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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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therewillalwaysbeapril · 5 years

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Chapter 2: Exhaust Every Possibility

The last two hours of work on a Friday night was always slow. This particular Friday in February was particularly so. Every wireframe has been made, every mockup polished. On the other side of the otherwise quiet office, coworkers were laughing over cat videos on Youtube. Others were playing ping pong in the lounge. I drummed my fingers morosely on the desk and sat back in my chair with a sigh as I closed the last window, wondering how best to occupy myself before closing time. The sky outside was a vibrant combination of fire orange and pale blue-gray hues as I observed the slow-moving rush hour lights in streets below from the fiftieth floor office. It was going to be a long weekend, certainly one of occasion, with Valentine’s Day and Presidents Day packed together. I could already feel the waves of frustration emanating from the already worse-than-usual downtown Los Angeles traffic underneath. Sulking, I picked up my phone to see if there was anything interesting to read.

“How are you holding up, champ?” It was Lars. “Ugh.”, I texted back. I walked into an empty office to pick up as the phone rang.

•••

Lars had been one of my closest friends since we were 4 years old. Our families lived next to one another in the same apartment complex in the early years that we lived in America. As both sets of our parents earned more money, they agreed to move into the same neighborhood. We spent our entire childhood together, attending the same schools from grades two to twelve, and celebrating each holiday at one another’s houses. Also an only child, Lars was the closest I had to a brother.

He had always been good at adopting a carefree attitude toward life, in stark contrast to my often neurotic and fastidious tendencies. At times superficial, other times genuinely confident, Lars liked to believe that he always had life figured out. Always calm, collected, and cool under pressure, Lars worked for his parents’ business and lived at home with them. No — to describe him as ‘working for’ his parents would not be appropriate; Lars handled many of their family business’ day-to-day e-commerce operations. It was a seemingly high stress job, requiring him to perform risk analysis as well as plan out long term sales strategies in addition to wrangling large scale transactions on Amazon. However, every time we met, Lars would never be without a song in his heart and a skip in his step. He lived comfortably with his parents and their two dogs in their large house, was never in want for money, and went mountain biking on the weekends. What was there to worry about?

Like many siblings, we could not have been more different as children. I had always had few friends and preferred to keep to myself. Lars had always been a social butterfly, avidly involved in sports in high school and always invited to parties. As adults, we rediscovered a friendship and a closeness that was amplified by our differences. Perhaps it was this dissimilarity that made for the best conversations as we met for beers every week or so at the same pub in Uptown Whittier. There was somehow always something new to be learned over drinks.

If Lars had any vice that he regularly indulged, it was dating. No, more like, womanizing. Or, rather, the kind of sport-fucking, by-the-numbers approach to romance. That mentality notwithstanding, it was clear that most of the time the women he courted knew what they were getting, and Lars was genuinely happy. Plus, it made for incredibly entertaining stories as we drank our beers every week. He was a smarter Joey Tribbiani, a more-but-not-quite wholesome Barney Stinson. His stories fascinated me; the women Lars would go out with were very different than the ones I dated.

Even though my dating history was extremely short, I tended to slant toward a very definite type — more wholesome girls, preferably those who spoke Chinese (in the hope they could get along with my parents). The girls I dated often came from creative backgrounds and were somewhat shy and reserved. I do not go looking for these types of girls on purpose, but after many tipsy conversations, the two of us realized that somehow I had a “type” that I was drawn to that was, likewise, drawn to me as well. Lars, however, was a force of nature when he dated. He seemed to go out with every type of woman who would say yes — given they fulfilled his standards of attractiveness and physique.

Our love lives were often the topic of conversation that year during our bar sessions. It had been an interesting year for me, that year before I had met April. A 24 year old virgin at the time, I decided it was the year I wanted to find love. All my life, I had been encouraged to focus only on my studies. As a young adult I looked around at my friends and realized that most of them had found partners in life. Playing third wheel to others for so long, I began to feel increasingly lonely and also wished to experience what it is like to be loved and cared for. However, as all undertakings, it was easier said than done. The road to April was filled with obstacle courses, frustration, and games. As I yearned to learn what it was like to love, I also learned along the way lessons of what it felt to be stood up, ghosted, played with, or straight up lied to. Love is kind, patient, and pure — dating, however, was very much a game. More often than not, it was a game of deception, power imbalances, and procedure. And as all games, dating required strategy. Lars took it upon himself, as an older sibling, to impart to me some of his ‘wisdom’.

However, in the end, love is always pure. I learned that it is not something that can ever be forced. If there is no chemistry with another, it can never be helped. To our first date, April arrived an hour late. The smiling, breezy girl in the lavender tinged plaid dress holding a yellow ice cream cone from the dating profile was nowhere in sight. Instead, toward me awkwardly walked, with her hands behind her back, a short tomboy. She wore a dusty gray hoodie and dirty sneakers. Her hair was tied back in a knot so tight that she looked masculine. Bits of dust speckled her head and glasses. April’s forehead looked slightly greasy as she put a hand on her stomach and asked if we could eat something soupy. It was her time of the month and not only was she cold and tired, but she was beginning to develop a tummy ache. She was definitely NOT my type.

