8Hi! This is Miss In-Hye takes bow Anyway, I wanted to write a Valentine's Day story and so here it is. These characters will have nothing to do with me later in life backs away from them. This is a one-chapter story.
Late
"I'll meet you at the park at five thirty," was his promise.
"Okay," I said, and I kissed his cheek, softly, before he left my apartment last night. "Don't be late!" I told him.
"I won't," he promised with a laugh as he left.
He was late.
He was very, very late. It is seven, and he still hasn't come.
I am a generally patient woman. I've learned to be one since he came into my life.
But I do care a lot about looks. I'm romantic, sentimental. It's Valentine's Day, and he promised to meet me here, at this bench, at five thirty. It's seven, an hour and a half later, and he's still not here. I'm angry at him, and at me for trusting him.
It's Valentine's Day, so I expected him to do an event of some sort. I dressed myself up for it. I took my dirty blonde hair and let it down. I never do that unless it's special. I put on some eyeliner. Some lipstick. Bright lipstick. I put on a lavender dress that I wouldn't have worn in February if you'd paid me unless it's Valentine's Day. I wore heels. I never do that either.
But he loves it when I act girly. I wanted him to be happy.
Now I don't.
It's been an hour since I left the apartment, my hair blown dry, my outfit completely ironed, my face shining and my steps graceful, a woman who's loved. Now I guess I look like I'm under-loved.
How could he be so late? How could he? It's Valentine's Day. It's also my birthday. How could he?
I see a girl pass by with her own boyfriend. She looks like my opposite. Her hair's brown, and done up in a ponytail. Her face is beautiful. It has no makeup, and she's dressed in punk clothes. She's on the arm of a man in a gray suit. She throws me an arrogant smirk over her shoulder. My anger mounts. Maybe at her. More at me. I feel like such a fake, trying to be beautiful when here's this girl, who's naturally beautiful.
I pick up my handbag, ready to leave. I promise myself. I'll never, ever trust that man again! I curse as I stand up.
"Andrada!"
I turn. There he is. Wearing a suit? Ah. For work. I forgot. He had a case today. Involving a murder. Fits my mood.
"I'm so sorry, I'm-."
"Late," I finish for him automatically, rolling my eyes. "And you'll never be again in my life." I mutter as I get up, ready to ditch him.
He grabs my arm. "Andy…Andrada, I'm…so…so sorry…"
"That's enough. You're always sorry. Always. Always, so sorry," I mock. "When are you ever going to stop? When are you ever going to keep promises so you never have to say that again? Why are you so late? Why? Why are you always late?"
He coughs. "I…have my reasons."
"Are 'your reasons' more important than Valentine's Day? Than my birthday? Than…" I choke. "Me? Is that how it is? Am I second to your money? Your job?"
"Those aren't my reasons, Andrada," he says calmly.
His calmness, his serenity, it bothers me. I feel like killing him. Unfortunately, his whole family is made up of lawyers, so…I really can't. Besides, I hate violence. Most of the time. Okay, sometimes.
"Then what are they?" I ask, so loudly that the naturally pretty girl looks at me in scorn, and then realizing that I'm screaming at my beau, walks away quickly. Probably not wanting her boyfriend to develop any habits from mine. "Are you seeing another woman? What's wrong with you? Have you really changed from the innocent man I met two years ago? What's wrong with you, Kirk?"
"The reason…" He coughs. He's always been so shy. I loved shy men. Up till now. "The reason is…"
"Tell me or I'm leaving," I say.
I turn. The girl looks at me haughtily. Then she gasps. What's wrong with you? She seems to be saying this to me. What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you, cow-face? She reads the look on my face. She starts dramatically hitting her elbow. What's wrong with her? She pleads with me. Her boyfriend stares at her.
I finally realize that she's motioning for me to look at my own elbow. I do. I gasp.
A little box. A little gray box. Open. Inside: gray velvet…in the middle of gray velvet, a shining golden ring, with emerald and diamonds and rubies…a beautiful, beautiful ring…
A man. Kneeling on the ground in his best suit, presenting the ring in its little gray box. Not minding the mud getting on his knees. The box is in his fingertips, almost ready to fall, thud, to the ground. But I know it's not going to fall.
A wedding ring…
"This…" I whisper. "This is your reason?" My dress flies in the wind.
"Yes," he answers.
"You're late," I say.
"But I'm forgiven?" It's a question.
"Yes," I say.
"Then…"
"Tell me your reason," I beckon.
"Andrada…will you marry me?"
"Yes," I say. "I will."
He pulls me, gently, into his arms while fitting the ring onto my finger. I see, out of the corner of my eye, the girl leave. She smiles at me and waves. I see, smiling, a ring on her finger, too, and a smug boyfriend. "I'm sorry I was late," he says.
"I'm sorry that I was mad," I apologize. I feel his back with my fingertips. He's so…warm. I feel so cold and…downtrodden. Probably because I was in the wind all day long. Okay, more like an hour and a half.
"Good," he says.
"But…"
"But?"
"You should really try to get rid of that habit soon," I tell him. "What if you're late to the wedding?"
"Then…" He shrugs. "Tough luck."
I smile. He's such like a child when he says that. "And that's why I love you?" It's a question, and it needs an answer. He knows.
"And that's why you love me."
"Good," I say. "You're always late."
"Always?"
"Yes," I answer affirmatively. "And not just here…late in…everything."
"In proposing?" he asks.
"Yes."
"I'm sorry," he apologizes honestly. "I'm very, very sorry." He dressed up. You can tell. His hair should have been slick and shiny, full of gel and shining black, like ink. But it's full of the rain that fell almost an hour ago, now. The suit is full of creases. I like it. I like it that we're both underdressed.
"Don't be," I tell him in reply to his apology. "It's a nice habit, actually."
"How so?"
"Well…" I sit on his lap as he settles onto the bench. "When you're late, I always have extra time to prepare myself."
"Ah," he smiles. "And?"
"I just…" I smile. "I love you."
He finds my mouth with his own. "By the way…who's that girl, anyway? The one in the punk clothes? Your friend?"
I laugh. "Sort of."
Reviews, please! Please? With sugar icing on top? Mm...sugar icing. runs off to kitchen for sugar icing (which doesn't exist in my house)