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“One sec.”
I walk up to the counter and grab a thin wooden stir stick from the jar. “Hey, Carol. Do you have any string back there I could have?”
“We have baker’s twine. How much do you need?”
“Twelve inches or so?” She cuts me off a piece, and I head back to the table.
“Okay, new tactic.”
Using the stir stick, I push the end of the string under the ring and leave a short tail sticking out a couple inches. With the long end, I wind it around her finger tightly and tie it off around her manicured nail. Taking the short end, I unwind the string in the opposite direction, and her eyes light up when the ring moves.
“Oh my God! It’s working!”
Her eyes are glassy and full of anticipation. As soon as we get to the knuckle, I pause and stare at her. “Ready?” She bobs her head up and down, and I unwrap the string two more times and slide it off her finger.
Her other hand rubs the red indent around the base.
“Holy shit. Thank you!”
I inspect the ring. It’s gaudy and pretentious. Not something I would pick—not that I’d ever buy an engagement ring.
“Your ring is ugly.”
“Dick.”
“Be honest, would you have picked this?” I hold it up.
She purses her lips but doesn’t deny it. She knows I’m right. The corner of her mouth tips up slightly. “You think that’s bad? Check out the engraving.”
I spin it until my eyes catch the words inscribed into the silver band. I read it aloud and instantly cringe.
“I love you this much.”
I stare at her with my head lolled to the side. “And youstillsaid yes? Talk about low standards.”
I’m not romantic by any stretch of the imagination, but even I know that’s bad. Bryan’s worst quality is assigning the things in his life with monetary value. Even people. Who’s well-connected, who has money, which important public figures would be valuable to have in his corner. But to putthaton an engagement ring?Damn.
“I tried to look at it through his eyes. Like, maybe that was his way of saying he loved me a lot? It sounds stupid when I say it aloud. The diamond was expensive, but his words cheapened it. I’d rather be proposed to with a Ring Pop than have a dollar sign in front of my worth.”
She’s hurting.
Trying to make light of the situation, I chuckle. “I mean, better than a Ring Pop that saysI love you this much, right?”
She stares off into space for a moment, and I don’t fill the air. Truthfully, I don’t feel the need to. The silence doesn’t sit heavy between us. She’s lost in her thoughts, but when shereturns, she gives a tight smile and eats another piece of muffin.
“You’re right, these are pretty good—” She chews while tilting her head. “But the scones are better.”
She reaches across the table and pulls it back to her side.
“You’re so full of shit,” I say, beaming. The scones are good, but these particular muffins are leagues above.
She shrugs and takes another bite, then wipes her hands clean of crumbs and holds out her hand. I drop the engagement ring in her palm, and she leans over to tuck it into her messenger bag slung on the back of her chair. When I first sat down, I assumed the conversation would be forced and awkward, but she’s easy to talk to. I’m actually enjoying myself.
Zipping the bag closed, she sighs. She’s dressed like a bum. No prim manners or empty boring complacencies like everyone else who comes from rich families like ours. She doesn’t carry herself with any entitlement—so different from Bryan. She’s unapologetically herself in her stained baggy sweatshirt and leggings. Her legs are tucked under her, almost like a child. It’s a little unnerving, if I’m being honest. At first, I thought it was because she was depressed and neglecting her appearance, but she has a sparkle in her eye she didn’t have before. It’s authenticity. Maybe this is the version of her she hides.
Or maybe I’m looking into it too much.
“Can I ask you a question?”