In my dating life, I had one rule for myself; I never eat soupy foods on the first date. It often looks unflattering and feels incredibly awkward. Eating something messy while at the same time attempting to create a good first impression to the pretty thing across from you was not my idea of a fun experience for either participant. That night, I broke my rule. As we slurped our noodles loudly together, I was surprised how carefree I felt in her presence. It was as if we had already known each other before. There was something uncannily familiar in April’s company. In the weeks that followed, there were no games, no strategy needed. When I wanted to text her, I never waited. If I felt eager to see her, I told her I wanted to see her. From time to time we would even plan dates two hours beforehand, simply because we genuinely wanted to be with one another. It was natural. And slowly without realizing, I began to fall in love with her.

Initially, I refrained from professing my feelings. Why should I? There is no reason to. I’m happy the way I was with whatever this is. What if this was just another game? I held my tongue. Even when she told me she was falling in love with me. “I care about you too”, I said.

“NO! No, no, no! When a girl says she loves you, you should NEVER answer with anything but ‘I love you too’!” Lars was a little shocked that week as we drank. “I don’t know”, I said. Taciturn on the matter I would remain. Right up until April crashed her car.

Sprinting through the dingy West Hollywood body shop that the twisted husk of her Mini Cooper was towed to, having blown off the rest of my workday and spent an hour driving like a madman through LA traffic to find her, I was in cold sweat as I spotted April sitting alone in the waiting room. “Everything is going to be ok”, I said, as she stared blankly later that night. “I love you. Everything is going to be alright. You’re safe now.”

•••

Four months later, we celebrated Chinese New Year. This cycle, the Lunar New Year began one week before Valentine’s Day. Obviously amused by this, April sent me on a mission: Buy red underwear for her at Target. Traditionally it is good luck to wear red through Chinese New Year’s day.

“You’re kidding, right?”, I said as I choked on my coffee that morning. “Nope, I’m serious! Buy me red underwear, and buy a pair for yourself too! And make sure they’re ones that actually fit — you know I don’t like the baggy boxers you wear” With that, April flashed me a mischievous smirk as I grimaced in cold sweat. This did not seem to be up for discussion anymore. “I’ll be right here”, she giggled from the bed as she pulled the covers up to her waist and propped open her laptop.

At Target, I nervously shuffled over to the women’s undergarments department. My palms began to sweat profusely. The smooth jazz blaring over the PA system did nothing to calm me. As casually as I could, I might have even whistled along with the jazz, I waded through the jungle of bras. “Red….red...where is….red” I caught a glimmer of something that was a scandalous hue of carmine, out of the corner of my eye. It was a thin, lacy pair of red skimpy panties. Bingo. Satisfied, I began to fantasize of April’s slender, delicate frame wearing the underwear until — it was rudely interrupted by another thought: will the person at the counter judge me for my purchase? Am I a pervert? Will April think I’m a pervert?”

Feeling panicked, I turned away, nearly colliding with an elderly Chinese woman standing behind me. “S-sorry…”, I stammered. The lady looked at me, looked at the heinous item in my hands, and smiled warmly. “H-h-happy Chinese New Y-year!”, I exclaimed, backing away, as I cast the disgraceful evidence of my shame off into a nearby pile.

“What…is…...this? Is that- is that a MINION!?”

April stared incredulously at the spoils of my adventure. “I don’t know! I tried!”, I retorted as April picked it up and examined it. It was a small pair of panties, undoubtedly red. On the front was a yellow cartoon character. It looked cheerful and silly not unlike its intended wearer. On the back, in bright lemon yellow block letters read “DESPICABLE ME”.

“Hey! Before I wear it...You get to try it on first!” “WHAT!? No—

The phone rang. It was her mother.

Shushing me, April ushered me out of the room as she picked up the call. I sat on the couch in the living room. I had forgotten to take my own phone. I laid down and stared at the popcorn on the ceiling as I waited. From the couch, I heard raucous exclamations of Happy New Year in Taiwanese back and forth. Little by little, April’s voice grew more quiet and more serious. Something was wrong.

The conversation lasted over an hour. There was a deafening stillness afterward.

I reentered the room to find a dour, gloomy April. She looked pale and fearful.

“What if I had to go back to Taiwan after I graduate this year?”, she said. “Well, you do deserve a break. Hey, we can even take a trip together; I haven't used any of my vacation days —” “I meant for good.” “Oh.”

Tears began to form in her eyes. Her mouth trembled and opened to speak, but stopped. She took a breath.

“I mean...could you maybe take a short break? Have you considered what your post graduation plans could be?”, I asked. “Then, I’ll still have to go eventually. What do we do…?”

I felt something warm and salty on my face. It was wet. My mouth began to twitch as well.

“Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”, she said. I felt her hand on the back of my head. It was warm and slightly sweaty. I held her closer, wiping a fresh tear off of her cheek.

“Stay.”, I whispered. “What did you say?”, she said, barely audible, fighting a sniffle.

“I don’t want to see you go...”, I said. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I don’t know.”

•••

“So how are you holding up, champ? Is everything okay?”

I snapped back to reality, in the empty conference room. It was now completely dark outside. Most of the other employees have gone home. The office was now dead quiet. The phone began to feel warm against my slightly sweaty face.

