My Roommate Said “If You Ask, I’ll Give You Anything”

 

I never thought 3 years of silent longing would end with her pinning me against my apartment door at 2:00 in the morning. But there I was, breathing hard, her lips an inch from mine, her words still ringing in my ears. If you ask, I’ll give you anything. Let me back up. My name is Alex Carter, and for the past 3 years, I have been hopelessly, pathetically in love with my best friend, Mia Reynolds.

 

 We met in college during a photography class. She was the girl who showed up late with coffee stains on her shirt and still managed to take the most breathtaking photos I had ever seen. I was the guy who could not stop staring at her. We became friends instantly. The kind of friends who texted at 3:00 in the morning about nothing and everything.

 

 The kind who knew each other’s coffee orders and worst fears. The kind where I was desperately in love with her and she had absolutely no idea. Or so I thought. Tonight started innocently enough. Mia had texted me around 9:00 asking if I wanted to come over and help her pack. She was moving to New York in 2 weeks for a photography job she had been dreaming about for years.

 

 I should have been happy for her. I was happy for her. I was also dying inside because it meant losing her. I showed up at her apartment with pizza and beer, ready to play the supportive best friend role I had perfected over 3 years. We ate, we laughed, we sorted through boxes of her stuff.

 

 Everything was normal until she pulled out an old photo album. “Remember this?” she asked, flipping it open. It was from our junior year, a group trip to the beach. There was a photo of the two of us soaking wet from the ocean, her laughing at something I had said. Me looking at her like she was the only person in the world.

 

 “You’re looking at me weird in this photo,” she said quietly. My heart stopped. What do you mean? She traced her finger over my face in the picture like you wanted to say something but could not. The air in the room shifted. I could feel my pulse in my throat. Mia, Alex, can I ask you something? She closed the album and looked at me directly.

 

 Have you ever thought about us like more than friends? I could have lied. I should have lied. But something in her eyes told me this was the moment. Three years of waiting and this was it. Every single day I admitted she went still. Then she stood up, walked over to where I was sitting on the floor and sat down right in front of me, so close our knees touched.

 

 Why didn’t you ever say anything? Because I was terrified of losing you. You’re my best friend, Mia. I couldn’t risk that. She laughed softly, but it sounded sad. You’re an idiot. Before I could respond, she leaned forward and kissed me. It was not gentle. It was three years of frustration and longing compressed into one moment. Her hands were in my hair.

 

Mine were on her waist, pulling her closer. She made a small sound in the back of her throat that nearly destroyed me. When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, she rested her forehead against mine. I’ve been waiting for you to make a move for 2 years, she whispered. 2 years? Since that night, we stayed up until dawn talking about life and you almost kissed me but chickened out. I remembered that night.

 

 I had gotten so close, had wanted it so badly, but fear had stopped me. I’m an idiot, I agreed. Yeah, you are. She kissed me again softer this time. But you’re my idiot. We stayed like that for a while, kissing slowly, learning each other. Then she pulled back slightly. I’m still moving to New York in 2 weeks.

 

 Reality crashed back. I know. Come with me here. What? Come with me to New York. You hate your job here anyway. You’ve always talked about wanting to do something bigger with your graphic design work. New York has opportunities. We could get an apartment together. We could actually try this. It was insane. It was impulsive.

 

 It was everything I had ever wanted. Mia, I can’t just quit my job and move across the country. Why not? What’s keeping you here? You’re miserable at that company. You have no family here. Your lease is up next month. The only thing stopping you is fear. She was right. She was absolutely right. If you ask, I’ll give you anything. she said, her eyes intense.

 

But you have to ask, Alex. You have to take the risk. I looked at her. Really looked at her. The girl I had been in love with for 3 years was offering me everything I wanted. All I had to do was be brave enough to take it. Come to New York with me, I said. She smiled. “Okay, wait.

 I’m supposed to be the one asking.” She kissed me again, cutting off my protest. “You just did. We ended up at my apartment around 2:00 in the morning because hers was full of boxes. The second we got inside. She pushed me against the door. Her body pressed against mine. I’ve thought about this so many times. She breathed against my neck. Me, too.

