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therewillalwaysbeapril · 4 years

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Chapter 1: The Girl With the Funny Smile

It was one of the best days of my life. I had been dating April a little less than three months at the time. Her birthday was coming up, and it was also the last weekend that I would get to spend with her before she will travel to Taiwan for winter break. I wanted to take her out on a very special date before she left.

A few days before, I made a reservation for breakfast at a nearby hotel that I would often see pictures of friends taking their significant others to on social media. The night before, on a Friday after work, I quickly drove home and retrieved the Tory Burch handbag that I have been planning to give her for Christmas. “When will you be here?”, she texted, clearly anxious to see me. “In a bit — just got off work”, I replied, as I hurried back to her place. The purse was supposed to be a surprise. I received a surprise of my own when I arrived. “Merry Christmas!”, she exclaimed, taking a beautiful Armani wristwatch out of its hiding place and presenting it to me.

“How did you find the time?” She must have had to take the bus and spend all day commuting; she had totaled her car in an accident a week ago and I had been staying at her place and driving her to and from school. April smiled slyly and said “I have my ways” as she hugged me.

That night, I met her mother for the first time. “I can’t say I like you yet. We only marry doctors. But thank you for helping my daughter”, she said. It was obvious that she does not approve of the daughter from a family of doctors dating a lowly designer. Dejected after the video call, I leaned against the far wall of her room, feeling like an intruder in her home. “You belong here”, April insisted, hugging me tightly as we fell asleep. “I love you so much, you belong here with me. I love you.”

That Saturday morning, I awoke to see April’s familiar sleeping smirk. As we got out of bed, she put on a pretty navy blue dress, some light makeup, and wore her special blue contacts, saying that this is an occasion to dress up for. It was a short, sleeveless dress that extended down to her knees. She wore a pair of high-heeled, brown leather Tory Burch boots to match her new purse. As she skipped to the garage, April looked like a cheerful movie character, in a morning that felt straight out of a rom-com. We held hands as I drove us the short but unfamiliar way to the fancy hotel. Later, I would learn that it was nowhere near as fancy as the nicer places that April would often frequent with her parents. But that day, she was still genuinely excited and overjoyed to celebrate her birthday in this way. During the car ride, April borrowed my phone and played an album by Carla Bruni.

The music was quite fitting — quaint, mellow, sweet. The sounds of soft guitar and French lullabies accompanied us as we made our way through the long driveway. She proudly wore her new purse walking to the table. I still remember the beaming way April smiled at me as we sat down. This would become a memory that in the years after this has always shepherded me through some of the darkest moments.

It was bright and tender. Almost childlike in its innocence. It felt timeless, even. Because, looking at this smile, one feels no baggage of past worries or any fear of future troubles. It was a smile that made me feel like everything would be ok. It was the smile that stopped time. Every time I think back to it, that bright-eyed glance would become the perfect drug to me, the most dangerous intoxication.

•••

“I like going out, eating, and traveling. I am a materialistic person. So love it or hate me lol...Not every person can handle my personality so read carefully if you care...I’m a very straightforward person, I don’t like going around edges, implying, hinting, or pretending. Yes is yes, no is no.”

It was by far the bluntest, uncompromising, honest — if not slightly obtuse self-summary I have ever read. Immediately, I was intrigued. I just had to get to know this funny person. I met April on an online dating site. She was one of the first girls I messaged and, having very little dating experience, I totally struck out with her. A week went by, but I still thought of the girl with a slightly lopsided smile and the interesting profile.

In her picture, she wore a plaid, purple dress and held a massive, precariously balanced yellow ice cream cone. Tucked underneath her arm, she carried a large box of Taiwanese fruitcake. She didn’t have a face that would be considered classically beautiful by traditional standards, but it was not unattractive either. There was a sly, almost mischievous quality to her expression. As for her features, on their own, it was almost as if they had been collected from disparate sources. Her nose looked slightly too wide, and she had an oversized mouth. Her eyes were two different sizes. But that misshapened little smile had life. She looked at the camera as if to say, I am happy, and I don’t care what you think. A week later, I tried again. This time, she answered. After a round of back and forth, as I jokingly picked a fight with her, she agreed to meet me for dinner the following day.