“I don’t know Lars. I’m trying not to think about it, I guess. I’m hoping planning Valentine’s Day stuff might make me feel better, but not really?” “I know. Nothing can drown it out.” “Kind of wish she never picked up that phone, but I guess that’s a stupid thing to wish. It would be selfish to ask her to stay here wouldn’t it? Her family is in Taiwan…” “It must be tough. How does the impending, inevitable fate of the relationship feel on you though?” “It sucks! I don’t know what else to say. It’s bullshit...I’m sorry...this is so embarrassing...maybe I would have been happier doing what you do? I didn’t sign up for this...I thought I had found the one, and it would be just roses from here. It feels unfair. I feel like I won the lottery and then I found out I have to give the money back…”

I heard an audible sigh.

“I know how you feel.”, said Lars. “How could you kno– No. You mean...Lorraine?!”, I replied.

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“What happened?”, I asked.

“She had to go back home. We both graduated that June, but it was time for her to move home to Texas afterward...a few weeks was all I had. It was so hard, man. I didn’t want to watch her go, but, there it is, she had to go.” “So...what — what did you do? Did you guys break up immediately? Did you stay together until the very last moment…?

“I remember our last day together. It was bright and sunny out. I was helping her get her stuff cleaned up all week. We met at a coffee shop and just talked. And talked. We must have sat there for hours, I just didn’t want to go.

She didn’t want to go either. So, we left and walked over to a grassy slope where our cars were parked. And then we kissed and hugged and chatted some more — I don’t even remember what we were talking about. After a while the sun was beginning to go down, and it was time.

I walked her back to her car, and we kissed one last time, and I went back to my car. I could still see her sitting there and she could see me too. Neither of us wanted to drive away. I could see she was still crying sitting there in her car. Eventually, we just had to go. I forgot how long that took…”

“You loved her! Couldn’t you have tried long dis—” “Long distance doesn’t work! It just doesn’t. Don’t even try it man. You’re in a world of hurt if you do. It just doesn’t work!”

“....Do you guys still talk?”

Another sigh. I could tell this conversation was taking its toll on Lars. I have never heard such weariness from him.

“She drunk dialed me a few times. One time I picked up and she told me all about how she was still in love blah blah blah. I couldn’t do much except comfort her...but we can’t go back. Other times it was voicemail. I heard less and less from her as the years gone by and now I don’t hear from her anymore” “I don’t want this. What can I do? There’s got to be something I can do.”

“Just make sure...exhaust... every possibility. Like, really make sure.” “Every...possibility..”, I repeated. “Lars, do you still love her?”

“I guess...there’s the truth of it”, he said. “Look, even if you’re not IN love with her, you’ll always LOVE her. Always.”

•••

Later that night I waited for April to finish her class. She gets out at 9:45: it would be another hour. I walked across the lawn in front of the UCLA Broad Art building, zipping up my hoodie. It was beginning to get chilly. The only sound I heard is the slow chirping of insects in the trees. I was beginning to feel tired as well; it had been a long drive from the office downtown. The Mini Cooper was back in the shop again. After waiting months for repair, April drove the newly rebuilt vehicle just a few days only for the engine light to come on again. The spark plugs needed replacing.

Purchasing a cup of coffee from a vending machine, I walked up the stairwell to the floor where April must be. I saw her through an open door. Warm light flooded out from the classroom into the dark, pale sepia hallway. She saw me and winked. Smiling, I made my way outside, leaning against the sixth-floor balcony. It was very dark outside. The wind whistled through the bars as my jacket flapped against a beam.

“Exhaust every possibility”, I whispered to myself. Tomorrow will be another day, I thought. Another day we may have together.

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therewillalwaysbeapril · 5 years

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Chapter 3: The Alaskan Desert

The linseed oil gave off a strange odor as April poured it into the small plastic casino coin bucket. The viscous, honey colored liquid made vulgar noises as it hit the plastic bottom, folding in on itself, bubbles forming on the surface. The smell was one that reeked of a mixture of stale fish, imitation pine scents, and peat. Its acrid fumes irritated my nasal passages, burning them as my face involuntarily twitched and my eyes began to water.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing a mask for this?” I enunciated my words with half-forced annoyance and disgust, carefully hiding my concern.

“Nope.”

Clouds began to form outside over the gray January day. The windows whistled as a breeze poked through a crack in the shutter. Light pitter-patters filtered through the ceiling as the neighborhood squirrels began to seek shelter; a storm was on its way.

Nimble and wiry, her well-practiced fingers skillfully began to pour red chalk into the pail. As the red powder began to run out, April hesitated for a moment, then reached for the container of blue. Colored dust began to lightly cloud, bringing a slightly ethereal quality to its immediate surrounding. April swirled the mixture confidently and deliberately. It began to take on a muddy shade of reddish brown ochre. With a palette knife, she began to lob the newly made oil paint onto the canvas in large, generous chunks. A bizarre desert scene of grime and clay began to take form, dripping with muck.

“I thought this was supposed to be Alaska. Where’s all the snow?”

Wiping the palette knife, she dropped it back onto the table with a clatter. “Oil paint is expensive. I’m just using this homemade junk for the bottom layer”

“So, are we going to talk about this?”

“What is there to talk about? I’m busy.”

“You know exactly what this is about. I could just leave if you don’t want me here.”

“Of course I want you here. I told you, I always want you next to me. Anyway, let’s eat.”

She briskly stood up and switched off the light, giving me a dry kiss as she walked out of the dark room. Hesitating, I followed.

