"Did you ever love her?"

Flora was curled up next to me on my bed, a glossy mass of hair draped over her back. She was soft, seductive, and sadly in one of her moments where she felt like interrogating me about every sin I had committed during The Separation.

Leslie was her favorite topic of attack and we had gone through it eighteen thousand times already, with me begging for forgiveness at the end of every discussion, without exception.

How does one answer a question like that without betraying either girl? I thought I did but I most likely didn't, yet I felt guilty admitting it. It wasn't even remotely important. Flora already had everything I could offer; she occupied my thoughts, the whole view in front of me, every tender emotion I had, and my future was in her hands, yet she still found it necessary to hunt down my memories with a pitchfork. It was alarming because she was nothing like this before.

She had said Leslie's insecurity was well founded and that she didn't blame her for being less than friendly, especially since the poor girl was misinformed about the cheating issue. She had been sympathetic--because Flora was Flora and she was gracious like that--yet adorably arrogant at the same time. She would jab a finger at my chest and smile cunningly, saying things like, "She was right to be worried. After all, we both know you belong with me", before moving in to grope me.

But that was in the beginning. As time passed, she became increasingly troubled with the fact that it happened at all. She rechewed on my fermented past the way ruminants regurgitate food, analyzing and breaking down events into smaller pieces, and nothing good ever came out of it.

"Baby, come on," I said. "I don't grill you about your ex-boyfriends. It's all in the past and you know I love you."

Flora was far from happy with my answer. "That's because there's nothing to grill about. I was never in love with anyone else the way I'm in love with you right now."

I pushed her hair to one side so I could kiss the back of her neck. "I feel the same way, and the best moments of my life were spent with you."

"Ugh, I don't know what's wrong with me." She grunted. "I know I shouldn't care but I just--"

"Okay." Most of the time I let Flora talk all she wanted, but there were times when measures had to be taken. I covered my mouth on hers so she would shut up.

It worked beautifully for a while. We were kissing and her hands were all over me. I always enjoyed how she wasn't afraid to take charge, and she made it clear how much she liked touching me. Her fingers slid inside my shirt and she said,

"What if she moved back suddenly and bought the house across from you? Would you take her back?"

I bit back a groan of annoyance. First we went over the facts, then came the hypothetical scenario part. "If she threw extravagant parties and bought me jewelries, I might," I said, playing along like we were talking about a scene out of The Great Gatsby.

"You're not taking me seriously."

"Flora."

She flipped a strand of hair off her face and sighed. "Sorry."

I pulled her back in my arms and pecked her again on the lips. "Hey, I'm waiting for you to ask me that burning house question."

I meant it as a joke but Flora seemed to think I was being sarcastic, so she gave me a hostile sidelong glance. I grinned at her.

"Well, answer it." The corner of her mouth hitched up, as if she knew she was being ridiculous too. "Who would you rescue out of a burning house, me or Leslie?"

"I think I'll wait outside for the fire truck to arrive."

She pouted and I smiled. "You," I said. "I'll rescue you out of whatever shitty position you find yourself in, okay? I'll choose you every time."

"You can't rescue me out of this shitty position right now." She gestured wildly at the space between us, suddenly distraught again. "And it's that I love you so much I'm going crazy."

She got up from my bed, running a hand through her hair in frustration. I knew Leslie was never the real issue. It was just something to get her started. A little while earlier, Flora accidentally stumbled across the violin sonata Leslie had written and recorded for me on my computer, and even though she said she didn't mind and that I didn't have to delete it, I knew she was upset.

She was upset about the fact that it had the power to bother her. The old Flora would be too confident to care, and she would probably laugh and say it's too Victorian, but now the smallest things set her on edge.

I noticed the changes in her, more obvious day by day, but I didn't tell her for selfish reasons. I didn't want to lose her.

She wasn't happy in this relationship anymore. It was a plain, sad fact. A small piece of information, almost too simple to hurt.

