The Unattainable Valentine
I myself am not an old man. My joints don't hurt when it's cold, my hands don't cramp up from typing, I am familiar with the latest technology infrastructure and my hair isn't completely gray. I am not however, a young man either. I have lived long enough to recognize the many mistakes I have made, the decisions that resulted in consequences; good and bad, and most importantly I recognize that I had and have also lost the unattainable dream. It's a dream that I think of often, constantly replaying the reel in my mind.
Through age comes experience. During my youth I never believed in romantic clichés and common theories. "Things happen for a reason" and "its better to have lost then never loved" are cruel, hurtful phrases written by those who have never experience true loss, and have only seen it in printed work and in the cinema. However, the saying "Things happen when you least expect them" is unfortunately entirely accurate.
I had spent the afternoon picking out cards for the upcoming holiday and therefore reminiscing as I often do, never expecting that my next errand would have me standing right in front of my first and only valentine.
I hadn't seen her in fifteen years. I knew when we said goodbye that it would be a long time before I ever saw her again, but I never thought it would be fifteen years. In many ways she looked exactly the same as I remembered her. As a teenager she never dressed in the typical uniform of girls her own age, she'd opt for classic pieces and cuts like shift dresses, button down blouses, ballet flats, and pencil skirts instead of the typical ripped jeans with holes, ugg boots and baby tees. And in many respects nothing had changed. She still was a petite woman with pale complexion, dressed in head to toe black that mirrored the style of a young Audrey Hepburn in a simple black dress, trench coat and heels. She still carried her life with her in a trendy over-sized handbag, and a small headband rested on top of her head. I'd recognize her anywhere, for her influence during my youth was the reason I became the man I am today.
However, upon further glance there were many subtle differences in her appearance. Her brown hair, no longer light, long and curly, was now dark and rested at her shoulders. Instead of big designer necklaces wrapped around her neck, glasses were tucked into her blouse, real eye glasses. Her eyes had subtle bags under them, most likely a symptom of exhaustion and there were slight creases in the corners of her mouth from laughing over forty years. Her left hand no longer displayed her custom Harry Winston engagement ring with matching wedding and eternity bands to compliment the piece. Instead, her right hand displayed another ring I recognized from two decades prior. A giant smoky topaz ring, that once sat on the hand of her mother, who passed almost ten years ago.
Most importantly she had a frown on her face, something I saw when we were married, only when I disappointed her, which I tried to do sparingly but unfortunately did a lot of during our final year together.
The man with her, was nothing like the man I thought she'd end up with. For starters, it wasn't my former best friend, that faithfully swooped in to collect the pieces of her broken heart after I had mucked up our relationship and left her to deal with the social consequences of my actions. They had, had an on and off relationship for six years, never fully committing to each other, but neither committing to anyone else either. I would have bet everything I owned, including the shirt on my back that she would have ended up with him. But my former friend mucked everything up too. I was told in passing by my step-mother that they had tried to make it work, but his eyes were always lingering on her best friend, and she didn't really care, her heart was never fully committed. The final straw was when he failed to show up when her mother passed away. As a result she closed her heart to him, never forgiving him for letting her down in her darkest hour. Through it all I still keep in touch with him. He's divorced, living here in New York, managing to keep afloat his publishing firm. He even apologized for his pursuit of her.
I was told by my step-sister that her current beau had proposed multiple times, but she always politely declined. Saying she was meant to be many things but a wife was not one of them.
The man with her is taller than her, but considering she is barely 5'5, that is no big feat. He has dark hair, and facial hair. He's dressed in dark trousers, black shoes with a matching belt, a button down shirt with a quarter zip pull-over on top, and a matching trench over-top. Basically, he looks like a model out of a j crew or banana republic catalog. He has a big watch on his wrist, which I assume she bought for him, as she always loved men's watches. They always reminded her of her grandfathers, and I had received three during our three years of marriage together. I still wear them today. He appeared a confident businessman, and I assumed he was successful, as she had become wildly successful. I knew she would be.
