our way to State St. A few minutes later Jeff pulled into the parking lot of a local theater. He knew I loved musicals and had gotten us tickets to Swing. He handed the usher our tickets and we were lead up some stairs to the balcony level. I noticed there was something different about the seats on this level: they were extra wide. I wondered if Jeff had bought us seats for the plus size section when it hit me. They were loveseats. I would have "aww"-ed aloud if we were alone, but instead I just smiled up at Jeff, hoping he would see how tickled I was by his sweet thoughtfulness.

The quality of the play was so-so, but being able to sit nestled up against Jeff's side with his arm around my shoulders made it one of the best shows I have ever seen. When it was over, I lingered in the theater chair, not wanting the night to end. For the first time, I had really enjoyed Valentine's Day. It had been fun, but meaningful; comfortable, but exiting; romantic, but relaxed. I contemplated the idea of spending every Valentine's like this. For the first time, thinking about a future with Jeff didn't create a sinking feeling in my stomach. On the contrary, I felt warm and, dare I say, happy! I didn't want to create any false hopes for Jeff, so I kept these feelings to myself, but I was thrilled at the possibilities they created.

That night as I lay in bed, I said a silent prayer over and over again.

"Please, let me feel the same way tomorrow. Please, oh please."

A Minor Roadblock

A week after school resumed, Jeff took me out again for my birthday, this time just the two of us. We ate at a restaurant of my choice then drove up to Rock Canyon, the location of our first kiss. It was too cold in January to go visit the rock we had sat on before, but we parked in a spot with a nice view and enjoyed the heated car as we relived past moments and talked about the future.

We started playing a game where he would ask me a question, I would answer, then I would ask him a question and so on. At first the questions were trivial: What is your favorite food? Favorites place to visit? Favorite music group? It didn't take long for the questions to become more serious. I asked him why he loved me. He provided a list of reasons, then asked me the same question with a twist.

"Do you really love me or do you just say that because it seems like an appropriate response?" It should have been an easy answer, but I hesitated a bit too long and he sensed that. I knew that on some level of love, I did love him. I cared very much about him, I loved being with him, and I often contemplated marrying him. Surely that counted for something. But was I in love with him?

I tried to explain my internal conflict to him (in a less direct fashion), but as I spoke, I could see the hurt of my words reflected in his eyes. Once I had finished, I sat back in my seat, wondering if there was anything I could do or say to heal the wounds I had just created. Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. He was the first to break the silence.

"I want you to know," he paused, taking time to choose his words carefully, "that I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He paused again. He was speaking very slowly and I knew that he was not saying these things lightly. "I think that, maybe, it is time for you to fast and pray and decide if you want to spend the rest of your life with me. Because if you don't, then I can't stand to fall more in love with you than I already am."

Immediately tears pooled in the corners of my eyes. I felt like I was going to vomit. Was he really going to set an ultimatum, just like that? It was now or never? I knew it wasn't fair, what I had been doing. I hadn't wanted to close any doors, so I had strung him along, toying with him mercilessly, all the while writing to my missionary as though he were the only man in my life. But if Jeff was suggesting marriage, well, I just couldn't commit to that.

I went home that night feeling like I'd been hit by a bus. I wondered how much longer I could drag out our relationship. A few weeks, maybe? Even that felt cruel. If I really, truly felt this didn't have any potential, then I should end it now. If I cared about Jeff at all, I owed him at least that much. I hoped a night's sleep would make me feel better, but I felt even worse the next morning. I moped around all day, wishing I could undo the last night's conversation. So much for a happy birthday. Around 5 pm my phone rang. It was Jeff, wondering if I had time to go to dinner with him. A few hours later we sat on the floor of his apartment. He began:

"I have to tell you, I've felt terrible all day for springing that on you last night."
"Really? I've felt just awful, too."
"I want you to know that I've been thinking, and I don't think either one of us is ready for marriage right now. I promise I will drop the subject right now and not bring it up again until we're both ready to talk about it."

I felt as though someone had lifted 100 lbs off my shoulders. I felt like singing, I was so relieved. We could go back to where we were before this whole thing had come up. All was well... until the next weekend.

A school holiday had created a 3-day weekend, so we decided to take an impromptu road trip to Vegas. The four boys from Jeff's apartment and I piled into an SUV and made the trek south. One afternoon while on our trip Jeff and I managed to break away for an hour or so. After we had been talking for a bit I could tell that he was going to kiss me. He came within inches of my face and whispered,

"I'm marrying you."

"W...what?" I stammered, thinking I must have heard him wrong.
"I'm marrying you," he said again. Then he started to kiss me. I pushed him away, confused and startled. Why was he bringing this up again? Didn't he remember the effect this topic had had last week? And why wasn't he responding to my shock? "What's wrong?" he asked, as nonchalantly as if he was asking what kind of drink I'd like to order. This is wierd, I thought.

"What did you say?" I demanded.
"I asked what was wrong."
"No, before that."
He thought for a moment. "Oh, I asked if I was hurting you."
"You did?"
"Yes, well I think that was the last thing I said."
"Was that all you said?"
"Yeah, what did you think I said?"

I let out a huge gust of air and started laughing. Jeff must have thought I had gone insane. It was several minutes before I could calm down enough to tell him what I thought he had said. A brief second of horror filled his eyes as he understood why I had been so terrified, then he, too, began to laugh.

"I said I wouldn't bring it up again until we were ready. You don't think a week has made that much of a difference, do you?" he asked, poking me playfully.

He wouldn't let the joke die the rest of the trip, but I didn't mind because it brought back a lightheartedness we had sorely been missing. I still wasn't sure about spending the rest of eternity with Jeff, but I sure wouldn't mind another semester.