But it did, and it scared me more than anything.

"I'm not cool anymore," Flora said it herself. "I'm jealous and clingy and moody all the time. I'm not fun. I've started crying a lot. When you go to your basketball games I just mope around waiting for you to come back. You'll stop loving me eventually and I'll die a slow, painful death. I'll mumble your name on my death bed and you won't even remember me."

"I think you sound exactly like who you were. Overly dramatic." I stroked her hair, smiling, but I was so worried my head hurt. "Come on. Loving me can't be that bad. You make me sound like a terminal disease."

Flora was a delicate jasmine flower withering right before my eyes, despite my intensive watering and fertilizing.

"I used to be very carefree," she said. "Now I feel like I have everything to lose."

"But isn't that what's beautiful about love? I know how relaxing it is to date people you don't care about, but I wouldn't trade what we have for anything."

She picked up items from my desk listlessly as if she didn't hear me. "Are you starting to get tired of me? I'm freaked out. I think we've gotten really serious and I'm afraid to imagine what will happen when you lose interest in me."

"I won't lose interest in you. I like that you care about me, and I still think you're tons of fun."

"Really? I hate the way I am when I'm with you. I really hate myself," she emphasized. I was no master but self-loath didn't sound like the right emotion to have in a relationship. "I think I'm better for a fling."

"You're too good for a fling. If you leave me I'll die."

She smiled a little at my imitation of her, but inside I felt really sad. I watched her pick up the postcard she had written to me in the science museum. I had memorized every word of it. The last part was "once upon a time you made a girl ridiculously happy." I didn't dare ask her if she was ridiculously happy now. She looked like the saddest, most beautiful thing ever with a haunting smile.

"Did you ever think of me when you were with her?" Flora started again.

"Constantly." I hated to admit this part; it made me feel like a lousy person. "I would think of what you'd do in a certain situation and make comparisons. But the thing is, when I'm with you I don't think of anyone else. You are everything I want."

At this moment Flora dropped the line to break my heart. It was unexpected yet hardly surprising to hear, and I let the hurt sink in defenselessly.

"I feel like I'm channel surfing," she said. "Even when I'm watching one channel, I'd be thinking what else is on and what I'm missing."

What hurt the most was how she wasn't deliberately saying it to hurt me. It was more like a monologue, a whisper to herself, but she somehow blurted it out, and for a moment I was too choked to answer. The truth was lying right before me, because my girlfriend was too honest and too blunt to disguise it.

I couldn't lie to myself anymore. Flora loved me, but she felt trapped.

"You feel like that because you haven't found what you really want to watch. If you did you would be fixated. You wouldn't want to miss a minute of the show." I had to force out my words. "That's what I feel with you, Flora."

She gazed at me from a few feet away, and then tears ran silently down her face. Time stood still for a few seconds until she came back to the bed and threw her arms around me, and everything started moving forward again at a mind-numbing fast pace. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that." She was a mess of tears and apologies and I love yous, and for the first time ever the discussion about Leslie ended with her asking for forgiveness.

There was nothing not to forgive, of course, but I felt myself breaking inside. Flora was more like Jeremy than she realized. She liked the hunting part. She said I was the destination but the problem was she liked the journey better.

"Please don't break up with me," Flora cried in my ear. "You can't break up with me because I said one stupid thing."

She thought love was only about kissing and flirting. She didn't know that it could also be dark sometimes, filled with jealousy, fights, mood swings, and compromises. The trailer lured her in, but now that she discovered the movie wasn't as interesting as she anticipated, she was forcing herself to sit through the whole thing.

I didn't dream about forever anymore. I knew I should set her free, but I was too weak to let go. I was going to let her walk away from me when she was ready.

"I won't break up with you." I wiped her tears away and forced a smile. "You know what we need? Let's go travel together."

