Valentine’s Day in December

The thump of the trunk closing had a sense of finality to it. That suitcase was the last of my belongings. I jog back up the stairs, and walk into my apartment. I go through each of the rooms; bedroom, check. Bathroom, check. Living room, check. Making sure I was leaving nothing behind, except memories. Not that there were many to leave behind, to begin with.

I step out on the patio. Despite being slightly out of breath, I light one up. For old times’ sake. I think back to all the hours I had spent sitting out here, in the cold, dark night, with a smoke in one hand, and sometimes, a drink in another, gazing at the stars. As if they had the answers. They had kept their silence, and I had kept mine. As always, I look up, and see no stars, not even the one. The sky is a dull, dreary grey.

I check the time. It’s 4:30 PM. If I make good time, I’d reach Dallas in time for dinner. I stub out my cigarette, making sure to leave no ash lying behind. I get back into the apartment, out of the cold, and pause at the front door on my way out. I take one last look at my residence for the past two years, and get out, locking the door behind me.

I get to the leasing office. There’s Emily at the front desk. Emily, who’s the sweetest, who unfailingly makes small talk with me when I go to pick up a package, or for any other reason. Now, I say hey to her, and I see Darla in her office, just getting off the phone. Emily, as ever, has started asking me about my drive, but seeing this would be a good time to talk to Darla, I tell her I’d be back, and barge into Darla’s office.

I hand her the two sets of apartment keys, and tell her I’d be heading out. She says that I was a model resident, and that they are very sad to see me go. It’s not like I have a say in the matter, I reply, but promise that I’d definitely visit next year, for Wurstfest, or maybe even in the summer, to go float the river. She insists that I should drop by. I assure her I most definitely will. We both know that these are lies, but that’s just how goodbyes work.

I thank her for all they had done. For entertaining my requests to renew my lease at the last minute, negotiating with the management for getting me the best rates possible, and not hitting me with an exorbitantly high maintenance fee. She says it’s the least she could have done for one of her favorite residents. I rack my brain, trying to think of anything else I should mention. This is something my dad does all the time - laying it on real thick when thanking someone - and I was subconsciously doing the same. That’s when I remember the chocolates.

I thank her for the chocolates. She looks puzzled, and asks, what chocolates. I remind her about the ones they’d left at my door on Valentine’s Day. I’d been in a blue mood returning to the apartment from work that evening, and seeing the little pouch of chocolates hanging on my doorknob had led to a chuckle and an Instagram post. Little things making a difference.

She shakes her head. No, they did not leave chocolates at my door, or anyone else’s for that matter, as she strongly believes that Valentine’s Day is meant for couples, and couples only, and people gifting each other goodies was just a newfangled gimmick thought of by marketeers to boost their sales. No, sir, she’s not buying into that, she concluded.

I stand there, trying to make sense of it all. There were chocolates at my door on Valentine’s Day (I have photographic evidence of it), and if Darla, the community manager hadn’t had them placed there, how else could they have gotten there? That’s when I get this strong feeling. Of being watched. It’s uncanny how you sometimes just know. I turn around, as unobtrusively as I can, and I catch a glimpse of Emily looking away, pretending to be fully engrossed with whatever was on her monitor.

That’s when it clicks. Emily, the sweetest, always trying to make conversation with me. Every time I went to the leasing office. Every time we’d run into each other on the property. Every time she was walking her dog and I was out on the patio smoking. It was her that had left the chocolates. Or so I now believed.

I look back and see Darla watching me quizzically, waiting for an explanation. Without missing a beat, I lie to her, saying it was my bad, that I’d misremembered. That the chocolates were from last year’s Valentine’s Day, when the apartment was under different management. She believes my explanation. I thank her again, and bid farewell, telling her that I needed to hurry to beat the traffic in Austin.

On my way out, I stop at the front desk. I wanted to confirm my hunch, but I couldn’t bring myself to. It didn’t matter anymore. I was too late. By over ten months, to be precise.

“So, you’ll be here in summer, then?”, she asks, a wan smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah, I’ll be here. For sure”, I promise her. This time, I’m not lying.

A few minutes later, I’m driving on the frontage road, almost at the ramp to merge on to the freeway, when I swerve at the last second. The guy behind me honks angrily. I raise my arm by way of apology. I wasn’t ready to leave yet. There’s something I still have to do.

I’m back at the apartments. I park in front of the leasing office. Getting out of the car, I have to squint. Looks like the sun finally decided to come out, before setting, the sky ablaze in reds and yellows. It’s almost closing time, and I’m hoping Emily hadn’t left for the day. I rush in, Walmart bag in hand.

She’s still there, getting ready to leave, when I walk in. Seeing me, her eyes light up.

“Back already? Did you forget something?”, she enquires.

“Yes, I forgot to wish you a happy Valentine’s Day”, as I hand her the box of chocolates with a grin and a flourish.

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