The Red Envelope
Candles lit, wine poured, cupcakes frosted, filet mignon in the oven, and a bowl of conversation hearts on the coffee table. As the final touch, I placed the red envelope against the vase of fresh flowers in the center of the table. Brian was on his way over, and I was a tangle of excitement and jitters. Valentine’s day, for the first time in my life, was going to be romantic and wonderful, like it was supposed to be. I wanted it to be perfect. I didn't want to screw it up.
Brian arrived with a bottle of champagne in one hand, a box of Godivas and a DVD in the other. His smile showed off his dimples – Oh! Those dimples! – and his eyes twinkled as he said “Happy Valentine’s day, sweetness.” I kissed him before he was even through the door; we lingered on that kiss for a moment before we went to the kitchen. I exhaled, calm again.
I served up bacon-wrapped filet with mashed potatoes and sauteed spinach. With a California Merlot, we toasted. “This is perfect,” he said of the steak. “Delicious!” he affirmed as he tasted each side dish. Finally, his eyes caught the red envelope on the table.
“Is this for me?” he said, grinning. Dimples, oh! I nodded and motioned for him to open it. My jitters came back tenfold as he opened the envelope and tugged gently on the card, handling it with the delicacy of a fine confectioner decorating a chocolate truffle.
Inside the card were the three words, in my neatest hand, which I’d longed to say for three months. Actually, I think it was four words. I threw a “madly” or “crazy” in there somewhere. I couldn't wait to see his dimples again when he read it.
Brian was reading it. And reading it. No dimples. He must have been reading it over and over again to let my words sink in. I resisted the temptation to jump up and down like a kid and say “Didja read it yet? Whaddya think? Say it back!”
He closed the card, stuffed it back into the red envelope, and dropped it on the table, this time with the carelessness of a confectioner who had just botched a batch of truffles. He did not make eye contact with me. He took a swig of wine.
“Get a grip,” he said softly, but absolutely.
The moment froze and I had no thoughts, no emotions, no anything. Then chills started to swirl around me, my mouth agape, and my heart started pounding and I started to sweat. The words I had prepared to say got lost in a million, billion thoughts that immediately cluttered my head and made my throat tighten. I needed to say something but I had no words to follow his. Don’t cry, Dana, I pleaded to myself, pulling it together. He didn't mean it. Maybe you misunderstood him.
“You shouldn't love me,” said Brian at last, although it was much more a judgment than a suggestion.
“But I do,” I replied simply, opting for truth.
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.
Brian returned to his dinner and wine, so I did the same. I was thinking about something, anything to say next. I thought maybe I should ask him how he felt about me, but I couldn't handle hearing the answer out loud. I thought maybe I should break up with him, because it felt pointless spending all my time with him if my feelings weren't reciprocated. I thought maybe he was going to break up with me because, let’s face it, I really screwed up.
“You have to teach me how to make steak like this,” Brian said, not breaking up with me at all. “This is fantastic.” His dimples came back. Stunned, but not wanting to screw up again, I smiled back at him without saying anything. I fetched two cupcakes, one for each of us. It seemed he had already forgotten about that red envelope, and I felt a strange comfort in that.
After we finished dessert and polished off the Merlot, Brian popped the champagne and poured two glasses. “Let’s watch the movie,” he suggested, as sweetly as ever, as if nothing had happened.
Feeling tipsy by now, I agreed and set up the DVD player.
We settled on the couch under a blanket with our champagne and conversation hearts. The red envelope remained discarded on the dinner table. I pressed the play button. Brian put his arm around me and pulled me close.
“Do you want some lovin’ before the movie?” he whispered to me.
I flinched at the word. Oblivious to the irony, he took my hand and led me to the bedroom. The movie played on in the background.
The next day, the red envelope still sat on the table, in the same spot where Brian had tossed it. I threw it in the recycle bin.
Brian arrived with a bottle of champagne in one hand, a box of Godivas and a DVD in the other. His smile showed off his dimples – Oh! Those dimples! – and his eyes twinkled as he said “Happy Valentine’s day, sweetness.” I kissed him before he was even through the door; we lingered on that kiss for a moment before we went to the kitchen. I exhaled, calm again.
I served up bacon-wrapped filet with mashed potatoes and sauteed spinach. With a California Merlot, we toasted. “This is perfect,” he said of the steak. “Delicious!” he affirmed as he tasted each side dish. Finally, his eyes caught the red envelope on the table.
“Is this for me?” he said, grinning. Dimples, oh! I nodded and motioned for him to open it. My jitters came back tenfold as he opened the envelope and tugged gently on the card, handling it with the delicacy of a fine confectioner decorating a chocolate truffle.
Inside the card were the three words, in my neatest hand, which I’d longed to say for three months. Actually, I think it was four words. I threw a “madly” or “crazy” in there somewhere. I couldn't wait to see his dimples again when he read it.
Brian was reading it. And reading it. No dimples. He must have been reading it over and over again to let my words sink in. I resisted the temptation to jump up and down like a kid and say “Didja read it yet? Whaddya think? Say it back!”
He closed the card, stuffed it back into the red envelope, and dropped it on the table, this time with the carelessness of a confectioner who had just botched a batch of truffles. He did not make eye contact with me. He took a swig of wine.
“Get a grip,” he said softly, but absolutely.
The moment froze and I had no thoughts, no emotions, no anything. Then chills started to swirl around me, my mouth agape, and my heart started pounding and I started to sweat. The words I had prepared to say got lost in a million, billion thoughts that immediately cluttered my head and made my throat tighten. I needed to say something but I had no words to follow his. Don’t cry, Dana, I pleaded to myself, pulling it together. He didn't mean it. Maybe you misunderstood him.
“You shouldn't love me,” said Brian at last, although it was much more a judgment than a suggestion.
“But I do,” I replied simply, opting for truth.
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.
Brian returned to his dinner and wine, so I did the same. I was thinking about something, anything to say next. I thought maybe I should ask him how he felt about me, but I couldn't handle hearing the answer out loud. I thought maybe I should break up with him, because it felt pointless spending all my time with him if my feelings weren't reciprocated. I thought maybe he was going to break up with me because, let’s face it, I really screwed up.
“You have to teach me how to make steak like this,” Brian said, not breaking up with me at all. “This is fantastic.” His dimples came back. Stunned, but not wanting to screw up again, I smiled back at him without saying anything. I fetched two cupcakes, one for each of us. It seemed he had already forgotten about that red envelope, and I felt a strange comfort in that.
After we finished dessert and polished off the Merlot, Brian popped the champagne and poured two glasses. “Let’s watch the movie,” he suggested, as sweetly as ever, as if nothing had happened.
Feeling tipsy by now, I agreed and set up the DVD player.
We settled on the couch under a blanket with our champagne and conversation hearts. The red envelope remained discarded on the dinner table. I pressed the play button. Brian put his arm around me and pulled me close.
“Do you want some lovin’ before the movie?” he whispered to me.
I flinched at the word. Oblivious to the irony, he took my hand and led me to the bedroom. The movie played on in the background.
The next day, the red envelope still sat on the table, in the same spot where Brian had tossed it. I threw it in the recycle bin.
