How I Met Your Father

Wedding Plans

2009-10-01T13:56:00.000-07:00

The rest of the semester was a blur. Finals and projects were intermixed with dress shopping and cake tasting. We set an initial wedding date for August, but decided we'd rather get married in July. Wedding planning went into overhaul as my Mom began redecorating and re-landscaping. My brother would be getting married in June, and both of us were planning backyard receptions at my parents' place. I knew I needed to find a dress before I left Utah for the summer because temple-ready dresses just aren't found in southern California.

My mom flew into town one weekend and we did what we do best: we shopped. We hit every bridal store from Spanish Fork to Salt Lake. I was terrified that we wouldn't find a wedding dress before she had to leave, and I knew I couldn't make the decision alone. After a long day of trying on what felt like hundreds of dresses, I still hadn't found THE ONE. We had one last store to try in Salt Lake. It was small and boutique-ish (interpretation: tiny inventory) so I didn't set my hopes very high. Between the two of us, we found four or five dresses to try, and I entered a dressing room to begin the fashion show.

Three dresses in, I still hadn't found anything worthwhile. The thought crossed my mind that maybe I was the problem, not the dress. No wedding dress was going to magically transform me into something I wasn't, and until I fully understood that, I was never going to find a dress. Still... if I didn't feel beautiful in my wedding dress, I knew it wasn't going to work. My mom zipped up dress number 4 as I sighed and turned to look in the mirror.

My heart stopped. This was it. This was the dress. THE dress. It was simple, with a dropped waist and a square neck. The skirt was full, but not too full. It was white satin, except for a wide sash around the waist, which was a deep crimson. When the saleswoman confirmed I could get the sash in other colors, I was ecstatic as I envisioned a cream sash against the white. I turned to my mom and could tell she was thinking the same thing. This dress was made for me. It was sophisticated, it was conservative, it was elegant, it was... $1300?!!! I stopped breathing when I saw the price tag. WHAT?? I swallowed hard, then took a deep breath and tried to hide my disappointment.

"You know, on second thought, I think we should keep looking."

My mom protested. She insisted that if I loved this dress like she thought I loved it, then I should get it. But that price... I just couldn't do it. My mom told me how she was engaged to my dad, she had found her perfect dress, but it was a little more than she had wanted to spend. To this day she hates the wedding dress she ended up with and wishes she had bought the dress she loved. Although I appreciated her empathy and desire to make me happy, I still wasn't ready to drop so much cash on a dress I would wear only once. I decided I would keep this dress as a last resort.

A very last resort.

The proposal

2009-08-02T19:26:00.000-07:00

The next two weeks seem to drag by. Although we considered ourselves officially engaged, we didn't want to make any announcement until we had a ring. I had absolutely no idea what I wanted in an engagement ring. Luckily, Jeff did. In fact, he and his buddies had an unnatural obsession with engagement rings. They knew the four C's by heart, and each had their favorite cut and band style picked out. I thought I wanted a white gold ring, but it turns out that white gold was not what I thought it was. We took a trip to the jewelers, where I acquired an education about diamonds and rings.

We quickly decided on a cut, but it took a little more work to agree on a size. I didn't want anything flashy, but Jeff insisted we get something big enough that I wouldn't want a new ring in a year. We went back and forth, me starting small and he starting big, until we finally settled on something in the middle. The jeweler showed me a diamond at our selected size, pointing out the imperfections in it that made it personal. No other diamond was like it. It was unique and special, just like our marriage would be. It was a corny analogy, but I fell for it. "I want that one," I said.

The rest of the details fell into place, but it was going to be a week or so before the ring was ready. I felt a twinge of disappointment that it would take so long. It was killing me not to be able to tell my roommates. I hadn't told my parents yet either, but I wasn't quite as anxious to tell them. I was barely 20, and I knew they would think I was too young (despite the fact that my mom was 19 when she got married).

Every day I would pester Jeff, asking him if the ring was ready yet. "Not yet," he would tell me, not giving any more information than that. I didn't understand all the secrecy. I figured that since I already knew we were getting married, there wouldn't be a formal proposal. He would just hand me the ring and that would be it. Eventually I was able to pry a date out of him: the ring would be ready on Friday. I just had to make it to the weekend.

Thursday night we were together (as we were every night those days). We had to stop by his dad's office to pick up some papers, when Jeff got a phone call from his mom. She had called to tell him that his sister had not made her high school drill team. She was pretty upset by it, so his mom was going to take her out for ice cream. Jeff relayed the conversation to me, then asked if I wanted to join them.

"I don't know, Jeff. This was a big deal to your sister, and I don't know if she wants me there right now."
"Of course she does. Besides, she's going to be your sister, too, so I think you should go be with her."
"Are you sure? I think I might be intruding."
"Don't be silly. You can take my car down, then I'll come down later with my dad and meet you at the house."
It didn't occur to me then how convenient the whole situation was. I should have seen straight through it. But I didn't.

I did as he suggested and took his car to meet his mom and sister for ice cream. After ice cream, I drove to his parent's house, while his mom and sister "ran an errand." Yes, I was still clueless. I pulled into the driveway and walked in the front door. The house was dark, except for some dim light coming from the kitchen. I peered around the corner and saw two candles on the counter, next to a basket of bright white daisies. Finally, it clicked.

I looked around for Jeff, and he suddenly appeared from behind the corner. He lead me to a chair, where I sat and waited anxiously for what was coming next. He knelt in front of me (on two knees, not one) and pulled out a white box.

Wait... white box? Why is it white? It's supposed to be black! Fuzzy black velvet! How is this possible? I can't be proposed to with a white box! It's just not right! It's... it's...

At that moment Jeff opened the box. There was a light inside of it, which shone down on the most beautiful diamond ring I had ever seen. All thoughts of black versus white ring boxes left, and all I could think about was the gorgeous ring in front of me, and the amazing guy holding it. He carefully removed the ring from the box and lifted my left hand from my lap.

"Carly... Ruth. Will you marry me?"
A smile as wide as my mouth would allow spread across my face. "Yes!"
He then slid the ring over my finger. Or at least he tried. My knuckle had other plans. "Um, I don't think it fits."
"Of course it does," I retorted. "They sized me for it." I grabbed the ring, feeling like a stepsister from Cinderella, trying to shove my over sized foot into a petite glass slipper. I pulled and twisted and pushed and pryed until the ring finally slid over my knuckle and into place on my finger. I would have a bruise for the next three days to show for it, but I didn't care. I had a ring. I had a fiance. It was official.

The next day

2009-05-28T09:42:00.000-07:00

The following day I woke up with a smile on my face. I felt so peaceful and excited. The doom and gloom that had been lingering in the background for so long was gone. It is difficult to explain the reassurance that I felt. It wasn't necessarily a confirmation that Jeff was THE one, although I'll admit I was hoping for something like that. It was more that I was ready to MAKE him THE one. We were two imperfect people who wanted to commit to spending eternity together, come what may. I wanted to experience my joys and fears with him along side me. I knew there would be difficult days or weeks, but we would be able to make it through. I loved him, he loved me, and our stubbornness would get us through the rest. I couldn't wait to see him again.

Jeff's sister had a choir performance that evening, so we made plans to attend with his family. He didn't mention our conversation from the previous night as we drove to the church that would host the event. We sat holding hands on a pew in the back, giggling quietly as we were prone to do in reverent settings. His parents raised suspicious eyebrows as they sat beside us, but didn't say anything. Even though nothing had been formally decided or announced, they could tell there was something different.

After the concert, we met back at Jeff's parents' house for dessert. We arrived a few minutes before his family and entered the dark house alone. I hopped up on to the counter, and Jeff slid up next to me. Slowly he turned so we were facing each other.

"So..." he started slowly.
"Yes?"
"You said I should ask you again tomorrow."
"You're right. I did say that."
"Well, it's tomorrow."
"You're right."
"So...?"
"Are you going to ask me?"
"Will you marry me?"
I grinned, hoping my answer was evident. "Yes." Short, straight-forward, to-the-point. It was probably the first answer of that type I'd ever given him.

He smiled back, laughed a little, and kissed me, just in time for his sister to walk in the garage door. We tried to hide our smiles, since I had asked him not to mention this to his family just yet.

Jeff walked over to his sister and put his arm around her. "Nice job on your concert!"

"Smooth. Nice work changing the subject," I thought. He always was smooth. That's why I was going to marry him.

A Leap of Faith

2009-04-01T09:29:00.000-07:00

Exactly one week later Jeff and I sat in his car again. The date was February 29, 2004; it was a leap year. Strange things seem happen on that extra day once every four years and this was no exception.

The scene was much the same as the week before: we had spent the morning at church, the afternoon with Jeff's family, and we were now parked in "our spot," awaiting the pending discussion.

"So," Jeff began, "how has this week been?"
"Better than I expected." I replied.
"Really?" I couldn't help but smile at the eagerness in his voice.

My thoughts turned to the prior week. I recalled the afternoons we had spent together, completely void of any tension caused by wondering what the future would hold. I felt I could talk to him about anything, and I realized that I wanted to always be able to talk to him about anything and everything. By acting as though the decision to be together was behind us, I had been able to focus on our relationship and give it the attention and commitment it would need to endure through the years, not just the semester. And through it all, I had felt a wonderful sense of calm and happiness. Never once had anxiety or doubt entered into the picture.

