A Chocolate Tradition

Jackson Andrews looked down at his watch in alarm. Shit! How the hell was it already after six? He hurriedly grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and hastily pulled it on.

“What’s the rush?” his co-worker, Steve Prescott, looked at him quizzically, holding up a half-full glass of beer. 

“He’s gotta get home in time for dinner or Sarina won’t give him any.” Scott Quinlan, another co-worker mocked.

“Shut up.” Jackson scowled at him irritably. The three young men had stopped for a few drinks at O’Shea's, a quaint Irish-style pub located a few blocks from the office building they worked in. Jackson had only planned on having a couple of beers, fully intending to be home by six, the time he knew that Sarina would be expecting him for dinner.

As he hurried out of the bar, he heard Scott behind him, “Man, is he whipped.”

Maybe he was whipped, Scott acknowledged. I guess if being considerate and trying to make my wife happy is being whipped, then I’m guilty as charged.

As he drove the short distance home, the image of Sarina’s dark beauty floated into his mind’s eye. The beauty that still had the power to move him inexpressibly. He hated disappointing her.

Not that she would reproach him verbally in any way. No, those beautiful dark eyes would just gaze at him reproachfully, and then the remainder of the evening would pass in silence. Jackson found it unbearable to be ignored by his wife.

As he pulled into the driveway, he could see the faint glow of light in the windows of the neat Cape Cod. 

Jackson parked the car and stepped quickly up the walkway leading to the side door. He swiftly unlocked the door and stepped into the mudroom. He rapidly shed his coat and shoes and then swallowing his slight trepidation, he stepped into the kitchen.

As always, the sight of Sarina had the ability to take his breath away. The perfect construction of her face, the enormous espresso-colored eyes, the glossy blackness of her tumbling waves of hair, coupled with that stunning figure truly made him wonder why she had ever chosen an ordinary guy like himself.

Sarina was holding the phone to her ear, “I don’t know why you put up with that.” she was saying. She smiled over at him and kind of rolled her eyes and shrugged, then mouthed, “Emily.”

Emily was the friend that always seemed to be having problems with her husband. Sarina had met her at a yoga class three years ago.

Jackson wandered into the dining room and was surprised to see the table hadn’t been set. Sarina suddenly appeared behind him, putting her slender arms around his waist.

“Sorry about that baby, Em called and we ended up talking and talking. Sounds like Ron is being an ass again. He turned her cell service off. Anyway, dinner is still on the stove.”

“Oh, no worries. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m late. Steve was having problems with Amanda and wanted to have a few drinks and talk about it and I felt bad just leaving him in mid-sentence.” Jackson was surprised with the clever lies rolling off his tongue. 

Later in the living room, while they were winding down and having a few glasses of wine, Sarina remarked, “Only three more days.”

She peered at him playfully over the edge of her wineglass. She then slowly took a sip, her lip lingering on the rim of the glass.

“You should see what I have for you.” She said teasingly, her dark eyes inviting.

Jackson looked back at her, bemused. Three more days? His mind raced. Was there some sort of anniversary he was completely spacing? Not their wedding anniversary, which was in September. Not the anniversary of their first date. That was in June. Not the anniversary of the first time they’d had sex, that was also in June. What the hell could be happening in February?

Oh shit! Valentine’s Day! How could he have lost track of the time? It was almost Valentine’s Day. Things had been so crazy at the office for the past few weeks, he’d totally forgotten about Valentine’s Day.

They’d established a tradition for Valentine’s Day. For the past four years, without exception, Jackson would give Sarina two dozen red roses and a box of extremely expensive French chocolates.

In return, she would give him the gift of her beautiful body attired in the most tantalizing lingerie a man could possibly imagine.

She had once confided in him that she was a traditionalist when it came to Valentine’s Day. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’d rather just have flowers and candy.”

Instead of just a simple bouquet and a heart-shaped box of candy, Jackson had purchased two-dozen red roses in a crystal vase and a ridiculously priced box of French chocolates. When he had confided to Steve Prescott that he’d paid $258 for a box of chocolates, Steve had choked on the beer he was drinking.

“That’s crazy! For fucking chocolates!”

What Steve didn’t understand was that Jackson would have spent far more than that if it was something Sarina wanted. If she had wanted jewelry, he would have done everything in his power and budget to adorn her with diamonds.

However, if his love wanted chocolates, then he was going to give her the best chocolates.

Jackson wanted his gift to her to be meaningful, to express his love for her. He didn’t want to buy her any old box of chocolates that could be found on the shelf of some retail store.

That first Valentine’s Day, when he’d presented Sarina with the elaborate display of roses and then the elegant, luxurious, obviously very expensive box of French chocolates, she’d been delighted and had lavished his face with passionate kisses. 

She had declared that it was the perfect gift and that it was the exact gift she wanted every Valentine’s Day. 

She had then led him to the bedroom to give him his gift. Her magnificent body attired in the skimpiest strings of red silk.

Jackson now realized that with his extravagant gesture he had created a precedent that could be problematic. That was in fact, quite problematic at the moment.

For the very simple fact that those particular French chocolates had to be special ordered from a very exclusive French chocolatier.

A French chocolatier located in France. 

How in the holy hell was he going to get French chocolates from France in three days? Was it possible? His mind raced frantically. Maybe they sold them somewhere in the US?

It was quite possible, some upscale boutique might carry them, he reasoned. 

Sarina was looking at him questioningly. “What’s wrong?”

Jackson smiled at her uneasily. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

The next day at the office, Jackson was frantically searching the internet for Le Haute Chocolat. After a fruitless two-hour search and several phone calls, he slumped defeatedly in his chair.

Steve appeared behind him with a manila folder, “Here’s that abstract you needed for the Holtman file.” He leaned forward, peering over Jackson’s shoulder. “Buying more of that expensive chocolate for Sarina for Valentine’s Day, huh?”

“Oh man, I’m so fucked.” Jackson leaned back in his chair and put his arms over his head.

“Why?”

“That chocolate I get for Sarina is not sold anywhere in the US.”

“So? Get her a different kind.” Steve shrugged carelessly.

“I can’t do that.” He leaned forward, gripping the sides of his head.

“Why? What’s the difference?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Jackson said, shaking his head. “I even called the chocolatier in France to see if they could ship it next day or 2-day air but they said that I would have had to place the order at least two weeks prior, due to the high volume and the holiday,” he rambled. “The last time I ordered it was like weeks in advance.”

Steve was looking at him like he was crazy. “Man, just go buy her a diamond necklace or something, she’ll be fine.”

“No, she specifically wants those chocolates. It’s what I get her every year.” Jackson explained. “It’s our tradition.”

“So, make a new tradition.” Steve looked down at him, shaking his head slightly. “Man, you’re driving yourself crazy over some fucking chocolates. Shit, I get Amanda something different every time. One time, I got her this spa package. She really liked that.”

Steve chuckled. “And one time I forgot and didn’t get her anything.” Steve smiled in remembrance and then clapped Jackson on the shoulder as he walked away. “New tradition, man, new tradition.”

Jackson sat there for a moment, motionless.

Maybe Steve was right. Maybe a new tradition would be a good thing.

He jumped up suddenly and grabbed his coat. As he rushed down the hallway past Steve, Steve called out, “Where are you going? Did you think of something?”

Jackson smiled, “Dude, I’m getting her a puppy.”