•••

The arid hazel colored landscape was cracked in some places, with the overall texture of tree bark. April silently scratched at the surface with a dry paintbrush, adding bits of blue and white little by little. The room was completely quiet aside from rough scraping noises of April’s brush. She sat wordlessly on the floor cross-legged in front of the massive 6 foot wide canvas, only pausing to clean her brush every fifteen minutes or so. I also sat on the floor in the corner of the room, atop an old understuffed pillow, working on my laptop. It has been three days since the two of us stretched canvas over the thin frame April built from plywood that we purchased from a nearby Home Depot. The mud colored impasto layer of home made oil paint has dried and she has decided to begin applying the first layer of color.

“By the way, I’m sorry.”

April continued lightly applying the white paint without looking up, making light scratching noises that seemed to harmonize in rhythm with the ticking wall clock.

“I just wanted some sense of control, ok?” She paused for a moment, picking up the tube of white and squeezing a small amount directly onto her brush not unlike applying toothpaste.

“Okay, maybe I can kind of get it, the part where you started hiding the ball date pictures. And maybe you blocking my friends on Facebook too. But going around telling people you’re ‘technically single’?! What the hell is up with that?”

“I don’t know, alright?! Shit…” Grabbing a rag, April irately rubbed the spot on the floor that had been freshly stained with paint. Cursing, she tried to compose herself as she folded the rag neatly into a square and set it back on the table.

“Well do you want to be with me? Do you really love me?”

“Yes!”

“But...you were happier telling people you were single…?”

“I wasn’t sure okay?”

“Of—”

“Like, I love you so much but what if I got with you, which I did, and made it Facebook official and then all my friends saw and then we end up breaking up right after and then I have to change it back to single and thats so embarrassing!”

She stopped painting and turned around, her face a sudden shade of vibrant vermillion. “And it wasn’t just any ball! It was the Taiwan Airforce Christmas Ball! You have to be invited! Do you know how long the waitlist for something like that is? I barely even know the guy I went with! He’s my friend’s friend and I would’ve much rather it had been you!”

April paused and took a breath. She was clearly angry now.

“I just hid them from you on Facebook because you were so annoyed about it and I just wanted some breathing room!”

“Well that still doesn’t make it okay! Did you have to act so shady about it? Is this what happened between you and Levon—”

I knew I shouldn’t have said that. Immediately April stormed out of the room in the direction of the garage, stomping more loudly than I thought physically possible for someone of her petite frame.

“I’ll be back, I just want some air.”

It was dark when April returned. I sat in the living room with the lights off, glowering, drinking the scotch she had given me as a gift the week prior. It was a bottle of 16 year old Lagavulin — a generously flavored whisky that burned with a powerful taste of not only peat and oak, but also sweet scents of figs and vanilla. Complex, like this girl whose turbulent temper I have only just discovered. The stillness was abruptly cut by the sound of the garage door opening and the pippy rattling of the damaged Mini Cooper’s engine as it parked. Angry footsteps stomped up the stairs. The door slammed shut.

The door was locked.

“Go away.”

I knocked.

“Go away I’m eating fries!”

I paused for a moment, unsure of what to say.

“I want fries too…”

The door opened. April’s hair was extremely messy, flyaways in all directions. Ungracefully, she shoved a paper bag into my arms. IN-N-OUT BURGER, it said in large friendly red letters.

“I’m still mad at you.”, she said.

“Then why are there two orders of fries?” I gently put a hand on her shoulder.

April abruptly pulled me into a tight hug, burying her face in my shirt. After a long while she gave me a kiss.

“You shouldn’t drink when you’re mad.” she said. “You drink too much. I don’t like it when my dad drinks either.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned Levon. I know you had your problems with him.”

We ate our fries in silence as April continued scratching white paint onto the muddy surface. The bottom half of the painting was now a rocky white, still unfinished, but unmistakably a chunky, snowy terrain with indications of dirt, bootprints, and even a slight reflection of clouds. It was still somewhat translucent; the muddy bottom layers still peeked through and disturbed the surface, dirtying the texture.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” I could only see her back as she painted, now adding shades of blue to the upper portion of the canvas.

“I didn’t really want to be your girlfriend at first”

“Wait, what? How do you mean—”

“Well, I got in a big fight with Levon and he said he was going to go date somebody else, and I said, fine, me too! And then I went on the dating site and met you. Like, you seemed like the last person I would go out with, so I thought it would make him really mad, so I went out with you—”

“What the fuck man, you mean—”

“I didn’t lie to you! Really! We kept hanging out and I just liked you more and more, and then I guess I fell in love with you, but I didn’t really know what to do…”

I stood up and walked out of the room. April followed.

“So, you mean this was all a joke to you? I was just your punch line?!”

“Come on. No. Of course it wasn’t like that!”

“I thought I had found someone truly special, April. I guess I was wrong”

“No, please, you have no idea! I really do love you.”

“Then why would you do something like this? Is this something you’d do to me?!”

“No! Really, you don’t know — he was such a jerk…”

We sat down on the couch as the sounds of light rain falling pattered through the patio door.

“Like I told you before, I met him on Chatroulette a bit after high school graduation, and I really liked talking to him. He was this Armenian guy living in Sweden and he’s the same age as me and he was so nice to me and after a few months he said he was in love with me. So, I guess...he was kind of like my boyfriend? Like an online boyfriend?”