"Yes, Jeff. It was absolutely wonderful-- the best week we've had to date."
"I thought so, too," he responded quietly. He was looking down at his hands, but I could see the grin on his face. When he looked up at me, his eyes were glistening ever so slightly.

"Carly, you know that I love you. I love everything about you and I love being with you. The thought of losing you is heart-wrenching, but the thought of having you forever brings me joy and happiness I didn't know was possible. This past week has been amazing. I've been able to drop my defenses and actually believe that this is it. That you are it. That you are the last person I will ever date, ever kiss, every love in this way."

At this point the tears were streaming down my face as well. I could hardly speak; the love I felt for him was so overwhelming. For a while we just sat there, crying and smiling and laughing together. If we hadn't been so emotional, it would have been hilarious. I slid as far as I could on my seat so that I was halfway on the armrest and embraced him. We sat that way for a long time, cherishing the moment and letting the mood linger. Finally, I reluctantly pulled back and looked into Jeff's face.

"So what do we do now?"
"Well, you said this was a good week. Was it good enough to continue indefinitely?" I let his question sit for a moment, evaluating it's meaning.
"What exactly are you asking?"
"I'm just asking if this week has been enough for you to make a decision about the rest of our lives."
"I... I don't know. I think so. I don't know."
"Well, thanks. That helps a lot." His sarcasm carried all the hurt and hopelessness that I had heard in his voice so many times before. I didn't want him to feel that way anymore. I was tired of being flaky and indecisive. This was it. I was going to make a choice, once and for all. I was either going to take it or leave it and never look back. This week had been good-- better than good. It had been perfect. It had been everything I had ever hoped for and dreamed of. What else could I ask for? What more was I waiting for? We'd only been dating for just over 4 months, but once you know this is the one... what's the point of waiting? With a burst of energy, I turned to face Jeff with a huge smile on my face.

"Let's get married," I blurted.
"Wha-- are you sure?"
"I'm sure. Are you sure?"
"Yes, I-- I just wasn't expecting-- what the heck. Let's get married!"
He leaned over and kissed me, figuratively and literally sealing the deal. I pushed on his chest after a moment, whispering, "There is one condition, however."
"What's that?"
"Ask me again tomorrow."

You Gotta Have Faith

2009-03-17T18:30:00.000-07:00

After I finished ranting in my journal, I put my pen down and lay down on my bed. With my eyes closed, I felt a tear escape and run down my face. I hated being so confused and indecisive. If this is what dating and courtship entailed, I wasn't sure I wanted it. Not yet, anyway. I tried to remember how I felt before I met Jeff. Was I happy then? Was I happy now? I didn't know what I was. There were definitely times when I was happy. And even at my most conflicted moments, I wouldn't say I was unhappy. I wondered how I would feel if things ended with Jeff. Just the thought of it put my stomach in knots. It would be horrible.... at first. But would I recover, eventually? There was only one way to find out.

I decided it was time to propose a "break." Though I, myself, had never been on a break before, I'd seen it plenty of times on TV and in the movies. It had ruined Ross and Rachel's relationship, but it just might save mine. I had heard once that you don't marry the one you can live with, you marry the one you can't live without. I needed to know that I couldn't live without Jeff. The more I thought about this idea, the more peace and calm I felt. It had been so long since I had felt that way, and I was relieved to finally have a plan in place. When I met up with Jeff tomorrow, I would propose a break. It might only be for a week, but maybe longer. I just knew that I needed some time alone.

. . .

The next evening we spent with Jeff's sister and her family who were visiting from out of town. It was a fun evening and I tried not to ruin it by dwelling on the upcoming talk I would be initiating. We left earlier than usual and I wondered if I would have the courage to carry my plan through. We drove in silence while I frantically searched for the right words to say. Instead of taking me to my apartment, we drove to one of our favorite spots to sit and talk. He pulled over and muted the music, and it occurred to me that I might not be the only one with an agenda for tonight's conversation.

With a sigh of relief, I decided to let him begin. It would be much easier to voice my thoughts after he said his mind. For nearly five minutes he sputtered and mumbled without making much sense. I smiled empathetically; I knew exactly how he felt. Once he finally started talking in full sentences, everything came out in a flood. He told me that he had been as confused and unsure about committing to eternity as I was. There were even times he'd wanted to give up. But he also spoke of what he wants his marriage to be and how he has so much optimism for his marriage and for his wife.

I listened to everything he said, absorbing it all and waiting. When he finished, he sat back and put his hands behind his head. Slowly he turned and looked at me. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

I exhaled. Then I inhaled. And then I confessed. I explained that I didn't know how I was supposed to feel and how I wished someone would make this decision for me.

"You know," Jeff broke in, "this is really a matter of faith."
"Faith?" I echoed.
"Yes. We have to have complete faith in our relationship, or else doubt will creep in. I know Heavenly Father has confidence in you. He knows that you can and will make the right decision."

He paused while I let his words settle. I had never though about having faith is us. Maybe all my problems were just a lack of faith.

"You know," Jeff began again, "anything that is founded in Christ cannot fail. So maybe if we base our relationship in Christ, and use him for direction and guidance, then our doubts and uncertainties will fade away. Again, it all comes down to faith. The adversary will try to make us question things we once felt sure of, but where faith is, doubt cannot exist."

"I'm not sure I can have that much faith without your help," I explained. "It seems that whenever we decide to just 'wait and see,' I always end up confused and lost. We need to have a plan; something to work at or work towards. Something that I can have faith in."

I thought I had created the perfect build up to presenting my "break" plan. But Jeff proposed an entirely different plan before I could get two words out:

"Why don't we act as though we are going to get married." My head shot to the left as he spoke.

"W..w..what?"

"We'll treat our relationship as though we are working towards marriage-- like we're engaged. And we'll have faith that we are going to succeed."

I waited for the sinking feeling, for the despair and turmoil that I usually felt when the M-word was used. But it didn't come. Instead I felt happy... and calm... and peaceful... and excited all at the same time. I knew this was something that I could have faith in and really want to succeed.

"Ok. I... think... that... might... work." I spoke slowly and thoughtfully, smiling at the turn of events. "You want to know something funny? I was going to propose we take a break tonight."

"Oh gosh, it's a little early to put that kind of pressure on a break, don't you think?"

I chuckled, wondering if Jeff realized he had just suggested we pretend to be ENGAGED.

"Oh yeah. Definitely too early."

Confused and conflicted

2009-03-01T14:47:00.000-08:00

The next morning I woke up feeling more refreshed and carefree than I had in months. It was one of those mornings when everything seemed extra bright and cheerful. Even the birds seemed to be less obnoxious and more surreal. I got dressed extra early and spent the hour before church documenting the previous day's travelogue in my journal. When Jeff came to pick me up, I practically skipped to his car. I almost expected the strangers driving past us on the road to break into spontaneous song about how wonderful it is to be in love.

We drove to Jeff's hometown to attend his friend's mission homecoming, after which we dashed over to Jeff's parents' ward so he could speak with them in their Sacrament meeting. The afternoon was spent at his parents' house, basking in the Sabbath sun and enjoying being with good company. Eventually the combination of warmth and full stomachs took it's toll as we lay on the floor to take a quick nap. True to his character, Jeff fell asleep within minutes. I, on the other hand, lay there quietly for a while, thinking about how nice it felt to lie in Jeff's arms. I felt safe and protected and loved. I reflected on some of my favorite memories over the past few months: long talks in his car, afternoons studying together in my living room, late night walks holding hands.

Suddenly, without any warning, a thought popped into my head: I wanted to marry Jeff! I could feel my throat tighten and my eyes water as I let the thought linger for a moment. I recognized this feeling: it was the same feeling I got when I felt the love and concern of my Heavenly Father. Was this the confirmation I had been hoping for? Was this the Spirit telling me to stop fighting the love for Jeff that was growing inside of me? I didn't know exactly what it all meant, but I knew this was good. I wouldn't feel this way if I was on the wrong track.

I decided not to tell Jeff just yet. I wanted to keep this to myself for a few days, just to be sure it was real. But I was dying to tell him. I couldn't wait to see the smile on his face when I told him I was ready to consider marriage. I couldn't help but smile just thinking about it. His happiness was now my happiness.

. . .

Five days later, I wrote the following in my journal:

I can't seem to figure things out with Jeff. Last week I thought I had finally figured it out. I had stopped writing to [the missionary] and essentially stopped thinking about him. For the first time since we have been dating, I honestly believed that I could and would marry Jeff. It felt right and I had the desire to be with him. It felt wonderful. I told him how I felt, and he seemed happy. But I could tell he was a bit reserved, and suddenly I felt desperate that I might lose him. Tonight I found out why he held back.

This week I talked to my mom and she told me to make sure I hadn't just learned to love Jeff. At first I was bitter that she would suggest such a thing, but then I began to wonder if it were true. Now I am back where I started - afraid to commit, afraid to break up, afraid to give what I have.

