Laughter and cold air:
In the interest of maturity and good karma, the three moments I knew I was in love:
January 4, 2002: Sharing a cigarette on my balcony in the silent snow at one in the morning, after the opening night of The Royal Tenenbaums, when I asked him his favorite part and he exhaled smoke and warm breath and said, “When you laughed out loud and no one else in the entire theater did.”
December 2, 1996: Meeting his parents for the first time over Thanksgiving break at their house out in the country, with him walking me to my car afterward, throwing his head back and laughing under all those cold, bright hard stars.
October 1, 1994: Laughing nervously at my parents’ front door after an evening spent sitting on the sunroof of his mother’s Honda and talking, watching our breath linger in the air between us because I was too nervous to watch his eyes, when he suddenly caught my wrist mid-sentence, pulled me towards him and kissed me with a kiss that still makes my knees weak when I think about it.