2/14

The girl exits the shop and turns left. Her glassy green eyes watch the cobblestones pass beneath her sneakers. Endless shops decorated with bright cheery hearts and flashy displays surround her. The tinny Sinatra blaring from the speakers sounds like it belongs in a jazz club. A happy couple passes hand in hand and she averts her eyes from their goofy smiles as they enter a chocolate shop.

Typical, she thinks.

The girl tells herself chocolate tastes the same today. That she’s not missing the annual ritual of flowers, gifts, and puppy love. That her plans for the night – a quiet dinner alone, tv, and a bath – are exactly what she wants. Exactly what she needs. That she’s relieved she doesn’t have to try to impress anyone.

She won’t think of the boy. Of this day a year ago. Of the dinner.

The girl locates her dirty Camry in the lot and makes her way home. She drives to news of vaccines and politics. All the while not thinking of last Valentine’s day.

She and the boy dated for almost two years. They met in French class at State. The boy asked for help with conjugations and the girl obliged, knowing his true motivation. After that first date, their time together passed effortlessly. He kept an extra toothbrush in her dorm room and she kept a stash of makeup and essentials at his off-campus apartment. Over the summer, they took a road trip to the coast. They kayaked and ate mangos on the beach. The salt stung their eyes and the sand scratched their skin. They were happy.

On February 13^th, the boy asked her to be ready at her dorm the next night at 7pm. He picked her up in a rented cherry red convertible. He looked sharp in a pressed suit and black tie. Her slinky black dress fit like a glove and diamond earrings adorned her ears. The wind took hold of her carefully coiffed hair as he drove. He revved up to a fancy steakhouse; it had supposedly received rave reviews. He tossed the keys to the Valet and rushed around to the passenger side, slipping once in his new loafers but recovering quickly, and opened her door. He was a true gentleman.

The dinner lived up to the hype. They shared microgreens in a balsamic vinaigrette reduction to start, paired with a California sauvignon blanc and talk of their days. Steaks followed, pink in the center, caramelized on the outside. The boy picked at his side of potatoes. His glass of cabernet sauvignon looked full.

“So, are you looking forward to the game this weekend?” he asked.

The girl hated sports. She reached across and took his hand.

“Is everything alright? You’re acting weird.” Perhaps she needed a toothpick or her lipstick was smeared.

He smiled nervously and explained he was recovering from a little tummy bug; not to worry.

The waiter cleared their plates and deposited the third course: a slice of three-layer chocolate ganache cake topped with caramel sauce and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. He also produced a chilled bottle of champagne, already popped, and two champagne flutes.

“Compliments of the house.”

“For us?” The girl gleefully thanked the waiter and the boy poured her a small glass. She grabbed the cold stem in anticipation of the sweet nectar. Then she saw it. A huge diamond in her champagne glass. Attached to a ring.

The boy watched her with a sheepish grin and breathed a sigh of relief at sharing his secret. 

The girl’s life flashed before her eyes. She was only twenty-two years old! She didn’t have enough marks on her bedpost. The experiences yet to be lived played like a movie in her head: the tour of Europe, sleeping in a new hostel each night with whomever sparked her interest that day. The wild nights out and the cultured people she would meet.

The girl shoved back from the table and leaped out of her chair.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, running out the back of the restaurant and wishing for invisibility. Heads turned at her hasty escape.

When she reached the alley, her purse buzzed. It was the boy. She didn’t pick up.

A minute later, a text. Are you ok?  

She didn’t respond.

The boy called every day for three weeks. He texted. He even showed up at the store at the mall where she worked – luckily, she spotted him and her coworker covered for her as she hid in the dressing room waiting for him to leave. Then, it appeared his self-imposed deadline to give up on her passed. She didn’t hear from him again.

The girl wasn’t active on social media, but she scrolled through from time to time to see what old friends were up to, and a few months ago his grinning face popped up on Instagram, arm around a skinny blonde. They looked to be somewhere tropical. The girl’s heart skipped a beat as she tried to reason with her feelings. She was way too young to be married. She still needed to live life, travel. She wasn’t missing out on anything by not being with the boy. She put him out of her mind.

The girl took time off work after classes ended that fall. She traveled to Thailand. She met boys. They were immature and made dirty jokes. They didn’t make her laugh. She slept in her own hostel.

The girl returned home and frequented the bars and clubs near her dorm. She met boys. She agreed to go home with one, only to realize in the morning that the handsome fellow she’d slept with the night before was an old, unemployed divorced father with no interest in his children’s lives. He didn’t even offer her coffee.

The girl parks outside her dorm and heads inside. She gives a cursory wave to a dormmate on the way to her room. She heats up a microwave dinner and eats watching Netflix. When she’s finished, the girl takes a long bubble bath. She goes to bed before 10pm.

Tomorrow, she has a long day. First class, then work. After work, she might start a new show on Netflix.