This was bullshit. This whole holiday was bullshit. My feelings were bullshit, my
inability to express them was bullshit...
Angrily, I scratched the pencil across the paper, shading dark corners and cruel lines.
When I glanced up, the clock on the wall caught my eye.
Midnight, on the dot.
Happy Valentine's day to me.
Out in the hallway, I heard the front door open. I hastily ripped the sheet from my
sketch pad and turned it over, ashamed by my own fury and frustration over something as
simple as a Valentine's day gift.
There was a light tap at the door, then he came in, without waiting for answer.
He looked so tired. Tie loosened and collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up and shirt
beginning to untuck, he let out a full body sigh before leaning down to kiss me.
But he didn't say anything. Maybe he didn't realize what time it was.
"Tough day?" I asked, as if there could be any doubt.
He nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Hell,
maybe he'd forgotten all about the holiday. I would have honestly been relieved, though I felt
a slight twinge of disappointment. But this was his life. It was always going to be his life, for
as long as he was one of the most successful businessmen in the world. There was no escaping
the late nights, the piles of paperwork in the living room, the prototypes scattered on the
bedside table.
This was the life I had fallen into. This was the life I never wanted to leave.
When he was like this, the boyish softness of his face disappeared into the sharply handsome angles of a man you don't want to cross. The shadows under his eyes spoke
volumes. I marveled, for the millionth time, that a man could look so different from day to day,
while still somehow looking exactly the same.