The Empty Box of Shame

Venus jolted awake. Disoriented, she blinked at the sunlight filtering through the blinds, revealing the empty box of chocolate sprawled beside her in bed, like a sinful lover.

“Oh, God!” she groaned as she put her head in her hands. 

The cell phone’s ring made her jolt again. Glancing at the screen, she saw Aiden’s name on the caller ID. 

"Good morning, my love!" she answered, forcing a brightness into her voice.

"Happy birthday, beautiful! Sorry, I’m not there to celebrate with you today,” Aiden's voice, warm and familiar, crackled through the receiver. “Celebratory dinner when I get back on Friday?"

"Sounds perfect." 

“Hey, did you get the chocolate and flowers I sent you?”

 “Yes! Oh my God, the bouquet is gorgeous....and all peonies...my favorite.”

“How about the chocolate? Did you try any of them?”

Venus looked at the sad empty box and started putting the stray chocolate wrappers into it. 

“I got the box. It looks so fancy, but I haven’t opened it yet.”

“I ordered them from this artsy chocolatier that has unusual flavors like saffron and rose water. I think you’ll like them.”

Venus got out of bed, carrying the box.

“Yum, can’t wait to try them. You’re so thoughtful.”

“It takes one to know one. Okay, gotta run. Have a meeting in a few. See you Friday. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

Hanging up, Venus surveyed the bed and floor to make sure there were no empty wrappers left behind. 

Then, quickly, she headed to the kitchen and grabbed a large recycling bag. 

She dumped the chocolate box in it and walked towards the trash can which was overflowing with all kinds of candy, cookie, and cake wrappers. She dumped those in the recycling bag as well and secured it with two fierce knots.  

She scanned the kitchen, making sure she had not left any evidence behind. 

Nothing. 

She let out a sigh and said, “Siri, play Vivaldi.”

Classical music was her constant refuge. She would let it linger in the air and wash over her nerves.

As she listened to 'La Primavera' and relaxed, her gaze drifted to her favorite painting on the dining room wall. Sandro Botticelli’s "Birth of Venus". 

The painting was supposed to be more meaningful that day. A congratulatory reminder of her existence from the goddess she was named after.  Instead, she felt the goddess was mocking her for the shameful night before. 

She escaped to the dressing room to change. Only to find her self-scrutiny intensified within its mirrored walls that reflected with brutal honesty.  

Apparent were a subtle swell of her stomach, and a telltale puffiness around her eyes. She turned, observing her thighs. At least no changes there.

She could still fit into her clothes. Of course, she could. But what would she wear? What does one wear on her special day, she wondered.

She looked at her favorite dresses, and then, as if the day hadn’t started dramatically enough, she remembered. She couldn’t wear any of her dresses. Absolutely not.

Today was the day of her interview at Bayside Hospital. The place where she'd envisioned herself working ever since she was a teenager; her dream job.

She looked at her watch. Eight twenty-nine. Her heart sank. The interview was at nine. 

No time for self-pity. Every second counted. 

She looked at her formal wardrobe. Silk blouses peeked from their designated shelves. Their delicate fabrics and understated patterns hinted at a quiet femininity beneath the professional facade. 

Rows of gleaming pumps, in classic black and pops of unexpected color, stood poised on a lower shelf, ready to conquer any meeting or conference room. 

A single impeccably tailored blazer hung center stage, its sharp lines a testament to quiet authority.

But Venus had no time to ponder. She picked out a navy skirt and dark blue blouse. She had never thrown an outfit together this fast.

She ran to the bathroom. Her hair, usually styled in elegant waves, was yanked back into a messy bun secured with the first pin she could find.

A glance in the mirror confirmed the precarious state of her hair bun, but there was no time for adjustments.

She picked up her purse and shoved her feet into the closest pair of flats. 

As she raced to the door, she remembered makeup. Oh well, this was an interview for a nutritionist, not a runway model, she told herself.

But there was one thing she could not forget. Getting rid of the recycling bag. That was a must. So that she could forget all about last night. 

With a final yank on the door, Venus headed out, carrying the large recycling bag like a chubby baby.

At the apartment building's communal recycling area, she cast a furtive glance around, then dumped the bag in the bin and slammed the lid shut. 

A feeling of relief washed over her. Now she could concentrate on what mattered.

She envisioned herself at the interview, as a picture of calm competence. She got this. After all, no one deserved the Senior Nutritionist position at Bayside more than her. 

A bachelor's degree in biochemistry and a master's degree in food nutrition, both from an Ivy League school and top of her class - this was just the foundation. She also had a decade of clinical research experience and stellar recommendations from respected colleagues.

Maybe landing this job on her birthday was meant to be. The stars were aligned and ready to grant her heart's desire, she thought.

Suddenly, a vision of Botticelli’s Venus flickered in her mind.  "Think you’ll be the Senior Nutritionist at Bayside? Think again. You're a fraud! A shimmering facade masking a mess. This dream will turn to dust in your hands, just like the cookies I watched you consume last night."

Goddess Venus was right. Human Venus was an imposter. A nutritionist with a secret sugar addiction and major binge disorder. A secret that she had kept from everyone, including her beloved husband.

No one knew that she craved and consumed the very foods she told others were detrimental to their health. Frosting-laden cakes, creamy dreamy shakes, and brightly colored candies that she had learned, through biochemistry courses, were almost toxic for human consumption.

Her confidence faltered as the weight of her secret pressed down on her. The steps that moments ago seemed light and purposeful now felt heavy, each one a reminder of the lie she was living. 

But slowing down wasn't an option. She was already running late. 

What she needed now was a release from the suffocating guilt and shame. To numb herself, to become emotionally empty. Yes, EMPTY…. like the box of chocolate she woke up next to.