Chapter 13 - The Day Before The Ring Was Due
The night before the redemption deadline, I couldn't sleep.
Sarah could.
Unfair.
At 1:40, I went downstairs.
Opened the budget.
Numbers.
Always numbers.
If we redeemed the ring, we'd still make mortgage.
Utilities.
Car.
Minimum debt payments.
We would have almost no cushion for two weeks.
Possible.
Stupid?
Maybe.
I looked at the account for twenty minutes.
Then Sarah walked in wearing an old college T-shirt.
“You're doing math in the dark.”
“It's ambient.”
She sat across from me.
“You want the ring.”
“Yes.”
“So do I.”
“We can do it.”
“I know.”
“Then why are we not?”
Sarah rubbed her face.
“Because I don't know whether I want it back because I love it or because losing it feels like losing.”
I looked at the screen.
“Does the distinction matter?”
“To me.”
I waited.
She continued.
“When I sold it, I thought I would get it back before you knew.”
“Yeah.”
“So redeeming it was part of erasing what happened.”
I hadn't thought of that.
Sarah looked at her bare hand.
“But you know now.”
“Yes.”
“And I can't make the six months disappear.”
“No.”
She stared at me.
“Would wearing it make you feel like things are normal?”
I thought.
“Yes.”
Her face changed.
“That's what scares me.”
I knew why.
Normal had almost ruined us.
Normal was Sarah leaving with a laptop every morning.
Normal was me not opening statements.
Normal was dinner and kisses and nine loans living outside my field of vision.
I closed the laptop.
“So what do we do?”
She laughed softly.
“You asking me?”
“Yes.”
“Dangerous.”
“I’m growing.”
She thought.
“I want to see it tomorrow.”
“At the shop.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“I don't know.”
I smiled.
She threw a napkin at me.
The next afternoon, we went.
Carmen recognized us.
“Decision day.”
Apparently she had a sense of humor.
She brought the ring out.
Sarah asked if she could try it on.
Carmen nodded.
Sarah slid it onto her finger.
Perfect fit.
Of course.
She stared at her hand.
I expected emotion.
Tears.
Something.
Instead she frowned.
“What?”
“It feels weird.”
“Too tight?”
“No.”
She turned her hand.
“I haven't worn it in two months.”
Carmen stepped away.
Sarah asked:
“Do you want me to buy it back?”
The wording bothered me.
“You.”
“Do you want us to?”
Better.
“Yes.”
I looked at the ring.
Then at her.
“But I don't want you wearing it because you're afraid of what I think if you don't.”
Sarah swallowed.
“I don't know if I’m ready.”
That hurt more than the money.
“Ready for what?”
“To put it back on and pretend it means the same thing.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“I know.”
She took the ring off.
Placed it on the counter.
Carmen waited.
Deadline in hours.
Money in our account.
Marriage in some undefined condition.
Sarah looked at me.
“I want another month.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“We said no.”
“I know.”
“What changes in a month?”
“I don't know.”
That answer again.
My instinct was to force a decision.
Buy.
Don't buy.
Keep.
Lose.
I looked at Sarah.
Then at the ring.
“No.”
Her face changed.
“No extension?”
“No extension.”
She went still.
I continued.
“Either we buy it or we let it go today.”
Sarah stared at me.
For once, the boundary felt clean.
Not punishment.
Not control.
Just refusing another month of paying money to avoid a decision.
She looked at the ring.
Then shook her head.
“Let it go.”
My chest hurt.
“You sure?”
“No.”
Carmen stayed quiet.
Sarah slid the ticket across the counter.
“We're done.”
We walked outside without the ring.
Sarah cried in the car.
So did I.
Not because we'd chosen divorce.
We hadn't.
Not because jewelry mattered more than bills.
It didn't.
We cried because twelve years of marriage had produced an object we could not afford to save without asking what exactly we were saving it for.
Then Sarah reached across the console.
I took her hand.
Bare finger.
May you like
Warm hand.
We drove home.
