Valentine’s Day for the Rest of Us

If you don’t have anyone in your life who is likely to make a romantic gesture toward you, then Valentine’s Day might just as well be called Small Pox Day. And it’s not subtle. It doesn’t just creep up on you. No, its pending arrival is displayed everywhere you go as soon as Christmas is over. Its red tentacles coil around you with flowers, heart-shaped boxes of chocolate, and greeting cards as big as cereal boxes.

I was in my office, my eyes transfixed on my colleague’s desk. On display was a white teddy bear with a lighted red heart beating beneath its chest, glimmering on and off as it pumped synthetic stuffing through its veins.

When my phone rang, I tore my eyes away from Teddy’s aorta. It was Kit, my BFF. “Val, why don’t you come by tonight for dinner?” she asked. “Larry’s at a meeting and won’t be home until very late.”

“Today? You do know what today is, right?”

“Of course. Very important day for tax accountants. They dig out their abacuses and oil them.”

“No, I meant—never mind. Are you sure you will be alone?”

“Yes. And I feel like making paella.”

***

At Kit’s, after two helpings of her paella and three glasses of Rioja, I glanced at my watch, happy to learn that Valentine’s Day, and all its paraphernalia, had only an hour to go. “Here’s to Easter,” I said, raising my wine glass in a toast. Easter I could handle. It didn’t discriminate. It didn’t care if you were alone and single. It was a celebration for all the people.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I heard Larry, Kit’s husband, yell from the front door. “Val’s here? I noticed Val’s car in the driveway.”

“Well spotted. What gave it away?” Kit rose from her kitchen chair.

Larry now stood in the kitchen doorway. He had flakes of snow on the shoulders of his coat, wet discarded boots in one hand, and a shopping bag in the other. “I’m glad you’re here, Val.” He ceremoniously put his boots on the floor and the bag on the table. Then he removed from the bag a box, stunning red and shaped like a heart. It was as big as the extra-large pizza I like to order.

“I’m going,” I said, feeling awkward. Like I had been cast in a movie playing the perennial best friend.

“No, don’t go. This if for both of you.” He held the box between us, but since neither Kit nor I made a move to take it, he set it down on the table. “Happy Valentine’s Day, ladies. And Val, don’t let Kit get all the orange creams. You have to watch her.”

“Give her all my secrets, why don’t you.” Kit untied the red ribbon encasing the box.

“Sorry you have to share,” Larry said. “But the shop was closing just as I got there, and this was all they had left.”

I smiled up at him, then rose to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Larry James, you are the worst liar in the world, but a very sweet man. Thank you,” I said. My half of the chocolates weren’t a romantic gesture by any means. They were better, so much better.

He blushed just a little, then said, “Can you believe it? They were starting to put out Easter stuff.”