Tonight he asked if things were still getting better. "They have to be getting better or else this will never last," he told me. I admitted to him that I'm still trying to figure things out and he laughed shortly because he would be very surprise if I had figured everything out. I apologized for being so indecisive and changing my mind so often. He said, "I've learned not to take anything you say at face value." So that is why he wasn't as happy as I expected at my announcement last week. I wish I could mean everything I say, but I can't. I feel awful that he has to put up with me.

I love Jeff, I really do. It is hard for me to think of living without him. In him I see the ideal father for my children. I love his family. So why don't I feel that burning desire to be with him? I want to... I really do, but I just can't. I feel as though I am in a dream world and that I don't know how to get out of it. I need someone to take the blinders off and either show my what I've got or what I'm missing. I wish I had some answers.

Valentine's Day

2009-02-10T08:00:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-06T14:55:00.000-08:00

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.

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

2009-01-24T14:47:00.000-08:00

Finals ended, and I headed home for the Christmas break. I knew I would miss Jeff while I was home, but my brother had just come home from a mission and I was anxious to see him again. Besides, my family was coming back up to Utah to ski the week after Christmas so I would be able to spend New Years with Jeff and his family.

While I was home the week of Christmas I did a lot of thinking. My parents tried to give me advice, but they had never met Jeff so I had a hard time listening to any of it. I finally decided that I hadn't been giving our relationship a fair chance. As long as I continued writing to the missionary, I wasn't 100% committed to Jeff. I determined I would stop writing to him... soon. I didn't want to Dear John him over Christmas, but I would definitely do it in the next few weeks. I consoled myself by saying it wasn't necessarily a permanent cut off--if things didn't work out with Jeff I would begin writing again--but for now, I needed to eliminate that distraction.

Christmas came and went, and my family made the 10-hour drive to a rental cabin near the ski resorts in Utah. I had them drop me off at my apartment on the way up so I could pick up my snowboard and car. I didn't see any reason why I needed to rush up to meet them, so I called Jeff and let him know I was back. Then I waited impatiently for him to come over. I turned on the TV, but nothing grabbed my attention so I turned it back off. I rummaged through the cupboards to see if there was anything worth eating, but nothing looked appetizing so I sat back down on the couch. I hadn't realized until then how anxious I was to see Jeff again. It had only been a week, but I'd really missed him. When a knock came at the door, I practically ran across the room to open it. I swung open the door and there he stood: tall and confident, with a tiny smirk on his face. I jumped into his arms, hugging him long and tight before I even said a word.

"Wow," he smiled. "Hello to you, too."
"Hi," I backed away sheepishly.
"How was your drive?" he asked.
"Long. How was your Christmas?"

Before long we were in our usual spots on the sofa: my head on his shoulder, his arm around my back. We talked about our holidays and families and when we'd exhausted those topics, we filled the silence with kissing and hugging. I purposely lost track of time, not wanting to know how late it was and whether my family was wondering where I was. I didn't want the night to end, but we were running out of things to talk about. I wanted to tell Jeff about the decision I made to stop writing to the missionary, but I knew he didn't like it when I talked about the "competition." I wanted him to say something that would indicate he, also, was willing to take the next step in our relationship, but I didn't know what that was. After several minutes of silence, I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind:

"Do you love me?"

Immediately I regretted it.

Why would I ask him that? You don't ASK somebody if they love you, you WAIT until they say it on their own. What if he says no? What if he asks if I love him? Do I? Maybe... I don't know! It's too soon to know these things! Why hasn't he said anything yet?

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I shouldn't have asked that. Please pretend I didn't say anything."
"Carly," he stopped me. "I love you so much it scares me."

His words sent my body temperature soaring. I could feel my cheeks flush, not with embarrassment, but rather with a warm glow that permeated my entire being. He loved me! I tried not to move, not to ruin the moment, but I felt like skipping and jumping and running and cartwheeling all at the same time. I relished the feeling, trying to ignore the inevitable response his words necessitated.

I was feeling slightly guilty for tricking him into telling me he loved me instead of letting him tell me on his time line. If I then didn't tell him I loved him back it would be a pretty mean trick. But this was one area where I didn't want to exaggerate the truth. I knew I cared for him more deeply than I could say, but love? It was a strong word.

For two very long minutes I searched deep inside of myself, trying to see if I could reciprocate Jeff's love. I thought about how hard it was to be apart from him. I thought about the times we'd laughed together, and all the times he'd been there while I cried. I thought about the conversations we'd had about our hopes, our plans, our passions. I thought about what it felt like to kiss him. And as I thought, my mouth opened and...

"I love you, too."

There! I'd said it. And I really meant it, too. Right then, right there, I loved him and now he knew it, too. We cuddled for a while longer before reluctantly leaving the sofa. As we said our goodbyes, we repeated the "I love you"s again, and it felt comfortable. It felt right. I fell asleep that night to the sound of Jeff's voice repeating the phrase over and over again in my head.

. . .

I spent New Years' Eve with Jeff's family and he spent New Years' Day with mine. I turned 20 on New Years' Day that year, so Jeff met my family for the first time at the restaurant I had chosen for my birthday dinner. The restaurant served Asian cuisine and my family had eaten there once before several years earlier. I had liked it then, so it seemed a good choice for that night. What I didn't know is that the ownership had changed and they now specialized in sushi. To my family this was no big deal; they all liked sushi. But I wasn't about to touch anything raw and Jeff was feeling nauseous just being there.

They sat us at a table on the floor. Jeff awkwardly tried to fit his 6'3" frame under the small table while the rest of my relatively short family sat with ease. I opened the menu, looking for anything that was cooked. My dad started rattling off sushi orders and before I knew it the table was covered in sake, hamachi, and maguro. Poor Jeff. He wanted so badly to make a good impression, so he quietly ate every piece of fish and seafood that was set before him without complaint. He was concentrating so hard on keeping the food down that he hardly said a word the whole night.

After he left that night, I asked my parents what they thought. "Well," my mom said. "If you decide to marry him, then we will learn to love him." I was stunned. I wasn't asking her to love him right then, I just wanted to know if they liked him. Granted, it wasn't really fair of me to ask them to form an opinion based on such an uncharacteristic depiction, but I'd hoped for a little more than "we will learn to love him." I sulked in my room that night, wondering if it was wrong to marry him just to make her eat her words.

*Note: Mom, I love you. We all know this is water under the bridge now and have had many good laughs over it so please just understand this is part of the story and has to be told.

While You Were Sleeping

2009-01-22T10:45:00.000-08:00

Foreward

As I've been recounting the dating saga that eventually led to my marriage, I'll admit there have been fuzzy details that I've had to fudge because I simply can't remember exactly what happened. This installment is the exception. Everything in this chapter is completely true. There are some events in life that are so traumatic you can never forget them. This is one of those events.

As the end of the semester approached, I saw less and less of my roommates, partly because I was spending so much time with Jeff, but also partly because they were spending so much time with their significant others. Although Jeff and I stayed out late most nights, by no means was I always the last one home. It was not uncommon for me to be home, in bed, and sleeping before one of the other girls would get back from her night out. I never stayed awake worrying about our safety; we lived in "happy valley"-- what could possibly happen?

One night as I was peacefully slumbering in bed, unconcerned and untroubled, I heard the sound of someone fiddling with something on my desk. In my drowsy subconscious, I assumed it was my roommate borrowing my laptop. I half opened my eyes and saw a dark figure standing just inches from where I lay. My first reaction was irritation that the noise was keeping me up. Why couldn't she be quieter? Any why was she using my computer anyway? She had her own sitting on her desk just a few feet away. I was too tired to address the issue, so I ignored the noise and tried to go back to sleep. After a few minutes, the noise stopped and the figure left the room.

I turned over in my bed, annoyed at the disturbance in my sleep. I was going to have to get up soon enough; I didn't want to lose any precious moments of sleep. I had just about dozed off when my roommate sat straight up in bed and called across the room, "Carly! What was that?" Her voice startled me and within seconds I was awake and alert.

"I don't know! I thought it was you!" It only took moments for my brain to put two and two together. If my roommate had been in bed this whole time, then it wasn't she that was messing around with my desk, which meant it was someone else and.... hey! Where is my computer? I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stared at the blank spot on my desk that used to house my laptop. "Where's my laptop?" My voice shook in the panic that was quickly setting in.

"Mine's missing too! Someone stole it!" My roommate was practically shouting now and I could tell she was nervous, too. She jumped out of bed and without thinking twice about what she was doing, ran across the apartment and out our unlocked front door. I followed after her, and we quickly scanned the parking lot for the escape vehicle. The complex and parking lot were silent; there was no sign of our thief. As soon as I realized the culprit and our computers were gone, I also realized how dumb we were. What if the person had been there? What did we plan on doing? Beating him up in our pajamas? I think my roommate has this epiphany at the same time, because we made eye contact and without a word bolted back into our apartment where we slammed and locked the door.

Breathing hard, we stood there in the front room, staring wildly at each other in shocked silence. After a few moments, we each found our voices and began babbling at high speeds in incoherent sentences.