 Her hands slid under my shirt and I forgot how to think. We barely made it to the bedroom. Clothes disappeared. Boundaries we had maintained for 3 years evaporated. And for the first time, I got to touch her the way I had dreamed about. Got to hear her say my name like a prayer. Afterward, we lay tangled in my sheets, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing patterns on her shoulder.

 I can’t believe we wasted 3 years, I said. We didn’t waste them. We built a foundation. Now we get to build something more. I kissed the top of her head. New York. New York. She confirmed. I had no idea what I was doing. I had no plan, no safety net. But I had her and for the first time in my life, that felt like enough.

 The next two weeks were chaos. I quit my job with a twoe notice that my boss did not take well. I broke my lease and paid the fee. I sold most of my furniture and packed what remained into boxes. Every practical part of my brain screamed that I was making a mistake. Every other part did not care. Mia and I kept our relationship quiet from our friends at first.

 Partly because it was new and fragile, partly because we did not want to deal with the I told you so from people who had apparently seen this coming for years. But keeping my hands off her in public was torture. Every time we met to coordinate moving logistics, I wanted to kiss her. Every time she smiled at me across a room, I wanted to tell everyone she was mine.

 One week before the move, we finally told our closest friends at a goodbye dinner they had organized for Mia. “So, there’s something we need to tell you guys.” Mia announced halfway through dinner. Our friend group, six people who had known us since college, looked up with varying degrees of curiosity. “I’m not just moving to New York,” she continued.

 “We’re moving to New York.” She reached under the table and took my hand. The table erupted. Finally, someone shouted. You owe me 50 bucks. Another said to someone else. I said they’d get together before she moved. Wait, you guys bet on us? I asked. Alex, everyone has been betting on when you two would figure it out for the past year. Our friend Jake said.

 You were both so obvious it was painful. Mia laughed. Apparently, we’re the last to know. The dinner turned into an interrogation. How did it happen? When? Why did we wait so long? Were we serious? Dead serious, Mia said, squeezing my hand. We’re getting a place together in Brooklyn. More cheers, more questions.

 But underneath the celebration, I saw concern on a few faces. Moving in together when we had been dating for less than 2 weeks was objectively insane. After dinner, Jake pulled me aside. “Are you sure about this?” he asked. I’m happy for you, man. But this is fast. Really fast. I know. What if it doesn’t work out? You’ll be stuck in New York with no job and no place to live. Then I’ll figure it out.

Jake, I’ve been in love with her for 3 years. I’m not letting her go now because it’s risky. He nodded slowly. Okay. Just promise me you’re not just running away from your life here. Make sure you’re running towards something. His words stayed with me. The night before the move, Mia stayed at my now empty apartment.

 We ordered Chinese food and ate it sitting on the floor since all my furniture was gone. “Are you scared?” she asked, terrified, I admitted. “Me, too.” She set down her food and moved closer, settling between my legs, her back against my chest. “What if we get there and realized this was a mistake?” she asked quietly. I wrapped my arms around her.

 then we’ll deal with it together. What if the city is too expensive and we can’t find work and we end up hating each other? We won’t hate each other. How do you know? Because I’ve loved you through 3 years of just being friends. I’m pretty sure I can love you through the hard stuff, too. She turned in my arms to face me.

I’m not used to this. Used to what? Someone being certain about me. Everyone I’ve ever dated has been lukewarm. You’re the first person who looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters. You are the only thing that matters. She kissed me slow and deep and we ended up making love on the floor of my empty apartment, the city lights coming through the bare windows.

 Afterward, she whispered, “I love you.” It was the first time either of us had said it out loud. “I love you, too,” I said. I’ve loved you since the day you walked into that photography class with coffee all over your shirt. She laughed against my chest. That was such a bad day. That was the best day of my life.

 We fell asleep on the floor wrapped in blankets. And I thought that no matter what happened in New York, I would never regret this. The drive to New York took 2 days. We rented a truck and took turns driving, singing badly to road trip playlists, stopping at random diners, taking photos of weird roadside attractions.

