A Ring

By Jeffrey Paolano

“Everything’s done,” exclaims Dory, nursing our second beer on the subject.

“There must be a way that makes this memorable,” says I. “Why not climb a mountain or sail out in a boat?”

“Cheesy, cheesy, I’m gonna lean in after dessert, look into her eyes, then open the box. That’s what she’ll have. That’ll be the memory. Something she’ll cherish,” says Dory.

“Just seems light.” That’s my opinion so I let it fly.

Peevishly, Dory offers, “Well hell, forget the goddamn ring. It’s alright as-is. We’ll just cohabitate.”

Flushed, guilt ridden and scrambling, I struggle to develop an argument.

“Goddamn ring.”