The Ring

  Ring

I had always admired that ring. There it sat, sparkling with its ten diamonds, it’s shimmering gold band, in  the jewelers window. I passed it every morning on the way to work, I stopped and admired it much longer than I should, then would walk away slowly, knowing I could only afford such a jewel if I sold my kidney.  I was thinking about the ring when I walked slowly to my apartment, up the short flight of stairs, and was still thinking about it as I polished off the last of the tangerine chicken. I knew it was just a piece of jewelry but I also, somehow, knew it was supposed to be mine.  I brought out my yoga mat from the closet and, changing into my sweats and old tee-shirt, instructed myself to forget about that ring. Or any ring for that matter.

I had as well, until I awoke on Saturday thinking about my mother… let me rephrase that, you see, my mother is a widow, and she has a lot of money. So as any smart modern day woman would do, she blew basically 5000 dollars on jewelry and clothes. Oh and shoes, don’t  forget the shoes. And so when I think about my mother, I should see a person.. but all I see it a toothpick wearing a long green dress and three rings on each finger, with the lingering sent of coco Chanel. I rolled myself off my fold out couch and went over to the phone. “Mathew Cunnings, who’s this?”  said an all to familiar voice “hey Mat, it’s me, Lilly.” “hey! I was just about to call you! Listen I know with me being in LA is sort of putting me in the slot for worst boyfriend ever, but I have something to ask you” I heard the doorbell ring and walked over to the door. And there, kneeling on the ground, holding a Tiffany’s box, was Mat.

“Lilly Bloom, Will you marry me?”

And there, sitting in that box, was the ring I would wear for the rest of my life.