"Oh my gosh! I can't believe that just happened!"
"We have to call the police!"
"I can't believe he was standing RIGHT THERE!"
"Do you think the police will be able to get our laptops back?"
"How did he get in? Was the door unlocked?"
"We could have been hurt!"
"Who was it? Was it someone we know?"
"How did he know to come straight to our room?"
"And why didn't he take the stereo, or the guitar, or all the other things here in the front room?"
"All I remember is he was really tall."
"Maybe it wasn't a burglar. Maybe it was someone playing a practical joke on us."
"Carly, Jeff is pretty tall. You don't think he would...?"

We each paused for a moment to consider it. It was a long shot, for sure, and I highly doubted it was true, but it was easier to believe that Jeff would play a trick on us than to believe a stranger had walked into our apartment, came into our bedroom, and stolen our computers while we were sleeping. Besides, it gave me an excuse to call Jeff and I desperately needed some masculine security right now. I quickly dialed his number, ignoring that fact that it was 4 am and if he hadn't played this very unprobable trick on us, he would be fast asleep.

The phone rang 7 or 8 times before he picked up. As soon as I heard the groggy roughness in his voice, I knew our practical joke theory was out the window.

"Carly?"
"Hi." Wow, I felt so stupid. What do I say? Sorry to wake you up, but I thought you might have been robbing our apartment a few minutes ago and I just wanted to call and check.
"Is something wrong?"
"Uh, well, yes... sorta... um... you weren't over here about 20 minutes ago, were you?"
"[pause] No. Why?"
"Because, well.... um.... someone was in our apartment and stole our computers," I blurted.
"What?"
"It's fine, though, sorry to wake you up. Go back to sleep."
"What do you mean someone stole your computers? From your room?"
"Yeah, while we were sleeping. Well, sort of sleeping. I half woke up and saw someone but by the time I woke all the way up he was gone."
"Wait a second. You thought maybe it was ME?"
"Well, no, not really. I just hoped it was, because it's too scary to think what it really was. I'm really sorry I woke you up. I'll see you later."
"I'm coming over."
"Really, Jeff. We're ok. We're going to call the police and--"
"I'll be there in 5 minutes."
[click]

While I had been talking to Jeff, my roommate had called the police. Within a few minutes, Jeff walked in the door, and shortly after the police arrived. Jeff sat on the couch with a comforting arm around my shoulders as the police explained there was very little they could do to track down our stolen items and we should not expect to get them back. The policeman told us that this was not an uncommon happening in college towns as there are lots of apartments which make easy targets and lots of students with expensive electronic equipment. The thief simply walks around a complex at night, testing doors until he finds one unlocked.

I began to run through the list of unrecoverable things on my laptop: my programming final project, all my photos from the past year, the CD that was in the CD drive. But it wasn't until I thought about what could have happened that I broke down in tears. The thought of a stranger in my bedroom while I slept, totally vulnerable and unprotected, was enough to give me nightmares for weeks. What if I had really woken up, not just half-opened my eyes. What would I have done? What would he have done? Was he armed?

Jeff stifled back yawns as he tried to assure me that everything would be ok. Although he appreciated the trauma of the situation, I could tell he thought I was being a tad bit more emotional than was necessary. But he stayed by me until the policeman left. I learned that day that Jeff was something special. Sure we had fun together and got along great and seemed to enjoy similar things, but he was also patient and kind and trustworthy. He was willing to help me through my troubles, even when he didn't understand what they were. He was sensitive of my needs, and put his own priorities behind mine.

From that day forward I was certain of two things:

Jeff would be there for me no matter what.
I would never again go to bed without checking the lock at least 6 times.

Thanksgiving

2009-01-14T14:45:00.000-08:00

Jeff and I decided it was time that our apartments became friends. We planned a Sunday dinner cook off: the boys would make dinner and the girls would bring dessert. Determined to excel in the domestic realm that we, as woman, are supposed to have a natural advantage in, we brought not one, but two desserts: pumpkin roll and cream puffs. Jeff and crew served us pasta and "homemade" bread sticks which he later confessed were made with frozen dough. Though the food was delicious and the company was enjoyable, this would be one of the last Sunday dinners Jeff and I shared with friends.

The Thanksgiving break was fast approaching and I was looking forward to a short trip home. One of my friends was getting married and I was excited to attend her wedding. My brother and I had planned to make the 10-hour drive home together on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. The only thing that could lessen my excitement was that I wouldn't see Jeff for five whole days. The day before we were supposed to leave I had my suitcase on my bed and had just started pulling clothes out of my closet to put in it. My cell phone rang and I jumped up to answer it, assuming it was Jeff.

"Hello?" I answered breathlessly.
"Hi Carly." My brother's voice answered.
"Oh, hey. What's up?"
"Well, I have some bad news."
"What's that?"
"I don't think I can go home for Thanksgiving."
"WHAT?"
"Well, I really need to get some work done and it's a long drive and I just don't think I have time to go."

To my brother, this wasn't a big deal. He was 24, almost done with school, working full-time, and had a serious girlfriend. Making it home for every single holiday just wasn't a priority. But this was only my second year at school, and I wasn't used to being away from my family around the holidays. I could feel the tears threatening to escape from my eyes.

"But... but.. it's not that long of a drive. If we leave early we can be there before dark." I frantically sought for some reason to convince him still to go.

"You can go if you want, but I just don't think I can make it."

I could hear the finality in his tone, so I hung up and quickly dialed my parents' number. "Mom? Matt says he's not coming home for Thanksgiving so I am going to drive alone." My mom kindly reminded me of my tendency to fall asleep behind the wheel and suggested it probably wasn't such a good idea. She tried to book me a flight, but being so last minute the only flights available were outrageously expensive. In defeat, I mumbled my goodbyes into the phone and set it down on my desk. I wondered what it would be like to cook and eat my own Thanksgiving meal. I had never cooked a turkey before. Was it hard? As the reality set in, I laid my head on my pillow and cried. With blurred vision I composed a text message to Jeff letting him know I wasn't going home after all. Within seconds my phone rang.

"Hello? [sniff]"
"You're not going home?"
"No, Matt said he couldn't go and my mom won't let me drive alone and there are no flights left anymore so I'm stuck here and... and... [sniff]"
"Are you ok?"
"I will be, I just need a few minutes to mope about it."
"Well, where are you going for Thanksgiving?"
"Nowhere, I guess. I'll just have to make my own Thanksgiving."
"Wrong. You're coming with me."
"Really? But, well, I don't know. I mean, it's your whole family and I don't want to intrude and--"
"You won't be intruding. My family loves guests. And they all want to meet you anyway."
"Well, ok, if you're sure. Maybe you had better ask your mom first."
"Just trust me. Now, do you want to go see a movie tonight?"
"Um, sure. I guess I don't have to finish packing anymore so I don't have anything on my agenda."
"Great. I'll be by in a half hour."

. . .

Thanksgiving morning Jeff picked me up at 10 am. As we drove to his aunt's house, Jeff gave me the quick run down of everyone who would be there: grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and cousins once removed, not to mention his parents and sister. The longer the list got, the more nervous and tense I became during the 35 minute drive. By the time we pulled into the crowded driveway, I was ready to back right out and drive home. It was an awkward stage to be meeting so many of Jeff's extended family. We hadn't even officially determined that we were exclusively dating. But I pushed my fears aside and put on the best it's-just-another-Thanksgiving-and-there's-nothing-to-worry-about face I could as I followed Jeff up the stairs and into the house. The first person to greet us was Jeff's grandpa who was standing just inside the door. After introductions were had, he told me that today I might as well be family because there are no strangers at the Thanksgiving table. Then I met 3 of Jeff's aunts, and they each in turn pointed to and rattled off the names of everyone in the room who belong to them. My head was spinning with names and faces, and I knew there wasn't a chance I would remember any of them.

After a few minutes of socializing it was time to eat. We took out seats at the longest Thanksgiving table I had ever sat at. It spanned the entire length of the family and dining room, plus a few smaller tables for the kids off to the side. There were handmade place cards at each setting and I swallowed a lump when I saw that there was even one with my name on it. I had to admit, if I couldn't be with my own family for Thanksgiving, this was as close a second as I was probably ever going to find.

We ate... and ate and ate until my eyeballs were about to pop. It seemed the food would never stop coming. Some of the foods were new to me, but most were things that tables across America were also serving that day: Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, sweet potatoes, green beans, corn, salad, fruit, rolls, jello, stuffed mushrooms, and deviled eggs. After eating, we spread out around the house, some watching movies, others playing games, others just talking. After we'd all had a chance for the food to settle, we broke out the pies. And oh my. I had never seen so many pies. There was pumpkin (of course) and banana cream and coconut cream and chocolate and lemon meringue and pecan and cheesecake and apple and strawberry and others that I can't remember now. It seemed that everyone in the room could have had an entire pie to themselves. And so we ate again until our eyeballs popped, this time trying a little bit of each variety of pie. By the time we had finished, it was all I could do to mutter my thanks as we made our way to the door. Jeff's grandpa made it a point to say goodbye to me personally. He caught my arm just before I got to the door and pulled me into a hug. "Don't be a stranger, ok?" he told me before letting me go. I nodded and smiled, too full and sleepy to say anything.

Jeff opened my door and I slid into the passenger seat so he could drive me home. The rest of the evening we sat in my apartment, alternating between talking and laughing and watching holiday specials on TV. It was comfortable and cozy. I wondered what it would be like to spend every holiday like this. It was a nice thought.

