The Beginning of the End?
“Good Morning, Na-ta-sha!” he said with excessive attention to each syllable in an alluring nonnative accent. Because Natasha had found a ruby-red, satin-covered box in her coat pocket before leaving work yesterday, she blushed when Bernardo greeted her in the office hallway this morning.
She hated the fact that her cheeks turned red sometimes, even when talking to close friends, for she felt as if most people saw her as a poised, self-assured woman; however, occasionally she would lose her way, and look to the outside for reassurance. And now, with the discovery of this ruby-red satin box, Natasha teetered close to the edge of no return.
When Natasha was single, she got used to getting attention from men. But now that she was married, it seemed like her guy friends didn’t talk to her with the same enthusiasm and interest as before. And she missed that, those ambiguous conversations, which often led nowhere but kept her on her toes, wondering what could be if one of them would just invite the other to a drink.
Lately she found herself in a slump, uninspired by her husband’s words or touch in bed; Natasha was craving a titillating conversation at the minimum. That’s why this Hershey Kiss, tucked inside the satin box, had left her cheeks as red as the box and set her mind running to the speed of someone on cocaine.
Since Bernardo had started a month ago, Natasha had quickly taken note; his confident strut and broad shoulders dominated the office hallways. And he was Argentine (Natasha had always had a piqued interest in foreigners and found the rumors about Argentine men riveting).
Early one morning, before work got busy, Natasha and Bernardo had been getting a coffee when they had their first and only true conversation. Although it was brief and polite, barely moving beyond the standard work chat, it aroused something inside of her that had been dormant for years. And even though she was sure Bernardo had noticed the shiny diamond ring on her finger, she felt as if this conversation was different than most; it had the ambiguity she had been craving.
So it started like this: the benign conversation at the coffee machine, then the brief but eager hallway chats, followed by the provocative side-glances from across the board room table, and then yesterday the wildly suggestive ruby-red satin box, which lit up Natasha like a match sets a dry forest into flames. Natasha had wanted to tell Jenna, her best friend at work, to confide in her and get her advice, but since Jenna had stayed home sick today, she chose not to bother her.
With moist fingertips and a palpable heartbeat, Natasha opened Google Hangout since she was failing to concentrate on the emails she needed to send off that morning. Bernardo’s name was found easily in her list of work contacts. She wrote, “Let me know if you want to get a drink sometime after work.” And then flippantly added, “And I liked the Hershey Kiss even if I am married, thanks!”
She waited all afternoon for a response, anything — just something to reassure her that her cheeky comment had not mistakenly ended the affair before it had even started.
Is this actually happening? Natasha felt her nerves swell up dangerously close to her throat as she questioned her entire last seven years of marriage. Although she couldn’t imagine her life anymore without her husband, she also couldn’t imagine not meeting Bernardo for this drink.
Natasha was in — deep.
So later that afternoon when her phone chimed and vibrated, Natasha’s whole body shuddered, spilling her full cup of tea all over her keyboard. How did he already get my phone number?
But as she reached for her phone and saw the train of messages from her husband, her eyes grew wider and her heart shrunk a little more with each line of text that appeared.
“Hey babe!”
“Did you find your Kiss?”
“Was the red satin box too much?”
“I assume Jenna didn’t spill the beans?? I had planned to text you this morning but I got busy with work.”
“Anyways, I hope it brightened up your day, babe!”
“Dinner tonight?!”
“Can you?!”
“We closed the deal early! I’m in Paris, waiting for my flight to New York. I should be home around six!”
“I’ll see you soon!”
Natasha lowered her head, closed her eyes, and pinched her rosy hot cheeks to make sure this wasn’t all a dream.
