Sophie's Smile: A Novel (25 page)

The store was a whirlwind, suffocating, with all the scents and products, and with all the prissy, overly made-up women (and men) in black suits that strolled down the aisles. I thought I would get good service when I saw all the unisex, black-clad employees; however, in my faded jeans, running shoes, and wrinkled polo I only got pitiful looks from each well-kempt “specialist” that passed by. I kept telling myself that she is worth it. Holding the box now, weighing it in my hand, pleading that I picked the right scent, hoping my time wasn’t spent in vain.

I popped two ibuprofens in my mouth as a nagging headache was forming. I cursed under my breath, reliving all the scents I just subjected myself to, many of which I had to smell at least twice before picking
Hanae
Mori’s
Butterfly
perfume. I smiled now, remembering the tantalizing aroma and soft sweetness of fruits and
florals
, and the delicate glass bottle with a butterfly cap. Everything about the perfume spoke to me, symbolized Sophie,
my Sophie
.

I packaged all the items gingerly, the perfume and a few other pieces, including a poem, in the basket. My nerves were getting to me now, overwhelming me. I worried about the poem, a poem with only a few words but a powerful statement.
Powerful words that revealed my feelings.
Feelings that I hoped were mutual.

Holding a clear vase filled with hand-picked, personally assorted, red and white roses in one hand, and a basket full of goodies in the other, I stood, anxious and uptight, waiting for my Sophie to open the door.

And there standing before me, elegant as Grace Kelly, mesmerizing as Aphrodite, and with the presence of an angel, was my Sophie. Her eyes radiated with happiness, her tantalizing smile widened, and her face gleamed with pure joy.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I said, extending my armful of gifts.

“Oh wow!” she exclaimed, thrilled by the surprise of the gifts, and hopefully, of me.

“Thank you, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t think I’d be able to see you today. I just assumed we wouldn’t be able to see each other until the weekend.”

“I know,” I whispered, holding her close, “But I had to see you on Valentine’s Day.”

She blushed as I kissed her lips.

Her eyes gleamed, “Come into my room, I have something for you, too.”

She picked up her gifts and all but skipped to her room.

“Here,” she said sheepishly, as she handed me a wrapped box and a large handmade card. “Open it,” she said eagerly.

“Okay, are you sure you don’t want to go first?”

She shook her head, “No, I want you to go first.”

I wasn’t about to argue with that, but usually women couldn’t wait to open their gifts the second they got their hands on them. I momentarily forgot—Sophie’s not the norm.

I examined the card first. I felt a lump in my throat, noticing the hand-cut hearts, glued sequins, the time it must have taken to make, and then my vision started to blur as I read the note inside:

Dearest Liam,

I am so lucky to have met a guy like you: kind, considerate, understanding, patient, intelligent, dedicated, passionate for the things and people you love and hold dear to your heart, and of course much, much more.

It amazes me sometimes how a guy like you can like me as much as you do.

I appreciate and treasure all the things that you’ve done and blessed me with, especially the little things, like the way you hold my hand, open my door, give me the time I need to feel comfortable, shower me with kind words, and most of all for just caring about me.

I’ve had many first experiences with you: first date, first serenade, first holding hands, first opening the car door, first kiss, first boyfriend, first intimate moment, and my first Valentine…as well as, all the places you’ve taken me, such as, Lake Murray, Old Town, Hillcrest, Little Italy, and I’m sure there will be more to come.

Thanks for always planning our “date” activities, since now you probably know that I’m pretty indecisive when it comes to these matters, for I generally don’t care what we do or where as long as I’m with you.

So, on this Valentine’s Day, I just wanted to express my gratitude and appreciation for all that you’ve done and for being such a wonderful person and boyfriend.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Sophie

“Wow Sophie, thank you,” I managed, choking back tears, “It means a lot.”

She grinned widely, “Open your gift,” she urged.

I was so moved by her words I didn’t think she could have gotten me anything that could compare.

“What? Wow, you got me an iPod?” I was flabbergasted that she spent that much money on me.

“I noticed you didn’t own one and I wanted to get you one. I thought you could take it with you on your jogs or in between classes.”

“Wow.” Sophie surprised me again. “This is great, thanks,” I added as I opened the box.

She pointed, excitedly, “There’s also an inscription on the back of it.”