 Felt like an adventure, felt like the start of something. We arrived in Brooklyn on a Wednesday afternoon, found our tiny apartment on the third floor of an old building, and immediately realized we had made a huge mistake. The apartment was smaller than it had looked in photos, much smaller. The bathroom had questionable plumbing.

 The kitchen was basically a hot plate and a mini fridge. The bedroom barely fit the mattress we had shipped ahead. Mia stood in the middle of the main room and started laughing. This is awful, she said. Truly terrible, I agreed. We’re going to kill each other in a month. Probably. She turned to me, still laughing. Want to order pizza and pretend this is charming? Absolutely. We ordered pizza.

sat on our mattress on the floor and toasted with cheap beer to terrible decisions and new beginnings. “Thank you for coming with me,” Mia said. “Thank you for asking me to.” The first month in New York was brutal. My savings were disappearing fast. Mia’s new job was demanding and left her exhausted. I was sending out design portfolios constantly and getting rejected just as constantly.

Our tiny apartment felt smaller every day. We had our first real fight 3 weeks in. I had just gotten another rejection email and was in a terrible mood. Mia came home late from work, stressed about a demanding client, and I made some comment about how at least she had a job.

 What’s that supposed to mean? She snapped. Nothing. Forget it. No. Say what you mean, Alex. I just mean that you have stability and I’m basically freeloading off you while I figure my  out. I never said that. I’ve never once complained about money. You don’t have to. I can see it on your face every time I tell you about another rejection. She stared at me.

 That’s not what you’re seeing. I’m worried about you, not judging you. Well, stop worrying. I a clearly not fine. We both went silent. It was our first fight as a couple and it felt awful. I’m sorry, I said finally. I’m just frustrated. I know, but don’t take it out on me. She grabbed her camera bag and left. Just walked out of the apartment without another word.

 I sat there feeling like an which I was, and wondered if Jake had been right. Maybe we had rushed this. Maybe the fantasy of us was better than the reality. She came back 2 hours later with coffees and apology donuts. I shouldn’t have left, she said. But I needed to cool down. I was an Yeah, you were.

 She handed me a coffee, but I get it. This is hard. We went from fantasy to reality really fast, and reality kind of sucks right now. It really does. We sat on our mattress and ate donuts in silence for a minute. Are we going to make it? I asked. She looked at me seriously. Do you want to more than anything? Then we’ll make it.

 But Alex, you have to talk to me. We can’t build a relationship on you pretending everything is fine when it’s not. She was right again. I’m scared. I admitted. I’m scared. I made you uproot your life for me and I’m going to fail and disappoint you. You could never disappoint me. But you need to stop seeing this as you failing me.

 We’re in this together. Your struggles are our struggles. Something shifted in that moment. We weren’t just two people dating anymore. We were partners. actually partners. Okay, I said together. Together. She kissed me, tasting like chocolate donut. And I thought that maybe we could survive this after all.

 5 weeks into New York, I finally caught a break. A small design firm in Manhattan reached out about a portfolio piece I had posted online. They wanted to interview me for a junior designer position. The job was not glamorous and the pay was mediocre, but it was real work at a real company. I nailed the interview and got offered the position on the spot.

 When I called Mia to tell her, she screamed so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear. I’m so proud of you, she said. We’re celebrating tonight. Fancy dinner, my treat. You don’t have to shut up and let me take my boyfriend out for a nice dinner. We went to a small Italian place in our neighborhood that we had been eyeing but could not afford.

 We ordered wine and pasta and split a dessert. And for the first time since moving, everything felt right. I was starting to think I’d made a huge mistake. I admitted over tiramisu. Which part? Moving here or dating me? Moving here? Dating you was the only thing I was sure about. She reached across the table and took my hand. We’re going to be okay.

You know, we’re figuring it out. Yeah, we are. Walking home that night, slightly drunk on wine and happiness. Mia stopped suddenly under a street light. “Dance with me,” she said. “There’s no music, so dance with me anyway.” I pulled her close and we swayed slowly on the empty Brooklyn sidewalk, her head on my shoulder, my arms around her waist.