In our final face to face conversation I told her I admired her ambition stating "that's what I love about you, you go after what you want and never let anything stop you." And in fifteen years that hadn't changed. She was a top designer, still running her mothers firm as she had been for the past eighteen years. She was often quoted in the New York Times and Wall Street Journal regarding product launches and responses to vintage pieces. Feminists loved her, for she was the woman who defied all social norms. She established her career, wasn't married, and she chose not to have children.
There's another bet I would have placed everything on, and again would have lost. When we were together all she talked about was her desire to be a mother. She wanted two children, a boy and a girl, who she'd named after her father, and her stepfather. She talked about her dreams to take them to dance classes and lacrosse practice. Teach them how to read, paint, laugh, and love. She wanted to show them the world, and she wanted to be their world. She was the most maternal person I ever knew. Without a doubt she'd be an incredible mother. But she wasn't one.
There was still time. She was only 40. Women started families in their 40's all the time. But I knew her. If she wasn't a mother now, she wasn't ever going to be a mother. It was funny. When we were first together I had no desire to be a father. Which, she stated she didn't understand. I'd be a great father were her constant words to me. Overtime my feelings had changed. But I had only wanted her to be the mother of my children. And for a time that dream was to be a reality, until she collapsed in her office of exhaustion and miscarried. She barely survived the loss of her second child, but our marriage was not so lucky.
But I did become a father. I have a daughter, she's eight. And she in many respects is the true love of my life. My ex-wife and I share custody. Which, is how I ended up here. In the corner grocery store at nine o'clock on a Friday night, buying ice cream sundae supplies with my little girl, and running into the one who got away.
They were standing in the wine aisle. She's mentioning on how Serena won't like that vineyard, she's entirely too picky. His response is that she's too generous, wine is wine. She offers another label instead, same price. He says fine. He then states he's getting a bottle of scotch, is there something she'd like. She replies no, she'll have a drink at the bar later.
From the few context clues I assume they're about to go meet up with Serena and her husband. They're obviously visiting for the weekend, as she still resides in Paris. It's rumored she doesn't visit often but can't stand to sell her childhood home, as its one of the final things she has of her mother.
Before he walks away he kisses the side of her head and murmurs something to her. Probably an "I'll be right back", or a simple "I love you". A brief smile crosses her lips. In that moment I can tell she's happy. That the jcrew model makes her happy. That without the children she once spoke of, or the presence of her mother she still survived. That she doesn't have any regrets. That it's time for me to move on… to another aisle. And in that moment my vivacious daughter blows my cover "Daddy, I can't find the sprinkles!" Then she makes a glance in our direction. A glance that lands on me. She then becomes startled. And in an instant she recognizes me. And the memories begin to flood.
Our first time
Our rips to Paris
Our fights
Our reconciliation's
Our many breakups
Our Wedding
Our Numerous Schemes
Our Honeymoon
Our Valentines Day's
Our Divorce
About a year after our divorce I went to see her in Paris. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was that our marriage had ended. She asked me why we could never get it right. I told her it was nothing to do with her, I just didn't know how to be a husband. How to take away her pain. How to be the support system she deserved. That I knew there was a better man out there for her. And I thought it was the truth. Maybe it was at the time. But in reality it was a mistake. A mistake I still live to regret. For she was and still is my unattainable dream. And for a period of time I had the unattainable dream. But I was a young idiot, and I thought there was better out there for her than me. Before the conversation ended, she told me she understood, and that she hoped someday we would smile at each other and remember the life we shared together and in that moment we would congratulate each other on our new lives, on our dreams coming true.
It would have been easy to walk up to her after all these years and confess that I had made many mistakes, all beginning with her. Tell her we could have a fresh start. She could be a mother and I could get my valentine back. But I could tell through the brief interaction that she was happy, that she was accepting of her life, that she was in love. So instead I smiled at her. And in that smile I remembered a life shared when we were young, and sent her congratulations on her life, on her dreams that came true. She smiled back and mouthed "She's beautiful".
I place my hand on my daughters shoulder's and turned her around to leave the isle "Come on sweetheart, we'll go find the sprinkles." Glancing back one last time. Her husband has returned, and moved an arm around her waist, asking if she's okay. She says she's fine.
"Daddy"
"Yes?"
"Who was that lady?"
"Oh, just someone I knew another lifetime ago, that's all."
The End.