Why are you so nice to me?

2008-12-29T14:45:00.000-08:00

By mid-November, hardly a day passed that I wasn't at Jeff's apartment or he wasn't at mine. I enjoyed having someone to cook for, and he seemed to enjoy my cooking, so we frequently met up for dinner and then found things to do until our 12 am curfew.

One night Jeff had to take a test so I made up some dinner and waited for him to join me. Around 6 o'clock the doorbell rang. My roommates were all home and we were being giggly and giddy as 19-year-old girls are prone to be. I was in a silly mood, so I skipped to the door and swung it wide open.

"Hey you. Welcome to my lair." I tried to be seductive, but it backfired and I ended up in a fresh state of laughter. I quickly turned my back on Jeff and walked to the kitchen to dish up some food, not noticing that he didn't even crack a smile at my foolishness. "Are you hungry?" I asked, facing the stove.

"Not really."
"...Oh." Hmm, I had been planning on us eating dinner together, so this threw a kink in my plans. I didn't stop to wonder why he wasn't hungry. "Are you sure? I made plenty."
"No, really. But you go ahead."

Wierd, I thought, but oh well. I dished myself up some chicken pasta and sat at the table. "So, how did your test go?" I asked through a mouthful of noodles.
"Not so great."
"Really? Oh bummer. I'm sorry." I shoved another forkful into my mouth. I still didn't think much of his countenance. It didn't take much for me to get depressed over a test; anything under a 94 had me moping for at least a day. So when other people said they didn't do well, I figured they had scored in the low-but-passing range. Ten minutes later I had finished my dinner and Jeff still hadn't said a word other than curt answers to my prodding. At that point I began to sense that maybe he really was worked up over this test. I decided to do what I could to cheer him up.

"I don't have much to do tonight. What would you like to do?"
"Drive around and listen to loud music." Yup, definitely depressed.
"Ok. I have to go pick up some things from my brother. Should we let our loud music driving lead us over there?"
"Sounds fine."

I had never seen Jeff so silent and brooding. I tried to make small talk but he wasn't contributing much so eventually I gave up. We drove to my brother's apartment in silence. I ran up to grab my things while he waited in the car. When I returned, he backed out of the complex and started driving towards the mountains. "Where are we going?" I asked as non-confrontationally as possible. His mood reminded me of Eeyore, and I was sure a little black raincloud was going to be overhead at any moment.

"I dunno."

I sucked in my breath and didn't say another word. Jeff pulled into a parking lot near the mouth of a small canyon. He got out and I followed. We walked a short ways up a path and sat down on a large boulder. It was cold, and I scooted closer to him to share body heat. I could feel his body relax as we sat there under the stars. After what felt like hours, when I thought it was safe, I asked what he was thinking.

"I like to think about the whys of life."
Oh boy, I thought. This is going to be deep.
"Why is life so hard sometimes and other times it is so easy? Why are these rocks so beautiful when they're just, well, ... rocks?"
Wow, this guy is really intense. I'm not sure how to respond. Is he looking for an answer? I think those were rhetorical questions. Does he really think these rocks are beautiful? Boy, do we have different tastes in scenery.
Jeff's next question interrupted my thoughts: "Why are you so nice to me?"

Suddenly I realized this conversation was taking a new direction. I took a deep breath, then turned my face ever so flirtatiously towards him and gave him the answer he was looking for: "Because I like you."
"That's funny."
"Why?"
"Because I like you, too."

I couldn't stop a grin from forming at his words. I leaned into his side and he put his arm around me. For a second we sat like that, hardly moving. I wouldn't say I was very experienced when it came to boys, but I knew that with a few slight movements I could get him to kiss me. Up until this moment, everything I had done in our relationship had been to get us to this point. I had encouraged his attention, I'd laughed at his jokes, I'd interrogated him about his interests and passions, all hoping that he would like me in return. But now that I sat moments away from our first kiss, I wasn't sure that I wanted it. I still felt very attached to the missionary that had left only 6 months earlier. There was a part of me that felt guilty for letting things go so far with Jeff. It wasn't fair to him. He didn't even know about the missionary.

But then there was that other part of me. The part that tilted my head back and batted my eyelashes and welcomed Jeff's kiss with open arms. The part that won. Momentarily, at least. Within seconds of our first kiss, the other part of me collapsed into a crying mess. Perfect, I thought. He kisses you and you start to cry. This is a great start. If you don't tell him why you're crying he's going to think you don't like him. I guess it's time to come clean.

Jeff apologized, over and over, though I'm sure he had no idea why he was apologizing. He asked what was wrong, but I waited until we were back in the car to tell him. I tried to keep things as brief as possible. He didn't need details. I explained to him that I had dated a guy for a while, then he had left on a mission. It wasn't an uncommon story in those parts. He nodded, then let me know that he was ok with whatever I wanted to do. If we needed to take it slower, that was fine. If this wasn't going to work out, then he understood. I couldn't believe how selfless he was being. I didn't know what was going to happen, but I knew I wasn't ready to let him go just yet. So I let him know that in the only way I knew how: I leaned over the center armrest and kissed him. He pulled back and watched, to see, I'm sure, if I was going to cry again. When he saw I was smiling, he smiled and kissed me back.

My relationship with Jeff had reached the next level. This made things officially complicated.

But I would worry about that another day.

"Dating"

2008-12-16T09:28:00.000-08:00

The weeks following Halloween, Jeff and I often found ourselves at each other's apartments and meeting up on campus. We found that one of my classes was next to his, so he would wait for me and we would spend the 10 minute passing period shivering in the cold and talking about nothing in particular. Friends and colleagues would see us standing there in the snow, laughing together and standing closer than necessary. They began to ask questions, to which I would shrug and say, "We'll see," with a huge grin that I couldn't seem to keep inside.

My texting skills improved every day and I began to let my note-taking slide as I spent entire class periods sending messages to Jeff and receiving them back. Once he sent me a message saying that a girl in his public speaking class had asked him on a date. Since we hadn't had a DTR yet (Define The Relationship... honestly, people, learn your acronyms), I wasn't sure how to respond to this fact. I suppose he could go with her if he wanted to. Yes, I would feel a bit betrayed by it, but I hadn't laid any claims on Jeff and until I did he was free to go out with whoever he wanted. Ignoring my chemistry lecture, I scrambled on my cell phone keys and replied.

Me: well, are you going?
Jeff: no
Me: why not?
Jeff: i told her i couldn't
Me: why not?
Jeff: b/c i was dating someone else
Me: i didn't know you were dating anyone
[I chuckled as I sent this one. I thought I was so funny.]
Jeff: i was talking about you
Jeff: funny girl
Me: oh, right
Me: is that what we're doing?
[long wait for the next message]
Jeff: if you have to ask, i'm not doing a very good job

The bell rang shortly after I read his reply. I bent over to put my notebook in my backpack, hoping no one would notice my flushed face. The rest of the day, I let his words replay over and over again. Funny how I could hear him saying the words even though they had never been said aloud. I wondered how I was going to pass any of my classes this semester given this rate of concentration.

That evening I hurried home, hoping I might receive a call or text from Jeff inviting me over than night. The days were getting shorter, and I wanted to get home before dark. I made my way from the Talmage building to the library, passing through every building I could to stay warm. From the library I cut across the quad and through the Wilkinson Center, then headed south along a campus road toward my apartment. I glanced at the phone in my hand to make sure I hadn't missed a call. Nothing. I was still looking at my phone when I put my key in the lock and opened the door. If I hadn't dropped my keychain, I probably wouldn't have noticed the wrapped bunch of daisies sitting on my doorstep.

Daisies? They probably weren't for me, but my heart skipped a beat and I knew they had to be. I looked around to see if the deliverer was still around, but I was alone. Hesitantly, I picked them up and stepped inside. Cautiously, I turned the bouquet around, looking for a note or card of some kind. Tucked deep inside the mass of white petals, I found what I was looking for. It didn't say much, but my name was on it and I recognized Jeff's handwriting.

Feeling a thanks was due, I flipped open my phone and punched the keys:

thx for the flowers

While I waited for a response I took my coat off, heated up some leftovers, and pulled up my email. When my phone played its text jingle, I smiled in spite of myself. I read:

ur welcome. want to come watch a movie?

In one fluid motion I shut my computer, tossed my dishes in the sink, grabbed my coat, and sent a reply.

b right there

I didn't even bother to leave a note for my roommates. They knew how to find me. Finally, it was my turn to be gone every night. And I was loving it.

Halloween

2008-12-03T23:03:00.000-08:00

After much deliberation, my apartment decided we would all go to the ward Halloween party/dance as jukebox girls. We made our poodle skirts the week before, tediously hand appliqueing on the poodles and sequin leashes. That night I spent an outrageous amount of time straightening my hair and trying on 14 different shirts and shoes before I came up with the final ensemble.

We went to dinner with some friends and then made our way to the stake center that would host the dance. We arrived early because my roommate was chair of the activities committee and we had been volunteered to help decorate. As we hung streamers and laid out refreshments, I kept a watch on the door, waiting for someone of interest to arrive.

