Funnily enough, I met Jonathan's parents before I met Jonathan.

Now that sounds a little funny, but bear with me.

Aaron, his college roommate, had been staying at his parents' house for the summer for work. Aaron and I had struck up an unlikely friendship earlier that summer, and he had asked me to help him move back into his dorm at Belhaven University. What are friends for if not to help them out by exerting lots of physical effort in disgusting weather conditions?

Aaron had mentioned Jonathan multiple times, yet I had never seen him in his own parents' home. He was this mysterious entity that was only ever talked about but never seen. And yet, on a day when I very well could've never seen him again, we met.

Jonathan's parents, who had been asking me the normal questions about who I was and how I knew Aaron, were quick to introduce Jonathan to me. Finally, I had a face to put to this person who I only knew went to Belhaven with me and played a lot of soccer and video games when he wasn't slinging sandwiches at Chick-Fil-A. We were both covered in sweat from the heat and our efforts -- me from shoving boxes into Aaron's car, him from soccer. His presence was quiet, yet steady. We exchanged pleasantries until Jonathan excused himself to change, and Aaron and I continued on our mission to get him moved into his dorm.

Jonathan continued spending all of his free time with Aaron, despite no longer living with him, which meant he spent all of his free time with me as well. We all became inseparable that semester. Plenty of nights were spent in the carport of my first off-campus house or in one of their cars, likely on some trip to get food in the middle of the night -- typical college friend group shenanigans. I had developed a bit of an on-and-off crush, but I never pursued it so I didn't risk our friendship. We had developed a routine that was, in retrospect, simple but comfortable nevertheless.

Y'know, until Aaron moved across the country to follow his girlfriend at the time, and neither of us really heard from him for a while.

Things suddenly became a lot less simple. I had no idea how to befriend only Jonathan; Aaron had been our connecting point, and he helped to fill in a lot of the conversational space that neither of us knew how to fill. Yet I was still determined to try, and with a lot of time and patience, he became one of my best friends without even needing Aaron to be there. Even as we pursued other people and continued to hang out as much as we did, our mutual friends asked us what was really happening. We still implicitly chose not to confront the elephant in the room.

And yet... You know that feeling you have when you really feel the need to say something, and it feels as if the words are trying to burst out of your mouth? And you contemplate for a bit about how to say them, but the whole time, it feels like you're about to blurt them out in the least articulate manner possible? That was how I felt about a year after Jonathan and I became friends. I was laying in bed after our almost-nightly routine of watching television after classes and work, and he had just dropped me off at home at around 2:00am. I couldn't shake that feeling that I needed to tell him how I felt.

So I texted him.

He drove back to pick me up, and then we proceeded to spend hours sitting on the curb outside of his house, "defining the relationship". Surprise, the romantic feelings were mutual, right down to the times when they were on and off. Neither of us wanted to say anything because we didn't want to create any unnecessary rifts -- after all, even though we wanted more, what we had was good enough, right?

I am so glad that almost three years ago, we chose to pursue more. Because we chose to pursue more, our friendship has grown way deeper than it ever could have before. Jonathan and I truly are partners in our relationship; we are each other's confidantes, shoulders to cry on, cheerleaders, and best friends. We have celebrated many highs and mourned in just as many lows, making weird noises and goofy faces at each other all the way through.

I wouldn't want to do this with anybody else.

Burgundy tablecloth with grey napkins? Check.

Sunflowers? Check.

Orange and vanilla scented candles? Check.

Homemade sushi dinner? Check.

Engagement ring?

I could almost feel my heartbeat against it in my shirt pocket; for a small ring, it felt like it weighed five pounds as I pulled it out.

I breathed out the shakes in my hand as I set the ring around her pair of chopsticks. The shakes returned after concealing the ring and utensils in her napkin.

Phone call. She’s on her way.

I lit the candles, shut off the lights, and closed the kitchen door to hide my handiwork. I watched YouTube to look “normal.” When she came in, I told her there was a surprise she might want to dress up for. She came back in wearing a nice dress, and I opened the kitchen door.

We sat down at the table. I watched her hand reach for the napkin. She pulled out the chopsticks.

No ring. It’s still in the napkin.

I asked her to use the new, fancy napkins. She unfolded the napkin and saw the ring.

I stopped breathing. She was silent. She burst-inhaled through her nose.

I got up from my seat and stood beside her. I kneeled.

“Sara Papa. Will you marry me?”