“....okay…”

“And he couldn’t decide what he wanted to study and I told him about my family wanting me to marry a doctor so he decided to pursue dental school. But he never studied well and I spent so much time trying to help him! I even look over his schoolwork for him all the time on top of my own stuff, and UCLA is really hard by the way!” April angrily grabbed a piece of chocolate from the coffee table, tearing off its wrapper.

“And then one time, he had this really important exam he was supposed to be studying for…” She chewed her candy violently, swallowing it with a loud gulp. “...and then I found out he went clubbing, and he took pictures together with so many other girls! I was so mad! I’m working so hard to help him, and he’s being such an asshole! He said he loved me and wanted to study hard and come here and take care of me, but I can’t even depend on him for something like that. It was so unfair!”

“...so you decided to go online and look for a lucky loser to make him jealous, huh? I guess that sucker was me.”

“I’m sorry…”

“And the pictures on Facebook? That was part of the ploy too?”

I sighed and stood up. “I need to think”, I said, walking back to the studio.

Over the course of the next couple of hours, April began to add more detail to her Alaskan landscape. Slowly and gradually a picture began to form. Patches of grayish white became a field of snow, clumps of blueish brown formed boulders. A red spot became a barn as a blob of brown was shaped into a moose. It was a magnificent scene, charming and cinematic. The scale of the painting was grand, bolstered by the large canvas size. However, the view was decidedly empty and desolate. It was a lonely scene, uninhabited save for the single moose and empty barn. Even the snowy mountains in the background were distant and mute, despite their artistry. As April painted, I sat next to her, reading, occasionally drifting in and out of sleep. Every now and then, she would hold my hand for a few minutes, while she painted with her right. At other times she would lean her head against my shoulder for a moment. I remained silent.

•••

The following morning, we hauled the still-wet painting downstairs. “Will this fit in your car? I can’t drive this to school in my Mini”. April looked over at my Toyota GT86. Was it a larger vehicle than her Mini Cooper Coupe? With its sweeping lines and shark-like aerodynamic styling, it was a much longer car. However, the rear hatch would be a problem. As a compact sports car, its trunk was barely four feet wide.

“Maybe we could tie it to the top?”

As the painting wobbled dangerously, teetering over the sloping roof of the 86, the car’s shark fin antenna pushed up the middle of the painting, denting it. We would have no choice but to tie it to the roof of the Mini.

“Are you sure about this? What if it rains again?” “Do you have a better idea? This painting is due tomorrow — I shouldn’t have procrastinated, but you’re the one who wanted to take me to your friend’s party last weekend” “Alright, let’s try this.”

Retrieving a roll of wax paper from the kitchen, I began to wrap the canvas as April tied and secured the knots. Leaves flew by in front of the garage.

“We’ll have to take surface roads to Westwood”, I said. “This thing’s going to blow off if we take the freeway.”

I drove slowly and wordlessly as the air whistled through the gap in the windows where we threaded the ropes. I began to feel painfully aware of the number of cracks and potholes in the road as I drove. Cars honked as they passed us by, clearly annoyed by the sluggish buggy that impeded them. An hour passed this way, with either of us holding our breath as we approached each stoplight hoping that the canvas would not tip forward.

“Can you say something?”, April asked as we drove through Echo Park on Sunset Boulevard. “What is there to say? I’m still thinking.” Traffic began to worsen, deadening to stop-and-go driving as we traveled closer to East Hollywood. Rain began to fall outside. Droplets made wandering paths as they trickled down the windshield. I felt a slight tickle on the back of my hand. April had reached out and lightly caressed it with her little finger. She looked at me and smiled.

It was a sheepish, bashful grin reminiscent of the way a child would simper at a parent at the end of a stern punishment. Against my will, I accidentally smiled back, quickly forcing it back into a frown. “I see you smiling there! Don’t try and hide it!” April grabbed my right hand and held it against her face, kissing it as I drove with my left. “I love you, okay? I really do.”

Another hour passed before we arrived at the UCLA art building. Parking in the loading bay, we unthreaded the painting and carried it up the freight elevator to the studio space. The painting was ruined. The snow was flattened in some places, pushed up against the trees and the barn in others. The blue of the sky dripped into the mountains, sullying its pristine white caps. The moose looked less like a moose and more like a melted klondike bar.

“April, I’m so sorry”, I said. “Let’s figure something out, maybe I can run over to Michael’s, find another canvas…” My voice trailed off. I was only being hopeful. She had worked on this all week long.

A strange glow appeared on April’s face. A smile so warm that it was as the heaters had come on in this empty Sunday classroom studio. “Sit tight, give me twenty minutes.” Grabbing a set of palette knives, she got to work, setting the painting on the floor and carving away. Within fifteen minutes the painting began to take form and definition again and by the time I returned with coffee, it was even better than before.

“Good as new”, she said. “Nothing that can’t be fixed!”

The rain continued to fall outside.

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therewillalwaysbeapril · 5 years

Text

Chapter 4: Sixteen Hours

6:30 AM The alarm rang abruptly in the stillness of the morning, a rude shrill noise, splintering our warm, nocturnal embrace and throwing us both into the coldness of the day.

“April, we gotta get up”, I said, mumbling as I shook off the last remnants of sleep. She groaned softly, rolling over and pulling the covers away. “Hey, get up. Geee-tta UGH-PUUUU! Get TU DA CHOPPAH!” I did my terrible Arnold Schwarzenegger impression loudly and poorly, adding in a loud grunt for full effect.