 “I’m glad you asked me to come with you,” I said. I’m glad you said yes. If you ask, I’ll give you anything. I quoted her words from that night in her apartment. She pulled back to look at me. Anything? Anything? Then give me forever. My heart stopped. Mia, I know it’s crazy. We’ve only been officially together for 2 months, but I’ve known you for 3 years.

 Alex, I know how you take your coffee and what you look like when you first wake up and that you pace when you’re nervous. I know you’re kind and creative and brave even when you don’t feel like it. I know I want to build a life with you. I kissed her right there on the street, not caring who saw forever. I agreed. You’ve got it. We were not engaged.

 Not officially, but something settled between us that night. Promise, commitment. We were all in. Things got better after that. Work was good. Mia’s photography was taking off. We made friends in the city, found our favorite coffee shop, learned which subway lines to avoid during rush hour. Our tiny apartment started to feel like home.

 We decorated with thrift store finds and string lights. We cooked elaborate meals in our ridiculous kitchen. We made love in our bedroom with the window open. City sounds drifting in. Life was not perfect, but it was ours. Then, for months into New York, everything fell apart. Mia’s company lost their biggest client. Budget cuts meant layoffs.

 Mia being newer was let go. She came home that Friday afternoon and I knew immediately something was wrong. “They fired me,” she said, her voice flat. “What? Why?” “Budget cuts. Last hired, first fired.” She sat down heavily on our couch. I moved across the country for this job and they just cut me loose. I sat next to her and pulled her into my arms. She didn’t cry.

 She just sat there stiff and shocked. “We’ll figure this out,” I said. “With what money, Alex? Your salary barely covers our rent. My savings are almost gone. We can’t afford to live here on one income. The reality of the situation settled over us like a weight. Maybe I should go back home,” she said quietly. My blood went cold.

“What? back to California. I can stay with my parents while I look for work. You can keep your job here. >> No, Alex, be realistic. No, I said more firmly. We’re not doing that. We’re not giving up because things got hard. This isn’t just hard. This is impossible. Nothing is impossible if we face it together. That’s what we promised.

 She pulled away from me. I can’t ask you to struggle because of me. You’re not asking. I’m choosing. I’m choosing you, Mia. I’ll always choose you. Tears finally came. What if it’s not enough? What if choosing love isn’t enough to pay the bills? Then we’ll get creative. You can freelance. I’ll take side projects.

 We’ll eat ramen for every meal. Whatever it takes. She looked at me with red eyes. Why are you so sure about this? Because I’ve spent 3 years wanting you and 2 months having you. And there’s no universe where I let you go without a fight. She kissed me desperately. And we ended up in bed holding each other like lifelines that night lying in the dark.

 She whispered, “I’m scared. Me too, but we’ll figure it out. Promise. I promise.” The next few weeks were a grind. Mia threw herself into building a freelance photography business. I took on design side projects after my regular job. We cut every expense we could. No eating out, no entertainment, just work and survival. It was exhausting and stressful, and we were both stretched too thin.

 We fought more. Stupid fights about dishes and money, and whose turn it was to do laundry. The romance of our early relationship got buried under the weight of adult responsibilities. One night, 6 weeks after Mia lost her job, we had the worst fight yet. I came home late from a side project to find Mia already in bed, clearly upset.

 Where were you? She asked. Working on the Miller project. I told you I’d be late. You said you’d be home by 9:00. It’s midnight. The client needed revisions. What was I supposed to do? You were supposed to be here. We were supposed to have dinner together. It’s our 6-month anniversary. My stomach dropped. I had completely forgotten.

Mia, I am so sorry you forgot. I’ve been so focused on work. You’re always focused on work. We moved here to build a life together, but I never see you anymore. I’m working this hard for us. I didn’t ask you to kill yourself for us. I asked you to be my partner. I am your partner. Then act like it.

