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“He did good.”
“I know.”
She turns my hand. “And he bought this five years ago?”
“Right before we split up. Kept it in a drawer all this time.”
Jamie looks at me. “That makes it worse.”
“Worse?”
“Sad worse. Romantic worse. You know what I mean.”
I laugh.
Because I feel it every time I look at it. The ring isn't just a ring Simon picked out a few weeks ago because we got back together and decided marriage was the next logical step.
He picked it when we were twenty-two. When we were young and stupid and so insanely in love that I thought him getting my name tattooed above his dick was the height of romance.
In retrospect, there were perhaps warning signs that neither of us had fully developed frontal lobes.
“I can't believe he kept it,” I say quietly.
Jamie releases my hand. “I can. He's always been stupid about you.”
I laugh.
She takes another bite, then points her food at me again. “I am happy for you. But—”
“There it is.”
“I'm allowed a but.”
“You're a butt.”
She chooses to ignore my childish comment. “I still think you two should've waited until the Veronica situation was sorted out.”
Some of the lightness in my chest dims.
I look at the papers on my desk.
“We don't even know when that's going to be sorted out. We don’t want to put our lives on hold for her.”
“I know.”
“Because we’ve already done that just by being stubborn and stupid.”
“I know, Blaire.”
“Exactly. So what? We wait eighteen years to get married?”
Jamie rolls her eyes. “Obviously not.”
“Then there was never going to be some perfect point where everything was settled.”
“Blaire. Stop.” She reaches across the desk and taps my wrist. “I don't think getting engaged was a mistake.”
I look at her.
