Othello

I wasn’t jealous of Des. Not really.

I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hard not to be though. 

It wasn’t just that she was gorgeous or lovable-- she was genuine. If there was a kinder soul somewhere out there, I hadn’t met them. She was the type of girl other girls wanted to hate, but you took one look at her smile and bright eyes-- and you couldn’t, even if you’d tried. She’d respond to insults with a laugh and sharp jabs with a hug. 

Des could’ve had any boy she wanted. In a way, she had them all wrapped around the tip of her pinky finger, whether she knew it or not. When we walk together, side by side, her small frame engulfed in whatever cardigan she’s wearing that day, there’s always some magnetic pull to her. People’s eyes glaze over me and latch onto her like they’re bees and she’s pollen. 

I guess it was just disappointing when she took her status for granted.

*

“I hate that man,” Iago says, swirling the drops of red wine that are left in his glass, a sneer distorting his soft features. His knee bounces up and down and his eyes, glazed over, are focused somewhere in the distance. 

“So you’ve said.” I frown as the wine dangerously nears the top of the cup. Our carpet that used to be white is now long since stained amber, yellow, and scarlet from my husband’s various drinks of choice. Iago downs the rest of his wine, and I hold my breath as I count down from ten--nine, eight, seven--

He pours himself another glass, so full it’s already spilling when he brings it to his lips. 

“The doctor said you need to watch your drinking,” I say, careful to keep my gaze low enough that it’ll excuse my tone.

“It’s just wine, Emilia.” His voice slurs, and I foolishly look up into his dilated eyes. He slams the glass on the table, eyebrows knitting together. “Clean this up.” He motions in no specific direction with a calloused hand before stumbling away, all rough edges and curses mumbled under his breath.

I can’t remember why I ever thought anything about him was soft.

*

Radiant does not even begin to describe Des. Wedding dress white is beautiful with her skin tone, and her smile is so blinding it’s painful to look at. I hug her with shaky arms and a tear-clogged throat. 

“You look so beautiful.” Somehow the words come out. Des squeezes my hands.

“So do you.”

The color she’s chosen for her bridesmaids is a soft pink, and I almost did feel pretty before I was standing side-by-side with Des in the mirror, her small hands perfectly still in mine. I’m not insecure. I just know how to differentiate fact from fantasy. Like this:

Fact: Somewhere in this building Des’s father is doing everything in his power to keep this wedding from happening. 

Fantasy: My husband will calm him down before any problems occur. 

*

He is the only one who calls her by her full name. 

In the office, when he’s calling her up to present a new project proposal. At dinner parties, when he’s giving a toast. Out on the sidewalk, when she almost falls before he, of course, catches her.

Desdemona. Desdemona. Desdemona. 

I think it makes him feel better about his own odd name. 

While people pat Othello on the back and pay him congratulatory remarks on both his marriage and recent promotion, they simply steal harried looks at Des and whisper about her behind flutes of champagne.

When they disapprove of the pairing, they do not say what they mean. 

She is too beautiful for him. 

Surely a boss and his employee should never wed. 

I heard her father didn’t give his blessing. 

Soft, slurred, spoken to oneself:

How will their children look?

*

At work, Iago is a different man.

He laughs freely and openly, quick both to praise and be praised. Othello embraces him like they are old friends, and Roderigo looks up at him with stars in his eyes. When he is not glaring daggers into Cassio’s back, they are cordial with each other. 

We are a funny group with our funny names, but I like that about us. It’s nice within adulthood to have someone beyond just family to share the mundane of life with. I think if it was just Iago and I, we would go mad. 

Othello doesn’t need to speak to command the attention of the room. He merely clears his throat. 

“I wanted to commend you all on the amazing job you’ve been doing. As manager, I’ve been given the task of selecting a project lead. Cassio, given the time and effort you consistently showcase for the team, I’ve chosen you. Please see me in my office when you’re free. Thank you.”

Congratulations ripple through the room. I don’t have to look at Iago to know he is biting his tongue. Des gets up and hugs Cassio. Roderigo’s eyes follow her hungrily. 

I force a smile to spread across my face. While Cassio celebrates, I find my toes curling and goosebumps rising on my arms. 

My body prepares for a fight.

*

Des looks up at me through thick lashes. She takes a tiny sip out of whatever sugary monstrosity swirls in her cup and motions for me to continue. 

“I just…I don’t know. Iago and I love each other.” I take a sip of my own drink--coffee with just a hint of sugar and cream. “But…sometimes it just feels like we’ve reached the end of the line, you know?”

Des scrunches her nose thoughtfully.

“Perhaps this is just a rough patch, dear. You’ll get through it.” She smiles at me, and it’s the same smile that brings men to their knees, the same one Othello toasted in his wedding speech, the one I know wars could be fought over. I don’t know why I thought she’d understand. It’s not that she’s not trying to--that’s what makes it worse. That she and Othello are so in love she couldn’t possibly fathom a couple growing apart, or worse, divorcing.

They deserve each other. I gulp down coffee, and it scalds my throat.

*

In an office as small as ours, rumors spread like plagues. 

Distantly, I’m aware that the satisfaction building up inside of me is selfish and cruel. For once though, my husband and I can be on the same team.

Honestly, I’m surprised such an inconsequential workplace could have two dramas in one week, but apparently, life still holds surprises for you past your twenties. 

Number One: A new temp is mysteriously fired after approximately 2.5 days on the job. People say it’s because she got a little too close to a coworker. When asked about it, Othello looks like he’s going to vomit. 

Number Two: Cassio and Des are in and out of each other’s offices starting just after the temp is fired. It would be normal but for the fact that their assignments don’t cross over, and Cassio’s new position. 

Say what you want about Des, but it seems she has a thing for men in the lead. 

No one dares bring Number Two up with Othello. (I guess his marriage isn’t so perfect after all)

*

Des is almost prettier when she’s crying. 

She holds nothing but a measly stack of papers in her hands, and despite the fat crystal tears running down her face, her chin is resolutely turned up. 

“Des?” her eyes do not quite meet mine. 

“I quit.”

More than one pair of eyes follow her out of the office. Only once she’s gone do I realize what was so wrong with her pale hands, clutching the papers so tight. 

They were ringless. 

I’m not jealous of Desdemona. 

Yes, she’s pretty and kind and altogether infuriating with her goodness--but that sort of thing kind of gets to your head after a while.

I guess it's like this-- people tell you something so much, you don’t just start to believe it, you believe everyone around you will believe it too. 

But Othello?

A man who can turn a blind eye to his opponents, who can get the woman of everyone’s dreams and still watch her go without remorse?

I was beyond jealous of him.