***

I could squeeze out three days during Christmas holidays and she said she could do the same. Deciding on a location was tons of work, needless to say. Flora had an unlimited supply of impractical suggestions. She wanted to go to Paris. I wanted to go on a road trip where we stopped at delis and had rowdy sex in motels, ate lots of gas station nachos and listened to loud music. She said motel bed linen would give her a rash and she couldn't stay anywhere below three stars.

In the end we decided to go to New York, since there was a good chance she would end up there for the next four years.

"You'll come see me every weekend, right?" she asked cheerfully.

"Of course." Unlikely, because I'm going to lose that privilege, dear Flora.

For me this trip might as well be the last time I ever went there with her. Every second was a count down.

***

"I want to stay at Four Seasons near Fifth Avenue," Flora said. "I'm so excited! You haven't stayed with me overnight for so long. I miss waking up next to you."

"I can't afford it."

She rolled her eyes. "I have a really big allowance for Christmas. I mean, huge. I know you secretly wish that I wasn't born rich. It's like Janet complaining about her boyfriend being a doctor-to-be. You guys just can't accept what you're lucky to have and be thankful about it." She tossed me the names of several other luxury hotels to choose from just so I could feel like I had a choice, but they were all ridiculously expensive.

She smiled at me in a tolerant way, like she found my financial situation endearing. "Sean, you act like the idea of rolling on a Savoir bed and Frette sheets would scald your skin."

"Flora, I really don't want to spend your money."

"Technically speaking, it's my parents' money."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at me. "Why is it okay for me to eat at your place all the time, but it's such a big deal for you to accept favors from my family?"

"Because that's different," I said. "My mom is going to cook anyway, with or without you. You don't eat much."

"Well, I'm going to stay at a five star hotel anyway, with or without you. You don't take up much space. If it pleases you, you can book a hostel bed and we can meet every morning after breakfast."

I raised my eyebrows. "Good argument."

She chuckled and stroked my face. "Come on, let me spoil you." A kiss landed on my cheek. "You're going to marry me anyway. My money is your money."

My stomach clenched. I was waiting for her to break up with me, and it was like some secret bad news that she didn't know about yet. Flora flopped down on her bed, pleasant and unsuspecting, typing on her MacBook Air for must-sees. She wanted to buy me clothes and even suggested getting me a tailored suit. I told her I'd rather shop for her stuff.

"Well, I like your style," she said, running her eyes up and down my body. I was sitting backward with my arms propped up against the back of the chair. "You look extremely hot even though you're just wearing a raglan shirt and Converse. Besides, you're one of the rare species that look better without clothes anyway."

I watched her change the search to women fashion and Christmas shopping. It was pretty fun seeing her get all cute and eager over boutique shops. "Hey, I almost forgot." She turned to me. "I have your Christmas present ready."

I got up to pick up my backpack from the floor. "I brought yours, too."

"I got two this year?" Her eyes widened as she pulled out two presents. Linda helped me wrap both of them.

I sat down next to her. "I didn't go through Sandra so I'm not sure about either of these. I hope two wrongs can make a right."

The first was a sleepwear set. It was just a short PJ instead of the sexy lingerie kind, but it looked nice to sleep in.

"This looks so comfy!" she squealed as she hugged the material close to her body. She always acted super excited whenever I gave her anything.

"It's for you to think of me when you go to bed," I said.

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "I think of you all the time already."

I smiled. "Hey, if you like the first present then I'm confiscating the second."

"No way." She ignored me and started tearing open the wrapper. Her hands froze when the content revealed itself.

It was a box of black and white puzzle. On the cover was an old couple standing on rainy pavement and facing away from the camera, and off the corner, part of the Eiffel tower could be seen. It was an antique photo taken during the mid-century. When I bought it I had foolishly believed we could go to Paris together one day.

"Thanks." She sniffled. "You're really sweet. You remember I told you how my brothers didn't let me join in their puzzle time."

"It's just therapy for your short attention span."