“Argh, I need muh clothes, my boots, my motorcykalll”, she said, in the same bad Austrian accent without opening her eyes. “Come ONN, do it. Do it Nah-OW!”

Stumbling out of bed, vision still blurry, and nearly tripping over the corner of the blanket now fallen to the floor, I reached over and grabbed from the basket the first item of clothing on the pile of clean laundry that we neglected to fold from the previous night. I pulled open the top drawer of her dresser and felt around for a bra. I threw both toward the bed as I made my way to the bathroom. April put on her top as she stood up. Hair a mess and eyes barely open, April exuded a dreamy, other-worldly quality as she floated from the bed to the sink wearing the dark red floral patterned shirt dress I had bought for her the weekend before. I blow dried my hair into a more presentable state and shaved as she washed her face and finished combing her hair.

I packed April’s belongings into her backpack for her, the both of us hurrying downstairs to my car. After stopping by a McDonald’s drive-thru on the way, we ate Egg McMuffins sitting in the early traffic heading toward Downtown LA. I looked at her as she opened a ketchup packet.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful!” she said, laughing as she carefully squirted the ketchup onto her hashbrown.

Briskly walking up the parking lot escalators and half-skipping across Pershing Square, April got to the bus stop just in time as the vehicle screeched to a halt. “WESTWOOD/SANTA MONICA” said the display. A quick kiss goodbye and she was off to class.

8:00 AM The office was dark as I stepped out of the elevator. Walking toward my desk, I was greeted by lights flickering on as motion sensors began to stir. Fresh cup of coffee in hand, I left the kitchen for the far side of the floor toward my favorite viewing spot.

The Los Angeles morning was peaceful when viewed from high above. Cars moved slowly down Broadway; I could hear their distant honking noises in the early rush hour. Construction workers below near Third Street walked carrying their equipment, passing by the shops just beginning to open in Grand Central Market. From my hawk’s nest I saw a cyclist zipping down Grand Avenue past the Museum of Contemporary Art, in front of which a food truck was beginning to set up shop. My breath and the steam from my coffee fogged the glass as I stepped closer to look at the crowd of people gathering by the Broad. The early light bathed my city in a warm amber glow, thawing its sleepy commuters as a new workday began. Flecks of gold and saffron twinkled as the dawn bounced from the stirring skyscrapers and automobiles, blinding me. I, too, was beginning to wake as I finished my coffee.

With my headphones on, back at my desk, I continued sketching out the wireframe concepts from the day before. Wireframes are the foundation of plotting out designs for interactive products such as apps and websites. They are a high level way of designing ways in which someone can use a product and the organization for which types of information and interaction appears on which screen, before a designer has to focus on the finer details such as animations, visual appearances, and the style of smaller items such as buttons. Even though the other designers created wireframes in programs I was also familiar with such as Adobe XD or Sketch, I always took great care in sketching out early ideas neatly on paper. I felt there was a purity in shaping ideas away from a computer, a kind of humility in making things with my hands.

8:30 AM The office is still dim as I make myself a second cup of coffee. This was one of those sluggish days; I felt slow to start, and was glad to still be the only person in the office. There was less pressure this way. I returned to my desk and cleaned up my lines with an eraser, reinforcing others with a Sharpie. Boxes with crisscrosses represented images, various other shapes representing icons and call-to-actions. Simple line patterns signified text, clearly showing the underlying grid to the layout. Adding final touches, I drew an outline of an iPhone over all of the screens before using a green colored pen to create the markings that showed how a user interacted and navigated from screen to screen. I felt pride for the cleanliness of my draft, as I never knew whether the second draft in the computer would be made by myself or a different designer. Finished, and satisfied with my work, I walked over to the simple Kanban board on the far wall and moved the task’s corresponding post-it note from the column labeled “in work” to the column labeled “done”.

Aside from a few coworkers from accounting, the floor was still mostly deserted. Sitting back and listening to the rest of Bach’s Goldberg Variations on my headphones, I fidgeted at my desk for a while. Impatient, I walked back over to the job board and grabbed one of the tasks from the column labeled “backlog” and moved it to “in work”. This should keep me occupied, I thought.

10:00 AM Standup was always kind of fun. Normally I have always preferred to work alone, with headphones on, lost in thought as I built designs and mockups, in an almost-meditative state of flow. However, I liked my coworkers very much, and it was also nice to see everyone at the beginning of the day and update one another on our work progress in the morning as we created the pieces of our product together. I enjoyed this kind of organized interaction that afforded me boundaries and space to create.

<Walalala..>, texted April. It was her way of greeting. Warm and cheerful, albeit at times a little silly, it was a greeting that I had come to love. It would also be a salutation I would receive less and less over time until I would not see it at all. <What you doing?>, she added.

<Lol. You should pay attention! I’m pretty tired too. I don’t think I woke up yet>

<Haha, I miss you a little too.>

<Pfft, you still need me to remind you?>

<Ha, you should pay attention in class. Your mom will kill me if you fail because of me>

11:00 AM Sketches spread out on the table before me, I began to create the second round of digital wireframes. As much as I enjoyed sketching, this step was also one of my favorite things to do. The useful aspect having hand sketches was their looseness — from a high level perspective, during this stage there were still so many possibilities. Creating the first digital wireframe versions, despite their inherent roughness, narrowed down those possibilities. To do so felt like taking a camera lens and turning it slowly into focus. At this stage, it was not a crisp focus, but much more recognizable as a coherent direction. The process was therapeutic as it was methodical; moving through it step by step, there was room to make improvements on the fly, perfecting each idea. However, today, my process of refinement would be interrupted by a different task.