Many weeks later, after seeing one another every single night, April became my first girlfriend. She was the first girl whose hand I ever held. That night, as we walked around a college campus in Pasadena, I nervously grabbed her hand. Trying to act natural, I swung my arms as I walked, immediately making a fool of myself. She laughed and grinned at me as I awkwardly told her I’ve never done this before.“Good job!”, yelled out a student from across the street as April giggled comically in her almost cartoonishly adorable high pitched voice.

Our first kiss was no less cumbersome. As we returned to her apartment after my drunken birthday party where I introduced her to my friends for the first time, we sat on the couch and talked until April interrupted, “When are you going to kiss me?” Funnily enough, neither of us had ever kissed anyone at that point.

“Should we look at tutorial videos online?”, she said.

“What’s that?”

Giggling, she opened up Youtube, and proceeded to search for videos of people kissing. They all involved too much tongue. Intimidated, both of us closed the laptop.

“Okay, let’s try this…”, she said. “One…”

“...two…”, I answered.

I opened my mouth, only for my lips to collide uncomfortably with hers. Our teeth made a clattering sound as they met. “Ow…”, she said. Blushing, her face turning the color of pink lemonade, twinkling from ear to ear she added “Maybe we need more practice…”

•••

Two weeks later my grandmother was dead. Grandma had been in the hospital for months, her condition worsening. I would visit her three to four times a week, to talk to her and sit by. Some days Grandma would be lucid, her eyes full of gusto as she would pester me to tell her more about the girl with the funny smile named April. Other times she barely knew where she was as I pleaded with her to eat. Grandma would tell me about her wishes for me to return to school and get a Master’s degree. After all, most of our family had been educators and university professors. “But why?” I asked. There was no need for a Master’s degree as a graphic designer. It would only be a waste of money and effort. Shaking her head, she only said it was her wish, and nothing more.

“Who are you?”, asked Grandma. April stroked grandmother’s forehead, moving a few stray hairs out of the way. Gently, she moved closer. “I am your grandson’s girlfriend!” she replied cheerfully. It was the last time I would ever speak to my grandmother. My parents, April, and I crowded around Grandma’s bed in that small hospital room. Grandma was in a dreamlike trance, being on medication. However, her eyes still retained their warmth and kindness more than ever, as she surveyed this new person sitting by her. “You’re so beautiful”, said Grandma to April. “You’re so beautiful.”

This exchange of words repeated several times. Grandma was beginning to fade, unable to remember their conversation. Never faltering, April quietly stroked grandmother’s hair each time she reintroduced herself. Grandma looked at me with that twinkle in her eye that I had known so well, and looked back at that funny smile and beamed. “Why are you two still here?”, she asked. “Don’t worry about little old me, I’m just going to rest a little”.

•••

After we finished our brunch, April spent the rest of the day with me. “Wouldn’t you be bored?”, I asked. “I don’t mind, I just want to be next to you”, she replied, closely hugging my arm. As she sat nearby during my weekly cello lesson, I noticed her tilt her head and move rhythmically to the music, clearly sunny from our morning. Her presence brightened the room; my normally stern cello instructor chuckled softly to himself as we played together, clearly amused by such an adorable, lighthearted reaction to an otherwise serious baroque etude.

It was a warm, bright California Saturday afternoon as we sauntered through quiet shops in Uptown Whittier. Exploring little boutiques, we spend a few hours posing with silly hats and taking even goofier pictures. As the cloudless sky began to darken, we ducked into my favorite bar. At that point April was not yet old enough to drink; a joke she would often make during our conversations was that I could be the one to buy her alcohol. Sheepishly, as we sat down within this bustling, merry environment she admitted she doesn’t actually enjoy drinking alcohol at all. However, she would want to have a few sips of my craft beer, out of curiosity. “I always want to try new things”, she added. “Hey, there’s something I want to do after dinner”. She then told me what she wanted to do after dinner.

Paying the bill quickly, we hurried to the car. Sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat, April grinned manically at me as I rushed back to her apartment. Unused to this silence, I asked her what’s wrong. “Nothing”, she said. “Just counting down the minutes.”

That night, as I held her in my arms, I asked if things will always be this way. It had been one of the best days of my life. “Mine too”, she said. “I hope all days can be like this”, I replied. As she drifted off to sleep, I heard softly “...but the worst fights are yet to come”, in a sad voice.

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