Flash Memoir

From Besties to the Bickering Bride and Groom

I didn’t mean to marry my best friend. That sounds cliche, but it’s true. The marriage was his idea, though if you ask him, he’ll say that I expected it so he just met my expectation. Most K-drama tropes start with an embarrassing misunderstanding, followed by a series of equally humiliating mishaps, and a sprinkle of "I’ll-never-live-this-down" moments. Our story somehow falls under this trope.

In college when I first met him, he barged into my dorm room thinking it was his. In the middle of writing a 10-page paper, I didn't even notice he was there until he knocked over my laptop with his drawing storage tube. His room was three doors down. Zoned out in another space only he could occupy, he excused himself saying on his way out that my sleek lampshade on the antique dorm desk is a "modern aesthetic choice." Not exactly a meet-cute, but that’s how I found myself saddled with a best friend who made a habit of crashing into my life—literally.

Fast forward a few years, and we were inseparable. We bonded over everything—late-night runs to 7-11, terrible horror movies, and a shared affinity for critiquing the weird characters in our favorite shows. And, we had a tacit agreement to save each other from dating disasters. He once pretended to be my jealous boyfriend when I couldn’t shake a stalker at a party, and I’d frequently give his 'girlfriends' the “best friend glare” if they didn’t measure up. “You look really intimidating,” he’d joke, and I’d roll my eyes.

So the set-up for the best friends-to-lovers transition was in place, except for this problem: neither of us realized it. I assumed he’d never go for someone like me, and he swore he’d only fall for a girl who was his polar opposite. “Someone classy, organized, refined,” he said once. “Someone who likes eating what I cook, and cook what I like.” I snorted so hard, “Yeah, because you’re such a chef yourself!”

But one night, everything changed. Or rather, I had a disastrous date and ended up calling him afterward, fuming. “Why am I doing this?” I vented. “Every guy I date just talks about himself and forgets my name. Why is it so hard to find a man who will at least pretend that he knows me? I just want someone I can watch terrible movies with, who’ll order extra rice with soup and bottomless iced tea.”

He was sitting across from me in our favorite veggie-hamburgers resto. I looked at him and finally realized it was him. Always had been. All our shared laughs, our caffeine habit, and even how he could order more ice for the tea drink for me—it all made sense.

He stared at me, and for a while, I thought he had that perplexed look, “Uh, are you okay? You look like you just realized Santa Claus isn’t real.”

For a second, I thought about telling him. I mean, we were best friends. Surely, we could get through something as ridiculous as one-sided affection, right? But instead, I chickened out and made some excuse about needing a nap. I thought I’d move on, but it was like someone turned on the K-drama script in my head, and every little thing he did was suddenly significant. The way he laughed at my stupid jokes, how he’d hand me his plates without a word, and even his awful falling asleep and snoring in the middle of our conversation under the acacia tree—everything screamed, This is your person.

Then, in classic fashion, one day, he showed up at my door with a bouquet and said, “Okay, here’s my suggestion. We need to stop dating random people.” I was ready to force a laugh. Was he joking? “Wait, what are you talking about?”

“Clearly, you have not found the one. I have not found the one. So why don’t we just…stick together for now?”

It was romantic. Who wouldn’t be wooed by “stick together for now?” My insides were churning. I wanted to scream, “Just kiss me, you fool!” Instead, I managed a nonchalant, “Sure, why not?”

A few months later, we were knee-deep in a relationship that was basically our friendship on steroids. Sure, we kissed occasionally and held hands (awkwardly, at first), but I still felt like we were two kids trying on grown-up clothes that didn’t quite fit. Every day was filled with ridiculous bickering and dumb pranks, like the time he drew some meme on my desk [yes, right on the desk, using ballpen] and I spent half an hour erasing it. Why? It was indecent!

So when he suggested marriage, I thought he was kidding. “Yeah, sure, we’ll get married. Let’s invite the president while we’re at it,” I laughed. But he looked at me with this dead-serious expression and said, “I mean it.”

I stopped laughing. “Are you serious? You don’t even like people!”

“Exactly,” he replied, “so I figure, why not marry the one person who I actually like to be around?”

How could I say no to that? And just like that, the K-drama reached its finale, right? The friends-turned-lovers sealed the deal. Only, no one tells you that marriage is where the real hijinks begin.

Cut to today: I wake up, married, to the sound of the air fryer. I roll over, expecting a peaceful morning, but there he is, wrestling with the fryer. I groan. “It’s seven in the morning. Can we not have a crisis before coffee?”

He glances over, wearing that sheepish smile he knows I can’t resist. “Just trying to make breakfast. Can't allow my chicken-wings to turn into charcoal.”

Fried chicken for breakfast. This is so typical of him, cooking or preparing whatever it is in the ref irrespective of their aptness for the hour. "Who says that I cannot eat rolled oats for lunch?"

I stagger into the kitchen, and pick up my coffee mug. It has a sticky note on it with his barely legible scrawl: Still your best friend, even when I eat haute breakfast.

And I laugh. Because even in the middle of noisy frying and and sleepy bickering, this is exactly where I want to be.

Somewhere in the chaos of mismatching dish and mealtimes and exasperated sighs, I found my happily ever after. We seem as if we're a mess, but this is my most cherished mess.

“By the way,” he adds, sidling up next to me with a glass of lemon water, “I think I won't have time to fix the fryer today. Maybe tomorrow.”

We both stare at the offending machine, blinking like it might fix itself if we concentrate hard enough.

Finally, I sigh. “Well, let's just dine out tonight.”

And just like that, our story continues.(Celina Alcala)

Page Pitch

Following these models and examples of excellent writing, pitch your personal essay or send your memoir narrative. Write now, and share and recognize the value of your story. Your legacy lives on in this story.