Marta trudged up the steep city street, the gaudy pink and red hearts and lace and other silliness mocking her from inside the storefronts. She pulled her scarf tighter as the wind picked up, blasts of frigid air invading her clothes.
The ice on the February sidewalk provided perilous little traction and she minced her steps despite her impatience. She finally arrived at her place of employment on her least favorite day of the year.
Inside, the rich fragrant waves of cocoa seeped into her senses as she made her way into the back. The warmth of the store was frankly stuffy compared with the crisp, grey weather outside. Marta pushed past the line to the front, barging through the employee gate next to the counter. Her boss looked at her and then the clock and she preempted the scolding with "I know, I can stay late, it's fine."
In the back, she hung her coat and purse, smoothed her hair, washed her hands and tied on a clean apron. She took a deep breath and stepped out to face the store.
Special orders lined the back tables and by noon, the little store could barely hold all the customers. She took names, checked off lists, rung up a hundred dollars at a time.
For the next six hours, she helped man after man cherry pick the perfect artisanal chocolate for their "special ladies". Does she like nuts? Or maybe she likes creams? Each of them shrugged, completely unsure about their woman's taste in chocolate. Marta pasted on a smile and made tame recommendations: You can't go wrong with milk chocolate truffle. How about these chocolate-dipped strawberries?
Relieved to have solved the problem, each guy watched her carefully box, wrap and tie up with a bow their gourmet chocolate in red and pink.
She tried to push it out of her mind, but the memory kept coming back. The hot shock when she entered her boyfriend's apartment a year ago to surprise him, only to discover another woman, petite, dark-haired, a lot like her, also stashing a Valentine's Day gift for her supposed boyfriend. As it turned out, he was collecting gifts from several girlfriends that day.
Marta shuddered and turned her attention to the last customers, picking like buzzards over the sparse remains in the display cases. These stragglers were anxious, disappointed in themselves, and desperate to supply their girlfriends or wives with the perfect treat.
But there is no perfect treat -- Marta knew that. It's all a marketing campaign to make boyfriends spend money and the rest of us feel like shit.
Finally, the last of them were gone. The store was trashed and the boss was gleefully counting a fat wad of cash. Marta wiped down surfaces and swept the floor, shaking out the dirty mats.
One last special order sat on the back counter.
*****
It was nearly 1 pm when Jordan's reluctant hazel eyes opened. The dog whined and inclined her to get up. "Thank god I've got you, Badger. Otherwise, I'd never get out of bed."
The pant legs of her pajamas dragged behind her slender feet as she moved into the kitchen.
It had been a week, she realized as she filled the kettle for coffee, since Adrienne had dumped her. It seemed like minutes ago. She looked around at her apartment with dismay. Now that her girlfriend was gone, she lacked the motivation to keep things orderly.
She sat down to her laptop to look at Facebook, but quickly slammed it closed again when she saw all her friends and family singing the praises of their mates and she realized what day it was.
Okay, fuck this, Jordan thought. She never went in for it to begin with, but this year, she had gone out of her way to douse Adrienne with soppy love. It was supposed to be funny, totally over the top, but also the moment Jordan was going to ask her to move in. Instead, a week before, Adrienne had supplied her with a list of her shortcomings and a cold prognosis: this is going nowhere.
It was almost dark when she took the dog for a real walk, layering her lean frame in thick winter clothes and pulling her favorite beanie over her blonde faux-hawk. As the sun set, she tramped through the neighborhood, Badger wagging lots of tail and stopping to sniff every tree and trash can.
Jordan's phone rang, and she pulled it out but didn't recognize the number.
"Hello?" she said cautiously.
"Hi, this is Perfect Treat, we have a special order for you for Valentine's Day and we are about to close."
"Aaah." Jordan flinched. She forgot and she had already paid for it.
"Are you going to come and get it?"
"Uh you know what, just give it to someone who loves chocolate, I don't need it."
"Um okay!"
Jordan stood there on the street, Badger pulling and twisting the leash.
Marta's boss hung up the phone. "Well, there's always one romance DOA, this one must be it. You take it, Marta, share it with your friends."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, it's paid for."
Marta wiped her hands and received the silver box tied with a burgundy ribbon. "For Adrienne, I want to be with you everyday. Move in with me." Ouch, thought Marta as she shoved the box into her sack.
There would be no restaurant that wasn't packed with romantic couples, so Marta headed up the street six blocks or so to the Irish pub where she could order a Guinness and mope. She parked herself on a stool, ordered and took out a book.
Jordan pushed the door open and Badger immediately jumped onto a bar stool next to a dark-haired woman reading and drinking a similarly dark beer. Badger gave Marta his best doggy smile and she laughed, holding out her hand. He licked her and she petted him, saying, "well hi there, pup, you must be a regular!" then she looked up at his owner, a wiry woman with vivid hazel eyes and a blaze of blonde hair sticking out of her knit cap. She had piercings along both ears.
"Hi."
