Chapter 3 - The Ring Left on Dark Wood
I didn't close the door. I left it the way he'd left it, cracked open on the hallway light, and turned back toward the dresser because I couldn't look at that line of light anymore.
The ring was where I'd set it down. It hadn't moved, of course, but part of me had expected it to be gone, like the last minute had been something I'd imagined. The dark wood caught the lamp glow around it and made the diamond look brighter than it had on my hand. That bothered me. I wanted it to look dull without me.
I lifted my left hand without thinking. The mark was still there. A pale band across the base of my finger where the ring had sat all day, pressed in from heat and nerves. I rubbed my thumb over it and felt the slight dip in my skin. My finger felt light in a way that made my whole arm feel wrong, like I'd set down something heavy and my body hadn't caught up yet.
I curled my fingers in, then opened them again. The air hit that strip of skin colder than the rest. I kept staring at it. I didn't cry then. My breathing was shallow and I could hear it in the quiet, in and out through my nose while the hallway ice machine hummed somewhere down the hall.
When I looked down again, I saw the suitcase properly for the first time that night.
It was standing beside the doorway, upright against the wall where the bellman had left our bags hours earlier. Black, hard-sided, with two zippers meeting in the middle and a white paper tag still looped through the handle. My name was on the tag in Daniel's handwriting. Not both our names. Just mine.
The zippers were closed all the way. The side pocket was zipped too. It sat straight, wheels flat on the carpet, like it had been packed with care and not thrown together. My veil brushed against it when I shifted, and I stepped back.
I reached out and touched the top handle. It was cool from sitting near the door. I ran my finger along the zipper teeth without unzipping them. The bag was full. It gave a little under my palm, firm underneath. Clothes folded tight. Shoes along the edge, I guessed. The shape of it told me someone had taken time.
And then I remembered last night.
We'd been in his apartment, boxes from the caterer stacked by the front door, my dress hanging in the back bedroom with the door shut because he said he didn't want to see it early. I'd come out of the bathroom in sweats and found him kneeling on the living room floor with that same black suitcase open.
"What are you doing?" I'd asked.
He hadn't looked up right away. He'd folded a sweater I hadn't seen in months, pressed it flat with his hands, and set it in. "Just getting this ready for after," he'd said.
I remembered standing there with a towel in my hand. "After what?"
"After the suite. For the morning. So we don't have to scramble." He'd zipped the side pocket then, quick, and stood the bag up by the door. "Don't worry about it."
I'd laughed a little because everything that week felt rushed. "You never pack early," I'd said.
He'd smiled, but it hadn't quite reached his eyes. "Trying something new."
That was it. I'd gone back to checking the seating chart on his couch and hadn't thought about the bag again until the bellman brought it up with my garment bag and Daniel's suit bag. I'd assumed he'd packed for both of us.
Now I looked at the tag again. My name only. The letters were dark and sure. Sarah. In his print.
My stomach tightened. I crouched down, careful with the lace of my dress pooling around my knees, and looked at the wheels. There was a little lint caught in one of them, like it had been rolled somewhere already. I checked the handle tag once more to make sure I wasn't misreading in the low light. I wasn't.
He'd packed this before the ceremony. Before we'd said anything in front of anyone. He'd written my name and zipped it shut and set it by the door of his apartment, then had it brought here like it belonged to us.
I stood up slowly. My knees cracked. The veil slipped forward over my shoulder and I pushed it back.
The ring caught the light again from the dresser. I looked from the suitcase to the ring and back, and my hand went to my bare finger again. The mark was still there, fading a little at the edges now.
Part of me wanted to pick the ring up and put it back on just to make my hand feel normal again. Part of me wanted to drop it in the suitcase pocket and zip it shut. I took a step toward the dresser and stopped with my hand in the air.
No. If I touched it now, I'd be deciding something I wasn't ready to decide.
I let my hand fall to my side. I left the ring exactly where I'd placed it, turned at that slight angle toward the lamp, diamond up. If he came back through that ajar door, he'd see it first. He'd have to. He'd have to look at what he'd walked past.
May you like
I stepped away from the dresser and sat down on the edge of the bed, facing both of them — the ring on the dark wood and the packed bag by the door. My breathing slowed. The mark on my finger throbbed faintly where the band had been.
Let it sit there, I thought. Let him explain that.