Just as the lights dimmed and the music started playing, I saw boy #2 walk in. I waved and he waved back. Pretending I didn't care one way or another whether he came my way, I turned back to the dance floor and tried to look as coordinated as possible. A few minutes later, the first slow song came through the speakers and I heard his voice behind me. My hands felt clammy and I hoped he wouldn't notice my face starting to glisten as we picked a spot near the center of the cultural hall.

Awkward small talk ensued as we slowly paced back and forth to some cheesy ballad. I studied his movements, trying to tell if he was being nice to me out of friendship, sympathy, or real interest. It was difficult to say, especially since I didn't even know my own feelings towards him. Was I really interested in him as a person? Or was I merely falling prey to the attention? Before I knew it, the song was over and I was left alone on the dance floor with only my mixed up emotions as company.

I scanned the crowd for a familiar face. I hated standing alone in the middle of couples dancing. It seemed everyone I knew was partnered up, so I began the long walk towards the chairs lining the wall. I took a seat and tried not to look like the pathetic, lonely wall flower that I was. It was then, in this state of self-conscious anxiety, that I saw him. He was dressed in tight jeans, a striped button-down shirt, a black ten-gallon hat, and a large, shiny, brass belt buckle. Yep, Jeff was a cowboy.

His two roommates were also decked out in Western garb. They stood just beside him across the room from me. I started to smile but ended up scowling instead as I noticed the fourth member of their group. Did he really bring a girl with him? The nerve! He can't possibly be dating anyone since he just took me out LAST WEEK. Which means she is either just a friend or his new interest, both of which are entirely inappropriate to bring to OUR ward party. My doubts from earlier that week resurfaced as I watched Jeff interact with the new girl. He grabbed her hand and they began dancing even though the song was halfway over. I closed my eyes and prayed this DJ was one of those who never played more than two slow songs back to back.

The song ended and I watched as Jeff and his friend walked my way.

Oh heavens, please spare me.

"Hi Carly. I didn't see you sitting over here."

Sure you didn't.

"Hey Jeff. Yup, I've just been waiting for these lame slow songs to end so we can really get this party started."

I can't believe I just said that. He's going to see straight through me. I'm going to go crawl in a hole now.

As if things couldn't get worse, Jeff then introduced his friend to me. The girl. Turns out he knew her from high school. I put on my sweetest sugary smile.

"Hi! It's nice to meet one of Jeff's old friends. He hasn't told me much about what he was like before his mission. Maybe you can fill me in..."

That's right. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

The girl and I ended up spending a good fifteen minutes sitting against the wall, getting to know one another. If she hadn't been the competition, I probably would have liked her. She was friendly and personable. I could see why Jeff was friends with her. And why he maybe wanted her to be something more.

As we were sitting there, I spotted Jeff coming back towards us. I felt my stomach do a belly flop and goosebumps run up and down my arms.

"Hey girls. Having fun?"
"You betcha!" I replied, a little too enthusiastically.
"Good. Well, I think it's time you take a break from sitting." He put his hands out and I waited for the other girl to take them. She stared back at me and suddenly I realized he was reaching towards me. For once, I didn't stop to analyze what every gesture meant as I took his hands. My victorious grin melted into a smile of blissful happiness as we approached the floor and had our very first dance together.

In contrast to the earlier dance with boy #2, the conversation was not awkward at all. We were able to both talk comfortably and be silent comfortably. It had been a long time since I hadn't felt like every word I spoke was being weighed and judged. The song was over much too soon, but Jeff held my hand and we continued through the next song. I said my second prayer of the night, this time that the DJ would ONLY play slow songs the rest of the night.

To my dismay, the next song had a quicker beat so I reluctantly let go of Jeff's hand. The rest of the night we ebbed and flowed towards and away from each other. As the night began to wind down, I found myself dancing with him again. All thoughts of boy #2 were gone. I let my head rest on his shoulder, letting him know that I was ready to give us a shot.

All he had to do was take the bait.

To whet your appetite

2008-11-30T14:52:00.000-08:00

The night after our 4-wheeling escapade, my cell phone rang. I went to answer it but no call was coming through. Wierd, I thought. A few minutes later, it rang again. And again, no call. I handed the phone to my roommate and asked if she knew what was going on. She pointed to the flashing envelope symbol and told me I had a text message.

"Text message? What's that?"

I typically consider myself pretty technically saavy, but text messenging was still on the horizon when I got my first cell phone. Jeff, on the other hand, worked in the mobile phone industry and was very familiar with the ins and outs of cellular technology. Ten minutes later, my roommate and I had finally figured out how to open the message:

What's UR favorite flower?

Huh? Why is Jeff asking about my favorite flower? Is he going to get me flowers? What is my favorite flower? I don't know what to respond! I don't know HOW to respond! What does this mean? How do you use this dang thing?

Another ten minutes and several instruction manuals later, I was ready to compose a response. My mind was working overtime to come up with the perfect reply.

What should I say? Roses? Too unoriginal.
Lilies? I'm not even sure I know what lillies look like.
Carnations? Yuck.

I really don't have much of a favorite flower. I like all flowers. Anything pretty. I still don't understand why he is asking about flowers anyway. One evening out certainly doesn't merit flowers. My roommate's favorite flower is Gerber daisies. I agree, they are very pretty, but she's already claimed favorites on them. But regular daisies, the plain white kind, like the boquet Tom Hanks brings to Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail...

So I responded:

daisies

I waited impatiently by my phone for a reply, but none came. The rest of the week I came home from class each afternoon almost expecting to see a boquet of daisies sitting by my door, but each afternoon my doorstep was empty aside from the occasional flyer advertising Starving Student cards. To protect my pride, I began to tell myself that any interest I thought Jeff had shown me was my imagination. Once he had gotten me in a one-on-one situation, he realized I wasn't all that interesting and was now scoping the playing field for other options.

In the meantime, I satisfied my girlish daydreams on another of the male species. He was also in our ward--in fact, he lived just one floor up from Jeff--and though we'd never spent any time alone, he seemed to enjoy my company and I enjoyed his. The fling with Jeff, new as it was, had given me new confidence and I felt sure I could procure a date with boy #2 if I put my mind to it. Saturday was the ward Halloween dance. I knew both guys would be there. I decided to do a little eyelash-batting at both that night to see who would take the bait. If Jeff really had put me to the test and I had failed, Halloween would let me know. And if that were the case, at least I had someone else to immediately turn my attentions to.

Now I just had to find the perfect costume...

to be continued.

Dinner and a Mountain

2008-11-21T08:56:00.000-08:00

I didn't talk to Jeff again until he came to pick me up on Wednesday. My class had gotten out late so I was running behind, but I was still surprised when Jeff was sitting on the sofa in our living room waiting for me. He acted as though time was irrelevant, but I could tell he was anxious to get going. I ran back to my room, changed quickly into old jeans and a sweatshirt, and we headed out. My attire was not particularly attractive, but Jeff had warned me that 4-wheeling can be a dusty and dirty experience.

As we headed south to Jeff's hometown, he explained that we were going to meet his grandpa (who owned the 4-wheelers) at his parents house. Whoa, his parents house? Isn't it a little early to be meeting the family? This is why you should never date locals. Their families are much too easy to run into.

Despite my nervous thoughts, I nonchalantly hmmed in response to his explanations. He proceeded to tell me that we would not be alone on this excursion. His grandpa was not only supplying the four-wheelers, he was accompanying us on the trip. Great, a chaperone. How old are we? Oh, and Michele was coming, too.

"Michele? Who's Michele?"
"A girl from my mission."
"From your mission?"
"She wanted to come live in the States for a few months, so my parents are letting her stay with them." There seemed to be more of a story there, but I dropped it in order to give myself time to prepare for the unexpected company.
"So, is Michele going to be your grandpa's date?"

Jeff later told me he was surprised when, after we'd been dating for a bit, he found out I wasn't a total airhead. Looking back, I can see how questions like this may have lead him to that conclusion. My response: why did you keep dating me if you thought I was so clueless? Dang, I must have been really cute.

I digress.

The thought of Michele being his Grandpa's date struck Jeff as pretty funny, and we spent the rest of the drive with him periodically remembering my airhead question which would start a fresh batch of chuckles. I decided it would be in my best interest to keep my mouth shut the rest of the afternoon.

We pulled up to Jeff's parents house and I identified his Grandpa as the man leaning against a Suburban, glancing at his watch with annoyed impatience. No need to worry about awkward encounters with Jeff's family. As soon as I got out of the car we hurried over to the Suburban and drove away. Grandpa was a man on a mission.

Once we were on our way up the canyon and introductions were past, tensions eased and Grandpa launched into a parade of stories and tall tales. As we listened, Jeff and I rummaged around the back to find jackets, goggles, helmets, and a matching set of gloves that would fit. Apparently my sweatshirt get-up was not going to cut it. Luckily, Grandpa had filled the entire back seat with at least a closet's worth of old winter gear. By the time we pulled up to the trail head, I looked like an overstuffed camouflage snowbunny. Despite the concern on the part of the male half of the party for the female's warmth and comfort, Jeff declined the extra coat and goggles in lieu of his windbreaker and sunglasses. And since there weren't enough helmets to go around, he kept his baseball hat as his only head covering. Man, I had a thing for guys in baseball hats.