 Stop treating me like another obligation and start treating me like the person you supposedly love. The words hung between us, sharp and cutting. Supposedly, I repeated, my voice dangerous. You think I don’t love you? She looked away. I don’t know what you feel anymore. That broke something in me. Get out, I said. She looked shocked. What? Get out.

 Go for a walk. Cool off. Because if we keep going, I’m going to say something I can’t take back. Tears streamed down her face. Alex, please just go. She grabbed her jacket and left. The second the door closed, I collapsed. What were we doing? We had moved across the country for each other and now we were falling apart.

Maybe everyone had been right. Maybe we had rushed into this. Maybe love was not enough. I sat there for an hour spiraling until my phone rang. It was a number I did not recognize. Hello. Is this Alex Carter? A woman’s voice. Yes, this is Mercy Hospital. We have Amia Reynolds here. You’re listed as her emergency contact. My world stopped.

What happened? She was hit by a car while crossing the street. She’s stable, but you should come. I don’t remember the cab ride to the hospital. I don’t remember checking in or finding her room. I just remember seeing her in that hospital bed bruised and bandaged and feeling my heart shatter. Her eyes opened when I walked in.

 Hey, she said weakly. Hey. I sat in the chair next to her bed and took her hand carefully. You scared the hell out of me. I scared me too. She tried to smile but winced. I wasn’t paying attention. I was too busy crying about our fight. Mia, no. Let me say this. I almost died tonight, Alex. And all I could think about while I was lying on that street was that our last conversation was a fight.

 That you might think I didn’t know how much you love me. Tears were streaming down my face. I’m so sorry for forgetting our anniversary, for working too much, for everything. Stop. We both screwed up. We let stress and fear turn us into people we’re not. She squeezed my hand. But I don’t want to waste any more time fighting. Life’s too short.

 Way too short. I love you. Even when we’re broke and stressed and fighting, I love you. You’re still the best decision I ever made. I leaned forward carefully and kissed her forehead. You’re my best decision, too. And I promise from now on, I’m going to remember that. Good, because I’m not going anywhere. even if we have to eat ramen for every meal.

Even then, I stayed at the hospital all night, holding her hand while she slept and thinking about how close I had come to losing her. Not to the accident, but to our own stupidity. We had been so focused on surviving that we forgot why we were surviving in the first place. For each other, things had to change.

Mia was released from the hospital 2 days later with a concussion, bruised ribs, and strict orders to rest. I took time off work to take care of her. And for the first time in weeks, we actually talked, really talked about our fears, our stress, our dreams, about how we had let the pressure of New York turn us into strangers.

 About how we needed to find balance between work and us. I don’t want to just survive anymore, Mia said from our couch where she was under strict orders to rest. I want to actually live with you. Me too, but we also need to eat and pay rent. I know, but there has to be a middle ground between starving artists and working ourselves to death. She was right.

 We needed to make changes. Over the next week, we restructured our lives. I cut back on side projects, keeping only the ones that paid well and interested me. Mia set boundaries with clients about turnaround times. We scheduled date nights and actually kept them. We remembered why we fell in love in the first place.

 And slowly things got better. Mia’s freelance business took off in unexpected ways. A photo series she had shot for a small magazine got noticed by a bigger publication that led to more work, better paying work. Within two months, she was making as much freelancing as she had at her old job. My design work was getting noticed, too.

The projects I was passionate about, the ones I actually had time to do well, were building my portfolio. I got offered a senior designer position at a better firm with significantly better pay. We were not just surviving anymore. We were thriving. Eight months after moving to New York, we moved out of our tiny apartment and into a bigger place in a better neighborhood.

 It had a real kitchen and a bedroom that actually fit furniture and windows that let in natural light. The day we moved in, we stood in the empty living room. And Mia started crying. Happy tears? I asked. Very happy tears. We made it, Alex. We actually made it. I pulled her close. We did together.

 That night, after we had unpacked enough to find sheets for the bed, we christened our new bedroom properly. And afterward, lying tangled together, Mia propped herself up on one elbow to look at me. “I have something to ask you,” she said. “Anything. If you ask, I’ll give you anything.” I quoted her words from almost a year ago.

