She rubbed her eyes, still itchy and raw from all of the crying she had done the night before. As if on autopilot, her right hand moved down, and she found herself twisting the loose ring on her left ring finger in a slow, methodical motion. The only comfort to her was the feel of the cold metal against the hot, splotchy nervousness of her skin.
She had told him when he proposed that she didn't want a ring. They couldn't afford it. She had begged him just to throw on shoes and run to Walmart, and they could spend a few quarters on a superhero decoder ring in one of those gumball machines... and that would be it.
He knew she belonged to him. She was sure. He'd known it for years. Even in the times he'd treated her like another man's girlfriend, she had stuck around. But he insisted, she had to have something to prove to the world that she was his... so he had taken the ring off his own finger...an Irish claddagh ring he had gotten from his grandmother... and placed it on her hand.
It fit so loosely that she was afraid to wear it much. It wasn't hers anyway, and she wanted to save for the sapphire and diamond wedding band more fitting of her own personality. Her parents didn't know; neither did many of her friends. They kept warning her that even dating him was a mistake, so how could she tell anyone that he'd asked her to marry him?
She had known, she thought, where his feelings really lay. They were evident, face up and trembling on the pillow next to her, when they had laid there together in that very room, naming their children, planning out their lives in the city, searching on the internet for job prospects for him once he finished school. As she thought back to those conversations, her head began to ache.
What were they? Empty words. Her mouth went dry, and her stomach felt achily hollow. It was over. He had told her last night that he couldn't give her the love and support that she needed. When she had asked if there was someone else, he had said, "No, but I'd like there to be." Just like that, words of goodbye had replaced words of forever, and their stench hung in the air, burning her nostrils as she felt the tears starting to well. Again.
She buried her head in the pillow next to her. It still smelled like him, Irish Spring soap and cigarettes, laced with a hint of regret.
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She woke up as the sun started to gleam through the windows, leaving small slats of light streaming onto her yellow green comforter.
She seemed to dream about that morning every year around this time. October 8, 2009. The day they were to marry. So many years ago, and yet in her dreams, the sting of her sweat and tears still felt real. She reached down to her left ring finger , and smiled to herself as she twisted her mother's amethyst and diamond ring in a slow, methodical motion. She felt the warmth of unconditional love spread from her heart.
She placed her feet on the floor and shuffled to the kitchen; her old dog following closely behind. The wet of his nose was a comfort to her as it lapped lightly against her left calf. She started the coffee, hooked up her speaker, and waited for Ella Fitzgerald's voice to burst into the room. She coated the counter in flour and decided on biscuits again. Kneading the dough in her shaky hands, she began to sing softly.
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