Mini Love Story

Photo by Ricardo Moura: https://www.pexels.com/photo/silhouette-of-a-man-proposing-to-a-woman-4863854/

This short story was featured & read at the Kundiman Northeast Reading Event on July 16, 2023.

“Will you marry me?” 

—

A year ago, Mel dropped an entire, opened bag of honey butter chips right in front of the entrance of the grocery store. As grandmas passed by and tsk’ed her into a spiral of shame, she hurriedly tried to sweep them away with her hands. She was horrified to find a pair of hands doing the same next to her, and even more horrified to see those hands belong to Nathan Lee, her college arch nemesis. 

“Nguyen, long time no see,” he said. 

Her heart dropped. He probably questioned why she was wearing flannel pajamas in the dead of summer on a Wednesday afternoon. 

He smirked. 

And now, a year later, there Nathan was, at the exact same grocery store, on a Thursday evening, kneeling down to ask the question she had been told would be the one to change her entire life. 

Her eyes welled with tears. Tears of happiness, sadness, surprise, anger at the surprise because he absolutely knew she hated surprises. 

And as if she had died, all their memories together flashed before her eyes: the first time they met in Biology 102 where he accidentally knocked over her carefully curated row of Muji pens. The glare she gave him. Nathan hurriedly apologizing over and over again.

The awkward conversation they had at the Asian American student mixer because they literally didn’t know anyone else. The laughs they had over how he tried to convince her it was extremely efficient to serve yourself fried rice with chopsticks. 

The glare she gave him when the professor always picked him first to answer questions. The extra awkward months that ensued when he ended up hooking up with her roommate. The late night study sessions when he showed up at her room, claiming he was waiting for her roommate. The higher grades he consistently showed off after every exam. The light punch in the shoulder she’d give him afterwards.

The years they spent thinking of each other, wondering how the other person was doing, but neither sending that “How are you” text in the middle of the night. 

That chip reunion. Nathan revealing he had quit his academia job with no back up plan. Mel revealing her own unhappiness working in biotech. The getaway to Nathan’s hometown in Queens to eat all the foods instead of figuring out their lives. The fight over you’re-being-too-dramatic. The other fight over you-don't-communicate-enough. 

Nathan’s mother making Mel extra bulgogi kimbap because it was her favorite. Mel’s parents outwardly disappointed Nathan wasn’t Vietnamese. But at least he was Asian, they said. 

And so, of course, Mel said yes. They kissed. The sun slowly set. And time stopped. 

—

Time literally stopped. Nathan’s arms froze around her waist. The onlooking shoppers stopped mid-gait. 

That was it? Mel was astounded.

And that was when Mel discovered she had been living in her own love story. A universe that completely orbited the two of them. A universe that stopped at her happy ending.

She wiggled out of Nathan’s arms and began running around the parking lot, waving her hands erratically in front of the patrons, hoping to wake them up and to wake herself up. 

How could her entire existence, her entire knowing, be just reduced to just this moment? She grew angry.

Maybe her parents were right. She was in her late twenties. She just had to focus on getting married. All she had to do was lose some weight. Clean her apartment. Don’t work those long hours. Lock down a man. Yes, even Nathan would do.

Maybe they were right. 

Her entire purpose - regardless of the wholeness and fullness of fiercely loving her friends, of crying herself to sleep, of raging at all the things, of regretting none of the things. Of birthday wishes of what ifs, laughs that filled her belly, and tenderness that filled her soul. None of it mattered. This was what she was meant to do.

She should be happy. This was what she wanted. All she wanted. She should be grateful. Oh, look she’s ungrateful again.

She screamed. “Who created this?” She looked up to the oozy orange sky. “Why? Why is this my life’s purpose?” 

And as if on call, a large version of her face appeared. It was older, softer even. And as if to give her an answer, it said, “Because you believed it to be so.”