“Ring: Part One” #3 by Cherie Ann Turpin (30 Stories in 30 Days) #30days

“Ring: Part One” #3

by Cherie Ann Turpin

(30 Stories in 30 Days) #30days

I picked through my closet when until I selected a red blouse with a deep plunge framed with ruffles.  I placed it on the chair over the floor length black skirt and slipped into the bathroom to shower and shampoo.  I thought about the ring, and about him.  He would be at the party already, so I needed to hurry up and be ready to leave soon.

While he was on business travel he went shopping for my ring and I told him I didn’t want African diamonds or precious jewels because it was exploitative of the workers–I explained I wasn’t trying to reject my mother’s ring set choice, but I wanted a different thing. It felt strange to have it on my finger every single day, but I started wearing it to accept I was now married. He promised to have the bottom half for me if I asked for it and I was considering it. It fell off in my bed, but I woke up and put it back on, thinking I need to get it resized. He was surprised and pleased I was wearing it. Two of my friends looked at the ring.   Both looked puzzled, so I explained why my ring did not look like the usual wedding ring, that I did not want a diamond because of the history of them. The ring was a mysterious metal resembling white gold with a white quartz-like jewel.

When I arrived at the party everyone was dressed in 18th century clothing, somewhat decadent, some wearing jeweled masks.   I wore black lace opera gloves, a gift from  a woman who claimed them to be a charm of sorts.  My ring began to warm and tingle, oddly, but I ignored it as I made my rounds greeting other party guests. He was standing near one of the tall windows at the far end of the room with two other men, talking and smiling, but clearly looking for me.  He gestured for me to come and introduce myself.

As I walked through the crowded room I noticed for the first time that other women in the room were wearing the same ring with the odd Quartz-like crystal.  My left hand began to tingle as I realized this was no ordinary crowd.  My husband smiled as he pulled me close to him and introduced me to his people, the Agaven refugees of Defoli Y’shol.

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