(This picture isn't actually from our first date. What? You already knew that? What gave it away?
Our one-year-old son? Oh, yeah, I guess that would do it.)

This being my first 4-wheeling adventure, I let Jeff take the wheel (or handlebars) first. Michele sat behind Jeff's Grandpa. We started off up the trail. I immediately could see why my late classes were problematic. Before we had even begun, the sun was low in the sky and the air was chilly. We rode quickly up the main trail and soon were on a narrower path. Our conversations were limited because the wind and roar of the motors blocked out almost all other sound. I've never been very good at small talk so I just enjoyed being able to hold on to Jeff's ~~waist~~ chiseled abs (editorial correction from Jeff) as we rode through the rustic mountain setting.

After we'd been riding for 20 minutes or so, we stopped in a small clearing.
"You ready?" Jeff asked.
"For what?"
"To drive."
"Um, you know, I actually prefer riding."
Jeff ignored my comment and began explaining how to brake, how to change gears, and how to not drive us into a ditch. Meanwhile, his Grandpa gave the same speech to Michele. I had the advantage of the two of us, though. Michele's English was still rough around the edges, and I had to question how much of the tutorial she understood.

The next thing I knew I was sitting on the front of the 4-wheeler and we were starting back up the trail. After a few small hiccups, we were smoothly on our way. My nerves relaxed, and I gained confidence with every turn. We stayed behind the other 4-wheeler to avoid their dust. I began dropping farther back to give us some extra privacy. We were far enough behind that the slowly settling dust was the only sign of anyone else along the trail. I could feel the warmth from Jeff's body on my back. Mmm, this is nice.

I had to focus on the road as we came around a wide bend, interrupting my girlish daydreams. Instead of the empty trail I was expecting to see, we came upon Jeff's grandpa trying to get their 4-wheeler out of a mess of brush while Michele sheepishly watched from the hillside.

"Oh no." Jeff mumbled. Well, he probably shouted, but over the engine it cames across as a murmer. "Her parents are going to kill me."

Jeff jumped off to assist his grandpa while I exchanged nervous glances and giggles with Michele, which was as much as the language barrier allowed us to do. I did notice her jeans were torn below her knee.

"Are you ok?" I asked slowly.
"I am fine!" Michele replied enthusiastically in her thick accent. She gave me an embarrassed smile so I let the conversation die there.
"Let's get this show on the road," Grandpa called from the now rescued 4-wheeler. "I think I'll drive this time, Michele." Wink.

We picked up where we'd left off and drove another 15 minutes through glorious autumn splendor. I was new enough to Utah that I was still learning to appreciate mountain beauty. Just before we turned around to come back, we reached a crest that set us overlooking a breathtaking view of reds, greens, yellows, oranges, and everything in between. I think I even saw some purple. As I stared in dumbfounded awe, Jeff patted himself on the back for a date well done. He gave me a few minutes to take in the intoxicating mountainside, then offered to drive again. I slid back into the passenger position.

The drive back down felt faster than the ride up. I relaxed and let my helmeted head rest against Jeff's back. Darkness set quickly and by the time we reached the bottom all we could see was the angled path of light from the 4-wheeler's headlights. The men loaded the machines and before I knew it we were back at Jeff's car saying thank-yous and goodbyes.

Although it was dark, it was only 6:00. I wondered if Jeff would take me straight home or if he had other plans. I didn't have to wonder long.

"So, are you hungry?"
Starving. "A little."
"What sounds good to you?"
I shivered and thought about all the warm foods I could choose from. "Soup."
[pause]
"Soup?" The expression on his face was almost repulsive. What's wrong with soup, I thought. Again, I had a lot to learn about guys. "Ok. Soup it is." He suggested a pizza place that might have good soup (he wouldn't know as he NEVER ate soup) and I concurred.

When it came time to order, he asked if I was sure there wasn't anything else I wanted. It hurt his pride to have me order the cheapest thing on the menu. But it had nothing to do with the price. All I wanted was a bowl of hot, steamy, creamy, comforting broccoli soup.

We chatted about trivial things while he ate his pasta dish and I slurped my soup. Then he took me home. For now, I didn't want this to last longer than a short fling. I was only 19 and not ready for anything serious. Besides, the missionary halfway around the world was always at the back of my mind. But I was having fun and, for the moment, I wasn't lonely. I had something to contribute to our apartment girl talk. I had someone to be with on the weekends. I had someone to lie awake at night thinking about. Regardless of the ultimate outcome, I couldn't wait to see Jeff again.

Marriage Prep and Movies

2008-11-18T10:39:00.000-08:00

One of the perks of being romantically interested in a fellow ward member is you have an excuse to see them at least once a week. As I walked into the large conference room on campus that served as our chapel, I quickly scanned the congregation for Jeff's short, gelled hair. Sitting next to him would be relationship suicide at this point, but I casually steered my girlfriends to some seats a few rows ahead of his. I wanted to be sure he had a good view of my laboriously straightened hair.

I tried to pay attention to the speakers, but my thoughts kept drifting to review the events of last night and to contemplate what I would say when I saw him after Sacrament meeting. Should I pretend like nothing had happened? Play hard to get? Or should I be friendly and flirtatious? Maybe invite him over for dinner? Oh no, much too suggestive. Perhaps I'll just ask him which Sunday School class he's going to...

"Hi there. Which Sunday School class are you going to?" Jeff's voice echoed my thoughts.
"Huh? Oh, hi. I... don't know. Which class are you going to?" Boy, I could sound like such an idiot sometimes.
"We usually go to Marriage Prep. Want to come?" He gestured towards the back door.
"Um, sure." Marriage Prep? Only engaged couples and desperate girls went to Marriage Prep. I had always avoided it just as I avoided all things making me appear anxious to get married. But when a cute boy invites you to attend Marriage Prep with him, caution gets thrown to the wind. Just to make sure things didn't move too fast, I turned to one of the girls sitting next to me.

"Should we try out Marriage Prep today?" I tried to subtly wink at her, but she looked confused and suspicious.
"Ok. Why not?" Perfect. This way I wasn't going with him, but rather we were going with them. A very important distinction.

The rest of our church meetings were uneventful. Nothing out of the ordinary was said in Marriage Prep. No revelation that this was my soul mate. In fact, I was surprised how applicable the lesson was to my relations with everyone, not just my future spouse. Who knows? Maybe I'd come back to this class. At the end of the second hour, we parted ways for our respective meetings. I didn't see him after church, so my apartment-mates and I headed home and started our typical Sunday night routine. Dinner, dishes, lounge around, dread the upcoming school day, write letters to missionaries, call home, etc., etc. Wishing I had something more exciting to do, I opened my laptop and began sorting through my junk email. No more than two emails through the list, the phone rang.

"Hello?"
"Carly?"
"Yes?"
"Hey. It's Jeff." Wow. He called me. Act cool. Pretend guys call you all the time.
"Oh, hey. How's it going?"
"Not bad. We were just about to start a movie and wondered if you wanted to come."
"Sure. What movie?"
"Dunno. You can help us decide."
"K. Be over in a sec."

I threw on a jacket and headed down the street. Five minutes later I was at his door. He let me in and I looked around. His two roommates sat sprawled across the sofa and chair, but no other females were in sight. Excellent. No competition. Jeff and I took spots on the floor leaning against the sofa. The movie was put on hold as the four of us easily settled into comfortable conversation. I preferred it this way. I enjoyed movies, but you don't get to know someone very well while sitting in silence. Besides, Jeff's roommates were also his best friends, and I would eventually have to win them over as well.

Soon another knock sounded on the door. One of the roommates went to answer it. From around the corner I recognized the distinctly high pitched voice of a girl who lived around the corner from me.

"What are you guys doing?" she squealed.
"Um, just about to start a movie."
"Ooohie! Can we watch?"
".... sure..."

The roommate came back, shrugging apologetically, followed by three girls from our ward. So much for no competition. With the new arrivals, the conversation died and we defaulted to the original plan of movie watching. The other girls selected The Wedding Planner. Ugh. I like chick flicks, but there are some that I can only watch so many times. This was one of them. Jeff and I repositioned to give the girls the couch. We took the back corner, which allowed us to sit close and have whispered conversations without disturbing the others. The movie started and I inched closer to Jeff. At this proximity, I could hear his cell phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out, looked at the caller ID, and excused himself. Sighing silently, I watched him walk towards the back bedrooms.

Well, this definitely wasn't what I'd thought would happen. Stuck in this room now with people I hardly knew, I felt uncomfortable and self-conscious. The minutes ticked away like hours. I had hoped Jeff would only be gone long enough to tell the caller he was busy and then return to me. But 30 minutes into the movie, I was still alone. I couldn't be too mad; after all, I had only met the guy last week. But he had invited ME over. Usually that means you are willing to be a courteous host and not disappear as soon as your guest arrives. I contemplated leaving, but was having trouble getting my feet to move. I had decided to give it five more minutes when Jeff returned.

"Who was that?" I demanded rudely.
"A friend. She's leaving on a mission this week," he whispered back. A girl. I should have known. Suddenly I felt very naive and foolish. I was imagining this guy had completely fallen for me after two days . More than likely he was just being nice. When the movie ended, he stood up to walk me home, but I quickly told him not to bother. I would walk back with the other girls.