 She smiled. “Remember that?” She got out of bed completely naked and walked to her purse. She pulled out a small box and came back to bed. My heart started pounding. Mia. She opened the box, revealing a simple silver band. I know traditionally you’re supposed to ask me, but we’ve never been traditional. Alex Carter, you’re my best friend and my partner and the bravest person I know.

You quit your job and moved across the country for me. You held my hand through the hard parts and celebrated the good parts and never once made me feel like I was too much. You’re everything I never knew I needed and everything I always wanted. She took a shaky breath. Will you marry me? I was crying full-on sobbing like an idiot. Yes, God. Yes.

She slipped the ring on my finger and I pulled her down to kiss her. I was supposed to ask you, I said when we came up for air. You can still propose back if you want. Oh, I’m definitely proposing back. I’m going to do it so much better than this. She laughed. It’s not a competition. Everything’s a competition.

 We made love again, slower this time, savoring it. And I thought about how far we had come from that night in her apartment when she first kissed me. How we had survived cross-country moves and job losses and hospital scares and terrible fights. We had survived all of it because we chose each other. Every single day, we chose each other.

 Two months later, I proposed back. I took her to the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset, got down on one knee in front of tourists and street performers and random New Yorkers, and asked her to marry me with a ring I had been secretly saving for. She said yes, obviously. And we were that annoying couple making out on the bridge while people cheered.

 We got married 6 months later in a small ceremony in Central Park. Our college friends flew out. Our families came. We wrote our own vows that made everyone cry. When it was my turn, I looked at Mia in her simple white dress and said, “Three years ago, I was too scared to tell you I loved you.

 One year ago, you asked me to take a risk and move to New York with you. You said if I asked, you would give me anything.” Well, I’m asking. Give me forever. Give me every morning and every fight and every adventure. Give me the boring Tuesdays and the exciting Saturdays. Give me all of it. She was crying. You already have it. You’ve always had it.

 We kissed as husband and wife while our friends cheered. And I thought that this this moment, this person, this life was worth every risk I had taken. Our wedding night was spent in a nice hotel in Manhattan. A splurge we had saved for. We made love like newlyweds, which we were, and fell asleep wrapped around each other.

 In the morning, I woke up to find Mia watching me. What? I asked sleepily. Just thinking about how you showed up to help me pack one night and ended up here. Best packing session ever. She laughed. Remember when you said you were terrified of losing me? I remember. You never had anything to be terrified of. I was already yours. I just needed you to be brave enough to claim me. I pulled her closer.

 I’ll be brave for you every day for the rest of my life. Good, because we’re just getting started. She was right. We were just getting started. 5 years later, we’re still in New York. We bought a small apartment in Brooklyn that’s actually ours. Mia’s photography business is successful enough that she had to hire an assistant.

 I’m creative director at my firm and love what I do. We have a dog named Pixel who sheds everywhere. We host dinner parties for the friends we’ve made in the city. We take anniversary trips and send postcards to our families. Life is not perfect. We still fight sometimes. Bills still stress us out. The city still drives us crazy occasionally.

 But every morning I wake up next to my wife, my best friend, the person who told me if I asked she would give me anything. And I know I’m the luckiest man alive because I asked and she gave me everything. People ask us sometimes how we make it work. How we went from friends to lovers to married in the span of a year and didn’t crash and burn.

 The answer is simple. We chose each other when it was easy and when it was hard, when we wanted to and when we didn’t. We chose each other every single day. And we’re still choosing each other. Last night, lying in bed after a long day, Mia turned to me and said, “Do you ever regret it taking the risk?” I thought about the scared guy who almost let her move to New York without him.

 The guy who was too afraid to lose her to ever really have her. Not for a single second, I said. You’re the best risk I ever took. She smiled. If you ask, I’ll give you anything. That’s still true. You know, I know. And I’m still asking for forever. You’ve got it. We kissed soft and familiar and full of promise because some risks are worth taking.

Some people are worth fighting for and sometimes the scariest thing you can do is exactly what you’re supposed to do. I asked. She gave me everything and I’m spending the rest of my life making sure she never regrets it.