Olive Juice

Olive juice too was engraved on the inside.

She’d been so tickled at the sight of them when she’d seen the rings for the first time. She had laughed, head rocking back, clapping her hands in front of her. “And it’s secret!” she’d squealed. “It’s on the inside and it’s secret!” And then they’d asked if her she would be doing the honor of being the most important part of the wedding by wearing the prettiest dress ever made for a little girl and tossing flower petals for them. And the look on her face when they asked her, the look of joy had been a moment so heartbreakingly sweet that when she’d burst into happy tears a moment later, they were shocked into inaction, just sitting there, watching their daughter sob about how she couldn’t wait to be a flower girl, that she was so excited.

And when they’d been standing in front of their friends in the backyard, she’d been a little shy, standing on top of their feet, pulling on her daddy’s pant leg while he was reciting his vows, asking him if they were almost done because she was hungry, standing on her papa’s shoes, asking him why he was crying, was he all right? And when they’d brought out those rings, she’d shrieked in delight, screaming at everyone that there was a secret on the rings that no one but them would ever know about.

Then they’d kissed.

She’d demanded kisses too.

They gave her all the kisses, of course.

How could they not?

She’d grinned at them on the Metro when they were making it “like, for real, for real,” tossing flowers onto the train, some people grinning at her, some people glaring, but her not giving two shits. She was hollering that her dads were gettin’ hitched, they were tying the knot, and they’d kept the same rings, of course, because olive juice and olive juice too. Their secret code that no one else knew.

She’d said it, sometimes.

On the phone.

When she left the house.

In a text.

Not always. Most of the time it was I love you, Daddy, or love you, Papa, but every now and then, she would just look at them, like she couldn’t believe they were hers, and she’d lean over, a funny little smile on her face, the one that reminded David achingly of Phillip, and she’d whisper, “Olive juice,” and they’d whisper back, “Olive juice too.”

It was on the ring in Phillip’s hand.

It was on the ring on a chain around his neck.

“You left,” Phillip said. “You left me.”

“You told me to,” David said hoarsely. “You told me I had to go.”

“I was angry.”

“I know.”

“You said horrible things, David. You said terrible things to me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, can I have it back? Please don’t take it from me. Please, Phillip. Please, can I have it back? Oh, please, oh, please.”

Phillip looked away, making a wounded noise deep in his throat, like he was trying to swallow down a sob. He shook his head, but he didn’t move away, and so David tried not to take that too badly. His eyes kept going to the ring on the chain and he wanted to touch it, to make sure it was real and that he wasn’t dreaming. Because he didn’t think he could stand it if he was here this moment, and the next he’d open his eyes in the shitty apartment on the fucking futon that hurt his back, the walls bare, the hall closet filled with gifts he bought for his daughter who had been taken against her will by someone almost six years before.

And then Phillip’s hand was in his and the ring was too, and David sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear his mind, trying to hold on desperately to the last little pieces of himself. He clutched the ring, and they stood together, chests bumping, cheeks scraping.

But then David took a step back. Phillip didn’t stop him, only watched him as he slid the ring back right where it’d belonged, right where it’d been since the day they’d been married the first time. He felt slightly better, a little more himself, more than he had since he’d taken it off outside the hotel. He wiped his face, tears still on his cheeks, and he didn’t trust himself to speak, knowing his voice would crack more than it already had.

“Why,” Phillip asked him. “Why, David?”

He shook his head, not yet composed.

“Please?” Phillip asked, and goddamn him.

“Why what?”

“Why do you still have that?”

And Phillip had called him a stupid man. “I told you. It’s the only thing I have left of both of you. You can’t take that away from me. I won’t let you.”