To Have and to Hate

“I think my ring is fine,” I say, holding up my hand to prove my point. He looks down at it with pure disdain, and I can’t help but laugh. “Oh come on. It’s not that bad. And it only cost me $15.”

“I’m sorry to say, but you were ripped off.”

He extends his hand out to me, palm up, and it’s clear what he wants. I hold out my left hand for him and, without missing a beat, he takes it and slides off the gold band. I can’t help the tingles that spread up my arm from where he’s touching me. His hand is strong and steady, as confident and sure as any other part of him, I’m sure. Without letting go of me, he reaches for the jewelry box with his free hand and yanks out my new ring, sliding it onto my finger quickly, as if he’s scared I’ll continue to argue about it.

The giant ring fits perfectly.

I glare up at him with speculation after he drops my hand. “Why does it fit so well? You didn’t ask me my size, and though you seem competent enough, I don’t believe you can just look at someone’s hand and immediately know their ring size.”

“As convenient as that would be, no, I can’t. I asked one of my housekeepers to take a ring from your collection. You don’t have to look so appalled—she put it right back after my jeweler was done using it.”

“Right, well, you could have just asked me for my ring size, and for that matter, my opinion. This isn’t my style at all.”

He tilts his head, studying me. “Are you always this gracious when you receive gifts?”

“I thought you said it wasn’t a gift.”

He rubs the side of his temple like I’m giving him a headache.

“Wear the ring, Elizabeth,” he says, pivoting on his heels. “I’m having a dinner party this weekend, here at the apartment.”

“Do I get to attend?”

“Yes, I think it’d be odd if you weren’t there considering it’s being thrown in our honor. And I expect to see you wearing the ring.”

He’s already leaving, probably eager as ever to get away from me. I can’t help but call out to him though, before he disappears again. “How was work today?”

He turns back, obviously confused by my question.

I shrug to show him I mean no harm. “Just trying to make things as civil as possible. Normal husbands and wives probably ask each other about their day.”

“It was fine.”

It’s clear he has no plans to continue the conversation by asking me the same question, so I smile gently and reach for my book. “Well, good night.”

He pauses for one more moment, looking in on me in bed before nodding curtly. “Night.”

Ever since the article in The Times, wedding gifts have started to pour into the apartment. Any time I leave, I return home to find another dozen piled up in the entry gallery near the elevator. I leave them alone, not sure what to do with them for two reasons. One, it feels wrong to open them without Walt’s permission. Two, they were sent under false pretenses. We shouldn’t be receiving wedding presents because we aren’t newlyweds.

Then Thursday morning, I get a call from Mason as I’m out for a stroll around City Hall Park, trying to convince myself spring is starting to appear even though it’s still a frigid twenty degrees outside.

“Hi, Mason. How are you?” I ask, trying to turn what is surely going to be a phone call strictly about business into something slightly more personal.

Sad as it may seem, Mason is pretty much the closest thing I have to a friend in New York City outside of Walt. How pathetic is that?

“I’m good. Thank you. How are you?”

“Oh, great, actually. Getting some fresh air.”

“Glad to hear it. I’m calling because Walt would like you to start opening and organizing the gifts that have been delivered to the apartment. Stationery will be couriered over later this morning, so when you have a moment, please also start to write thank you notes. I’ve emailed templates you can use to make it easier.”

As silly as it might sound, I’m more than a little thrilled to have permission to open the gifts—not that any of them are mine. They’ll stay at Walt’s apartment after I move out, but still, it’s fun to pretend…

Sadly, I’m slightly let down by everyone’s lack of ingenuity.

Over half of the gifts are made of crystal or china. There are tea sets and napkin rings and fancy placemats that start to all blend together. There are serving bowls and coordinating platters, and dear God, how is Walt going to store all this stuff? He already has one of each of these items tucked away in his kitchen.

The sameness of the gifts makes my task of writing thank you notes rather tiresome. I end up using Mason’s templates instead of coming up with anything on my own because how many different ways can you say Thank you for the generic crystal vase?