I didn't say much as we walked back, other than to wave goodbye at the stairwell that led up to the other girls' apartment. It was cold, so I skipped up the steps to my apartment. My hand was on the door knob when my phone rang.

"Hello?"
"Carly, it's Jeff." Oh, I see how it is. You can't spend time with me while I'm there, but miss me the second I leave. Good thing I forgive easily.
"Hi!"
"Are you at your apartment yet?"
"Yes, Dad. I got home safely. I'm just about to go in."
(Jeff explained later that he had very carefully timed this phone call to make sure I had already left the other girls but hadn't gone into my apartment yet. He had about a 20 second window and he nailed it.)
"Good. So, what time do you get out of class on Wednesday?"
"Wednesday? Let's see... 5:30."
I could almost hear his eye bug out over the phone waves.
"5:30? Wow. Hmm, that throws a kink in things. Any way you could be done a little earlier?"
"I could probably skip my last class, so maybe by 3."
"Well, I wanted to ask you if you would like to go 4-wheeling, but we have to leave early to be done before it gets dark. If we can leave right at 3, then I think we can make it."

Now, I always have been pretty studious, but dates like this don't come along every day. I don't think ditching one class was going to hurt me too badly, and the reward would surely be worth it. Unfortunately, I was a teaching assistant in the class I'd be missing, so it would mean I wouldn't get paid, but...

"I'll be ready."

The First Date (Or Was It?)

2008-11-13T17:58:00.000-08:00

Saturday arrived. My roommate and I were ready and waiting when the boys arrived. I had spent more than ample time getting ready (wouldn't you on your first official date of the semester?) and was prepped for a fun and flirtatious evening. The guys lingered at our apartment for a bit, muttering something about planning on going to a high school football game but it turns out the game was last night. So despite their best efforts to think of something equally as fun as a high school football game (what can compare?), we ended up at the bowling alley on campus.

I didn't mind the change of plans, except for the fact that I SUCK at bowling. I always embarrass myself because I try to find the lightest ball, but then the finger holes are too small and the ball gets stuck on my hand instead of rolling gracefully down the lane. On a good night, I can get a score of 30. And that's with the bumpers. By the time I had my bowling shoes on, I had pretty much kissed any potential of this date goodbye. To make it even better, Jeff and his roommate, who I would come to learn are quite competitive, decided we should wager dinner over the game. Girls against guys.

Note: You are probably wondering how the guys could justify potentially making us pay for our dinner on a date. The answer is not that they are selfish pigs who think chivalry is dead. In fact, both were raised to be borderline old-fashioned in their respect for the more delicate sex. The truth is that somewhere along the way there was a miscommunication and they didn't think this was a date. At least not in the paired up, double couple sort of event. To them, it was more of a balanced group activity. We were simply "hanging out." To this day, Jeff and I always miss the "Where was your first date?" question in games and end up arguing over this unresolved discrepancy.

Back to bowling...

Jeff programmed our names into the computer, and my roommate stood up for the first frame. She lifted the ball up and then swung it forward in somewhat of a fluid arc. The ball slowly rolled down the center of the lane and hit the first pin. Three, four... eight, nine pins! Not bad, I thought. Furthermore, she knocked down the extra pin with her second ball. I wanted to celebrate the "team's" victory, but I was worried she was going to make me look even worse.

My turn. I grabbed my 8 lb. ball (with large finger holes--I made sure of that) and stepped up to the lane. Holding my breath, I swung the ball back and forward and let go. I turned around carelessly as though it didn't matter one way or another what happened at the other end of the lane. Only when my roommate started cheering did I glance back at the damage.

At first I thought I was looking at the wrong lane. Where did all the pins go? Is there some mistake? Unless... it couldn't be... did I just...? No way! Wow, well, THAT was lucky. I'd better act humble because I'll look really silly when I don't get a single other point the entire game.

But I DID. I was amazing! And my roommate was on fire! We each independently bowled the best games of our lives. That alone would have made the competition pretty stiff. But someone from above was on our side that night because as much as we girls were above our usual skill set the guys were below. It was as though we had sucked all the luck and ability out of the room and all that was left was weak incompetency. Needless to say, we did NOT have to buy dinner come the end of the game.

Leaving the bowling alley, I could tell we had crushed some serious pride. We tried not to rub it in too much, but I was positively beaming with victory. I beamed as we walked to the car. I beamed as we drove to Little Caesars. And I beamed as we returned to the guys' apartment to eat our hard earned pizza.

After dinner we started watching Meet Joe Black, which I would learn held a revered place over other movies in their apartment. (Something about how it is the perfect movie to make girls all mushy and seducible. I didn't realize guys had a carefully selected menu of movies to choose from depending on the desired outcome, but this was just the first of many things I would learn about guys from Jeff.) To this point, we'd been very casual in our associations. By teaming up by gender instead of dates and then getting pizza for dinner instead of a restaurant where boy A would buy girl A's dinner, we'd avoided having to distinguish who was whose date. But as the movie started, I consciously chose the spot next to Jeff on the sofa.

In my opinion, sitting so close to Jeff was a forward move on my part, so I sat back and let him do the rest of the moving. And move he did. By the time Joe had formed his devilish agreement with Bill Parrish, our arms were cozy and warm as they shared body heat from each other. His body language was telling me he had forgiven me for creaming him in bowling. We spent the remainder of the movie sitting just close enough to send innocent signals, but never crossing the invisible line that created the seam between our two bodies.

As the credits started rolling, my roommate, who hadn't found quite the same connection that I had, jumped up and announced it was time to leave. I reluctantly left my spot on the sofa and followed her out the door. Before I left, I gave one last flirtatious smile to seal the deal. Then I shut the door behind me and braced myself against the cold... and the onslaught of inquiries from my observant roommate as we walked home. It had been a good night.

Guilt is my friend

2008-11-11T09:47:00.000-08:00

Fall 2003.

I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. Boy this sucked. What part of me thought that moving in with three size zero girls was going to be fun? On any given night, someone was on a date. Or at a study group. (I didn't buy it. Everyone knows that "study group" is just another name for "I-want-to-ask-you-out-but-am-too-much-of-a-pansy-to-do-it-so-I'm-going-to-ask-you-to-study-with-me-instead.") Occasionally, there would be nights like tonight, where all three of them would be out at the same time. Leaving just me. Alone. To wallow in my sorrow.

I counted the dates I'd been on this semester. Zero. Wow, that didn't take long. Ok, there was the one, but he meant to ask my roommate out instead. Talk about humiliating. So I don't think that counts. In fact, that should be a negative date.

I told myself often that it didn't matter. After all, I was waiting for a missionary. I had been waiting for 6 months and it was beginning to feel like it was never going to end. Yes, in serious situations, I would tell people I wasn't really waiting. I would just take every day as it came and see how things fell into place. If someone else came along, well... I wasn't about to turn down anything with potential. But in moments like this, you bet I was waiting. Picture Saturday's Warrior. I was Julie. 100%. I was waiting like "mother waits for her bread to rise." It was easy to wait when you didn't have any other options.

I spent a lot of time feeling sorry for myself. I think most single girls do between the ages of 14 and 30. Which also means I was very self-centered. It was always MY problems. MY lack of dates. MY inability to make friends. MY burnt brownies. MY bad grade. Me. Me. Me. I must not have been very much fun to be around. Probably the reason for the lack of dates.

As long as I was going to NOT be dating or having a social life, I may as well explore the world. I wanted to study abroad. I decided to start small. So I registered for a semester in Nauvoo. I had paid my $50 deposit and was counting down the days until I could go and leave my self-pity behind me. Only 332 days to go.

The next night was Saturday. Luckily I was not alone tonight. One of my roommates miraculously had found herself with nothing planned. We were bored and bold (scary combination) and decided to go make friends. We walked the block and a half to the other apartments in our ward and started knocking on doors. The apartment we intended on visiting (a boys' apartment, of course) wasn't home. We started walking back, but my roommate remembered another apartment she sort of knew so we knocked on their door. An athletic-looking blonde opened the door. Slight recognition passed between him and my roommate.

"What are you guys doing?" my roommate asks.
"Just watching some football."
"Oh, that's cool. We were just bored and thought we'd see what was going on over here."

Another head appeared in the doorway. This guy was taller, with shorter hair and wearing a visor. He introduced himself as Jeff.

"Why aren't you girls on dates tonight?"
"We don't go out very much," I said. I probably should speak for myself.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Guys don't ever ask us out." Like I said, I was feeling bold that night. I wasn't below guilt tripping them into asking us out.
"Well, what are you doing next Friday night?"
Crap. "Um, actually, we're busy next Friday?"
"Oooooh. I see how it is. You never go on dates, right?"

What are the chances? We had spontaneously planned a girls-choice date for the next week. My first real date of the semester. Except that I had asked the guy. So it didn't count. Why didn't any of my dates count?

Maybe I can distract them...

"Well, what about Saturday?"
Jeff and blondie exchanged looks.
"Yeah, we can do something Saturday. Should we say sixish?"
"Six sounds great."
"Ok, see you then."
"K, bye."

And that is how I used guilt to get my husband to take me on our first date.