I could detect tears in her voice when she said, "We'll go to Paris together one day."

"I hope so."

She pulled me toward her and wrapped her arms around me. When she kissed me, it was in a way that seemed to suggest that she wanted to do this for the rest of her life. For the moment I allowed myself to believe there was a sliver of a chance of us growing old together. I demanded for my gift when we broke apart.

Flora beamed at me, and it was like staring at the sun. Her smile was bright and generous as she took out a Louis Vuitton paper bag from her closet. The disappointment rapidly descending upon me was hard to ignore. My heart fell, but I tried not to let my face fall as well.

After all this time, how could she still think I would want that? I'd rather she didn't give me anything.

"Wow, Louis Vuitton is like a boomerang," I joked. "It keeps coming back to haunt me."

My smile faded when I reached inside and my fingers came in contact with something soft. I pulled out a scarf. It was knitted with thick wool and the color was azure mixed in with a hint of gray. There were holes all over.

"I knitted it myself," she said, her smile embarrassed. "I restarted three times but I finally accepted this is the best I can do. It's supposed to be the color of your eyes. But yours is of course nicer."

I ran my fingers through one of the holes and didn't say anything.

"Umm, the holes are unintended." Flora fidgeted. "Gosh, what was I thinking? You're too handsome to be caught dead wearing something like that. It's against every fashion rule in the universe."

I was still looking at the scarf without saying a word when she hastily reached out to snatch it from me. "I'll give it to Edward. He deserves it by being mean to me--"

"Baby, I love it." I swallowed the lump in my throat and found my voice finally. I was literally speechless. Flora understood me. She knew this was exactly what I wanted. She even knew she could mess with me by putting it inside a designer bag. I leaned over to pull her in for an embrace, speaking into her hair and trying to control the emotion in my voice. "Thank you so much. This is the best present I've ever got."

"You like it more than Louis Vuitton?" She laughed. "You need therapy more than I do. To be honest the best part of the gift is probably the paper bag."

"I mean it. I'm really touched." I buried my face in her neck, allowing her jasmine perfume to pour at me from all angles. "Thank you. I'm going to wear it every day in New York."

"Oh no you're not." She giggled in my arms. "Don't embarrass me like that in Four Seasons."

***

I lied to my parents again and told them a bunch of us were going on a trip together. They believed it, for some reason, but Linda guessed what I was up to. She winked at me and told me not to go as two persons and came back as three, and then offered to lend me money. I accepted her generosity since I needed all the financial aid I could get.

I didn't want to argue with Flora about expenses anymore. I let her pay for the room and tried to pitch in for everything else. I called the hotel in advance, and when we checked in there were chocolates waiting. Flora was very pleased. She loved the plate of flower petals beside the bath tub too. For 72 hours I had a heavenly vacation where she decided everything, and I reminded myself to gasp in amazement from time to time, even when she was just trying on shoes.

Our vacation was rich people's version of NYC, and Flora was dazzled. I suspected it wasn't entirely to do with me. It was because of the city itself, the Christmas ornaments, the fancy department stores and the display windows, the festive smell in the air, the fineries in life. She was happy. She didn't lose her temper once, not even when I made a joke about not being able to hear her over the ringing cash register when she ordered room service.

But to be fair, it wasn't all about money. We went to MOMA and made out on the deserted stairs. Took a walk in central park where we engaged in a small scale snow fight and made snow angels. Had a couple of really good coffee in Williamsburg, even though Flora was reluctant about leaving Manhattan for Brooklyn at first. At night we sat by the window to savor the view, and she gazed at me with such love in her eyes, saying we would do this every year. We took a bath together and she kissed me everywhere. When we were in bed she whispered my name softly, repeatedly, like a wistful sigh.

How could this end? I thought in a daze as Flora leaned in to wipe the cream off the corner of my mouth. We were having cupcakes in a park, and she was sweeter than the red velvet cake. How could I want something this much, only to see it slipping away?