There needed to be a version of our project for a new client, said marketing. A simple mockup of our app must be made in the style of our new client, a baseball team. The refinement of the new screen designs would have to wait. Grumbling to myself a little, I closed the program and neatly piled the sketches into my drawer.

<Heyyy, why u ignoring me?>

<Sorry, some other stuff came up at work>

<I’m sorry. Would you feel better if you ate something? What are you gonna get for lunch?>

<Expensive grass, haha>. “Expensive grass” was April’s name for salad. They always cost more than they should, she would remark.

<btw…>

<what’s wrong?> Nothing good ever happened when April said “by the way”.

<We’re not breaking up. We can make this work>

12:00 PM It is lunchtime. Mood now sour, I didn’t feel like leaving the building. After informing my deskmates that I was taking my lunch break, I grabbed a stale bagel from the kitchen and microwaved it with a slice of cheese. Taking that and a diet soda from the fridge, I returned to my viewing corner.

We had only recently moved into the forty fourth floor of the building from six floors above. The company had now grown bigger and the fiftieth floor was not enough space. However, it was only the design, marketing, and accounting teams on this floor, leaving most of it empty. In fact, we only occupied one corner, leaving the other three quiet and deserted. I enjoyed taking walks around the empty areas, sometimes even bringing my cello to work and practicing in one of the empty rooms during breaks. Today though, I only wanted to look outside and think.

Now midday there was visible smog in the Los Angeles air. Protestors were forming on Grand Avenue. I looked closer, curious as to the reason for this group. I could not make out the writing on their signs. A car accident was visible further down on the 2nd Street intersection, blocking it off. The authorities closed off one of the lanes, backing up traffic. A bus awkwardly took up both lanes as it attempted to merge into the available space. An adjacent driver made a rude hand gesture out of his window. I sighed, feeling exhausted as I learned against the wall near the window. I sat on the floor as I drank my soda and looked out of the floor to ceiling window, thinking. The conversation I thought of was not with April, but one with someone else, from a different day, in a different language.

•••

<Yeah, I took her to the airplane museum the other day.>

<Well, she kept asking me to stay over, and then I had to stay with her after she crashed her car. Lately though, she tells me she just doesn’t like it when I’m away. It feels weird, but I’m really happy with her and I love her, so I guess I’m not complaining. She’s been coming to work with me and taking the bus to school too>

<Hey, you should pace yourself. All couples need their space from time to time.>

<Maybe? Sometimes I go to work and five minutes after I leave she texts me that she misses me. I think she’s very sweet.>

<Okay, I’m just looking out for you. What if she turns out to be one of those possessive types?>

<Hey! I knew it!! Is that why you didn’t answer any of my calls or texts last winter in China?>

<Sorry. I guess it’s just weird, what happened between us.>

<Well, nothing happened between us!>

<I know! Well, I don’t know. You are one of my best friends, and what happened affected me very deeply. It may have been nothing to you, but it was definitely something to me.

<I’m sorry about that. I really am. I was as confused as you too. I never meant to be cruel. I hurt you, and I ended up hurting myself too.>

<I’m glad we’ve moved past it and we’re still friends>

<Yes, I remember. And I will keep my word. I just need to figure this out. She’ll come around eventually. I really think the two of you would become great friends.>

<Well, you gotta figure it out eventually, because this is just awkward what you’re doing>

•••

1:00 PM I snapped back to reality as my phone alarm went off. It was time to go back to work.

The caffeine was beginning to wear off. Still debating whether or not I should have a third cup of coffee, I flipped through the Android Material Design Guidelines online, pondering what visual branding treatments were acceptable within Google’s design parameters. Writing down the correct color hex values on a notepad, I began to change colors on app elements in Photoshop, reskinning the interface. The phone beeped again, as another text message arrived from April.

<I’m sorry. I want to stay with you too. But I’m so worried>

<About what?>, I answered.

<Yeah, but what if we DO break up eventually? You’re not a doctor and I’m supposed to marry a doctor.>

I stopped working. Taking off my glasses, I sat back in my chair, rubbing my forehead. I was getting very tired.

, I texted back.

<There’s nothing wrong with what I do. I am a designer and I’m good at it. I make a decent salary and I like my life>

<It’s different>

<Well that’s just your viewpoint. We’re just different, I guess>. I saved my work and walked to an empty conference room.

<Why do you even love me?>, I texted. My thumbs began to sweat. Typing was becoming difficult.

<I’m getting back to work>

I stomped back to my desk, angrily chucking my empty soda can into a nearby wastepaper basket. A couple of coworkers stared.

3:00 PM For the next two hours, I tried my best to focus on creating more animations. More interactions. I compared the mockups I made against the Android and Apple guidelines. So far, so good. Sending the finished mockups back to marketing, I went back to the kitchen and made myself the third cup of coffee.

I chugged the hot beverage, nearly searing my throat. I went back to designing the wireframes. There were only three hours left in the workday, and I originally wanted to have had this perfected at the end of the day.

