Chocolate Reality

Chocolate is a jilted brides best friend.

I should know.

Not the lingerie wrapped with vanilla scented beads or even that gorgeous white satin
wedding gown hanging in my closet.

Not the groom who ran away.

Not the meaningful cards full of well wishes and deepest sympathies that accompanied the boxes of chocolates arriving on my doorstep.

No - I take that back. I love those people.

It’s the groom who hightailed it out of the rectory windows in his black tuxedo and chocolate colored satin cummerbund that I’d like to forget.

It was a beautiful color by the way. Imagine the color of milk chocolate as it melts on your fingertip, you know – that delectable aroma that tantalizes you until the only thing you can do it lick that tiny smear off your finger? THAT color. My bridesmaids looked beautiful, the cake – stunning. A three-tiered, white iced, triple-brownie cake wrapped in a simple chocolate colored ribbon. Elegant, simple and stunning.

Love is overrated.

But as I lay on my uber-soft couch bawling my eyes out while watching the unforgettable scene between Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves in the LakeHouse I know I would take it all back if I could. For one moment, I want to be loved. Again. Like I was before my fiance realized he didn’t love me enough.

As Keanu takes Sandra in his arms and draws her close for their unforgettable kiss, I reach over to grab another kleenex off the coffee table, but misread the distance and ended up reaching way to far just as my front door opens.

Crap. Of all the times for me to keep my door unlocked, it had to be now.

“Hello darlin’.”

I breathe a sigh of relief as I struggle to get up. Not happening.

“Ugh, in here Heather.” I’m not sure if she heard me or not, seeing how my lips are kissing the carpet.

Tilting my head for air, I noticed a pair of red heeled shoes, sitting beside a brown canvas bag bulging at weird angles. I looked up to find Heather covering her mouth. Tell tale signs of a smirk showed through her splayed fingers.

“What are you doing?” she said. “You’re supposed to be lying on your couch resting, not doing gymnastics. Although,” she mused, “that position does look kind of interesting.” Heather squatted on the floor with her head tilted to get a better view of my face.

“Oh, just help me up, will you?”

I with a little bit of grunting and stretching body parts I didn’t know I had, we managed to push my body back on the couch. I squished back down into my warm place and sighed. My uber-soft couch enveloped me like my mother’s hand-stitched blanket. I was in warmth heaven. When I caught Heather’s gaze, I tried to make the most pathetic looking face I could manage, hoping for sympathy.

“Ya, nice try. By the way - gymnastics are not your forte.” Heather lifted up her overflowing bag. “I brought over some treats for you,” she said over her shoulder as she meandered into my kitchen.

“Have I told you I love you?” I asked her. “How did you know I was home today?” My pampering angel is Heather Manning, a gourmet chef who just happens to be one of my closest friends and ex-roommate.

“You forget I’m married to your business partner. He called to tell me how pathetic you sounded this morning. I’m here to rescue you, and to keep you from contaminating the store. Call me your personal pampering guardian.” Heather curtsied. Tall, elegant and without an inch of fat on her body, her curtsy would do any princess proud.

“I’m also here with strict instructions to make sure you don’t go into the store today,” she said as she brought me a steaming cup tea. Hmmm, hot honey and lemon.

“But don’t touch me, cough on me or expect me to pick up all your nasty Kleenex,” she said glancing around the room, distain evident by her puckered brow. “Drink your tea while
I heat up some soup.”

“Please tell me brought me your famous chicken noodle soup.” I begged.
Her soup is literally on par with her chocolate, my chocolate or anyone else’s chocolate. It’s that good.

“What kind of friend would I be if I left you here in misery without my soup?” Heather said.
“Now just relax. Dream of chocolate or some handsome fellow bringing you chocolate. I’ll wake you when the soup is heated.”

I liked the idea of having my dream man bring me chocolate. Being the good girl that I am, I try to always do as I’m told, so dream away I shall.

“You’re a sweetie,” I mumble as I burrow underneath my blanket. “Even if you did leave me to get married, I still think you’re the best.”

As I drifted off to sleep, I heard her giggling in the background.