“Really?”
I turned the slick black iPod around, and there, in tiny engraved letters read:

liam
-
wherever u take me

I will be with u-
sophie

“Thank you,” I breathed, and leaned in to place my lips softly over hers.

“You’re welcome.”

“Okay, your turn.”

“Okay,” she anxiously turned to the basket and carefully
unwrapped
each gift: hand cream, body lotion and perfume.

“
Mmm
,” she noted after spraying a little on the inside of her delicate wrist.

“You like it? I wasn’t sure if you would…I mean I like it, and after smelling all the scents, I thought this one fit you best…but if you don’t like it I can always get you something else,” I stammered.

“No, I love it, thanks.”

“Okay.”

Then she went over to the box and I reached to place my hand over hers, “Um, I’d rather you wait to open this gift…alone,” I said hesitantly.

“Why?”

“Well…um…never mind, you can open it now if you want.”

She nodded. My wavering uncertainty piqued her interest.

I watched her anxiously, as she slowly opened the box, watched as her eyes widened and her throat caught on her breath as she pulled out a heart-shaped piece of rose quartz. I knew it would be cold and heavy in her hands, but her warmth would slowly override the chill just like her hands always warmed mine (I hadn’t noticed how cold my hands were until I met Sophie).

She then took out the folded piece of plain white paper. My heart raced as she carefully unfolded the note, read my words, taking in the meaning up to the last five words. I read it with her, reciting the words in my head as I watched her eyes fall over them:

Here is my heart,

For it has always been yours from when we first did meet;

To part is not to part if heart joins heart;

Hand in hand, thought in gentle thought,

So long as my heart keeps time with yours, it will always be yours to keep.

I love you, Sophie Park

I heard her gasp as she looked at me, her eyes filled with shock and wonder. Silence flooded the space between us.

I stammered, “I’ve been thinking it for a long time and I figured I should just let you know,” I looked down, sheepishly.

                            
There was a pause and Sophie softly replied, “Thank you.”

I guess I saw that coming. Not like I expected her to throw her arms around me and say “I love you” back. I was fine, my ego only slightly splintered; at least she wasn’t resistant to my attempt at a Shakespearean love address. Loving her came naturally and it was the right time for me to express it to her. Plus, I would wait to tell her those special three words out loud when she was ready to return them.
All in due time.

“Thank you for the flowers and the gifts,” she managed, “and
thank
you for coming over.”

“You’re welcome. I can only stay for another hour before I have to get to class.”

She nodded.

She was sitting down beside her bed, curling her legs up and holding them with her arms. She started fidgeting with her fingers like she always did when she was contemplating something or displacing nervous energy. I could tell she was deep in thought, probably about the poem and those three potent, little words.

I decided to break the spell and slid in next to her. She leaned against me, placing her head on my shoulder. I could feel her edginess die down and her breath again became slow and steady. I put one arm around her and there we sat, in silence, huddled in a loving embrace, up until the final second when I had to leave.

~ Sophie ~

36

Twirling the stone heart around my hands, smelling the roses placed squarely on my desk, drifting my eyes toward the bountiful array of scents and creams, and resting my eyes on the tiny white piece of paper with his words so perfect and pure…my heart ached and swelled in its warmth and love.

Liam’s words struck my heart and unraveled my senses. His perfection thrilled and terrified me: his genteel manner, his brilliant nature, his passion, his drive, his compassion, and his love for me. I felt like it was all too much, all too fast, all too real.
Can it be possible that I could be enough for him?
That his love will last, this strong, forever?
Will we marry, have kids, and live happily ever after?
Without regrets, without misery, without loss?

I had never believed in fate, but having Liam come to me during the time when I started to finally figure out who I was and what I wanted, I started to rethink everything that I held true to my heart. I started to believe in fate. I believed it was fate that brought Liam and I together.
Fate that our love grew so fast and so strong.
Fate that I finally got what I wanted—happiness.
Complete and utter happiness.

The joy I felt right then was unnerving. The longing I felt for Liam when we were apart was painful. And the knowing that we would be together for as long as our hearts could beat lifted my spirits and filled emptiness with calm. I knew then, had never been more confident, more sure than I was at that very
moment, that
Liam was the man I was supposed to marry. The man I was supposed to love and honor.
The only man that would share my bed and my heart.
The only issue was to figure out how to express this compelling love to him.