<Are you done with class yet?>. There was no answer from April.

Frustrated, I placed my phone face down on the table and returned to the designs. These have to get done, I thought. So little time. Fuming, I angrily threw the boxes together on the computer screen, connecting the button hotspots together as violently as someone could inside a digital space.

“Hey are you ok?”. It was Julie, who sat across from me behind my monitor. “I can hear you breathing from here”

“I’m fine”, I said. I sat back in my chair and looked at what I’ve made. It was sloppy and nowhere near the level of detail that I have been known for around the office.

“Take a break man. I just got an email that we have until the end of the week for these screens now”

“Oh…”

“Yeah. You can just chill”

“I think I’m gonna take a walk then.”

4:00 PM I looked at my watch as I waited in the elevator. Who does she think she is, I thought. So what if I’m not a doctor? Life can’t only be about status. I was so mad. That is such a shallow way of thinking! And it wasn’t me who started all this. I was just minding my own business working. She was the one who had to bring up Taiwan, and her parents’ crazy expectations for who she should be dating.

I walked outside briskly in the shade of the tall buildings. It was much louder now that I left the lobby. A street performer was beating a drum across the intersection. A crazy person was yelling about the end of times on the other corner. Good. Noisy enough that no one could see how angry I was.

And I hated the way she texted. How am I supposed to always be at her beck and call? I have a job to do; I can’t be there to simply answer every time she worries about crazy hypotheticals. I was doing fine today, I should’ve simply not answered. And now that she’s finished ruining my day, she’s stopped texting and has gone back to whatever she’s doing leaving me to pick up the pieces. Every single month, we have to have some fight about something completely stupid like this. Every single month —

Oh.

April had complained about being tired. April had experienced stomach pains during class. I counted the days since the last time I remembered similar complaints. There were many things I remembered for her. April could be so forgetful.

“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight….”, I counted in my head. I knew what she was going to need.

I stopped at the Rite Aid on 5th and Broadway. Quickly making my way through the aisles, I picked up a pack of Ibuprofen, a box of what appeared to be feminine pads, and a bottle of water. The cashier handed me the items in a paper bag after I made my purchase. Strolling further south, I began to think about what transpired.

Did she really mean all that she said? Perhaps a deeper question was, WHICH of what she said did she actually mean? You can’t tell someone you love them for who they are but also want to change them, I thought. Girls just say crazy things during their time of month right? I checked my phone.

Still no answer.

This is bad, I thought. Perhaps I was too harsh. Her car is in working condition. She chose to take the bus because she genuinely wanted to spend time with me. And now she’s probably on the bus home, in pain. All for me. I’m such a jerk, I thought.

Ducking into Bottega Louie on 7th, I bought a box of half dozen French macarons. They were rather pricey, but came in a beautiful box and were, I had heard, delicious. The small rigid box was not unlike jewelry packaging, with beautiful calligraphy and gold speckles dotted throughout its powder purple surface. It was a small gift that was sure to brighten up anyone who was having a less than perfect day.

6:30 PM The workday was now over as I closed my work laptop and packed away my things. The bus from UCLA arrived as I waited on a bench in Pershing Square.

“Hey what took you so long?”, I asked as I took April’s bag from her.

“I had the most horrible day!” she said.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize I sounded so mean—

“No, not you! My period started and I forgot to bring pads so I had to use tissues. And my phone died, and then the bus had to take a detour. So I needed to get off and wait for another bus, but I couldn’t use Google Maps and I’m so tired and I just want something to eat”

“Well, first things first I guess”

I handed her the box of macarons and discreetly showed her what was in the paper bag. “Let’s find a bathroom,” I said.

She looked into the paper bag. She looked at me. She started giggling, the happiest I’ve seen her all week.

“What? What is it?”

“Have you never bought pads before?”

“Well, no, but I figured you needed them. Was I right?”

“Those are panty liners, not pads!”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay, I’ll be alright. Cmon, let’s eat”

•••

8:30 PM After April had a chance to change, I took her to a nearby Hong Kong styled cafe. It would be nice to have some porridge, she said.

As we sat down and waited for our food, by reflex I folded April’s chopstick wrapper into an origami chopstick stand, as I have always done since our first date. I looked out the window into the dark.

The San Gabriel traffic outside was a lot calmer compared to the city. It was quiet and I could just make out the sounds of crickets. A high school couple walked out of the boba shop across the street, laughing to themselves, carefree. An elderly man picked out a newspaper from a box near the entrance. I felt a soft caress on my forearm.

April handed me a crudely folded flower made from a chopstick holder.

“I’m sorry about today. I keep forgetting how to fold that fancy origami, but I want to thank you for taking care of me.”

She smiled the familiar funny smile.

•••

9:30 PM As we walked in the darkness at a nearby park, digesting our meal, I stayed quiet. How can I make all nights like tonight?, I thought. Is there really an expiration date to our happiness?

Perhaps reading my mind, April said, “I don’t know what we’ll do if I really have to leave…”

I looked at her and kissed her forehead.

“Whatever”, she added. “If I have to go back to Taiwan, I guess I’ll just get another boyfriend, and it’ll be a doctor this time! HA HA!”

I did not laugh.

I let go of her hand and walked a few paces ahead, sullen.

“I’m kidding!” April grabbed my arm. “I really do love you, alright?”

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