The Shadow on Her Finger
By Elise Swanson Ochoa
Dennie and Alan got engaged one sweltering September afternoon on the UCLA college campus where they met. Though they’d never discussed an engagement, Dennie could only imagine one reason Alan would invite her out for a “picnic.” He never planned dates.
The morning of the picnic, Dennie threw every other dress on the floor of their bedroom until she decided on a modest yellow number. That afternoon at the nail salon, she couldn’t sit still. “It’s for a ‘picnic’ with my boyfriend,” she said with a wink, shifting in her chair. The nail lady didn’t look up.
The college campus’s tall sycamore trees shaded the grassy campus square where the couple set their blanket down. Brick buildings surrounded them, along with a few straggling students heading to the library. The thick heat made Dennie desperate to avoid sweat marks under her dress’s tight cap sleeves. She flapped her arms and tossed her curly hair away from her sticky neck.
Dennie unpacked cheese and crackers from their bag, and Alan asked to take a picture with her. Watching him fumble with the tripod, Dennie smoothed down her hair. He put the camera on the tripod, set the self-timer, and walked back to put his arm around her. Dennie smiled at the camera, and Alan counted down for the picture.
On the count of “one,” Alan got down on one knee and offered up a purple velvet box. Dennie smiled widely at the scene of her forever man kneeling under the shade of the sycamore tree. Her bouncy ringlets shone bright under the golden-hour sun for a delightful and most Instagrammable engagement photo.
Dennie craved the ring. She couldn’t wait to see what cut he picked. She hoped it would fit right away. When he opened the tiny box, she gasped. The diamond was beautiful. One big stone stared back at her, with a halo of smaller ones around it. The tiny prisms glittered under her eyes. Dennie didn’t hear Alan ask, “Will you marry me?” but she knew when to say yes. Alan wriggled the ring onto her left hand and Dennie had forever secured.
***
As late summer crossed into early fall and the Los Angeles evenings shortened, the engagement photos faded into the background and the ring reigned supreme. At work Dennie swanned down the maze of cubicles with her new left hand. Coworkers, unasked, would grab her ring finger with googly eyes while she regaled them with stories of Alan and his “picnic.” It had to be a big stone. How else were they supposed to know she was so loved?
At first she was clumsy with the ring. The way the diamond jutted out over its setting, it got tangled around her hair, hit door jambs and car doors. Dennie had to learn how to wear it—reach with the right, keep it upright, don’t let it dangle. During small talk or on the phone, she would touch it or twist it around her knobby knuckles.
In early October, with desert winds blowing over the coastal city, Dennie brought Alan and the ring home to her parents. Beaming, her parents welcomed them into the house. At the celebratory dinner table, Alan scooped mashed potatoes onto his plate without looking up. Dennie smiled at the top of his head.
The longer they were engaged, the accumulation of exclamations at Alan’s purchase grew. It wasn’t only coworkers, friends, and parents looking at the ring. His name came up like never before to strangers and acquaintances. He was always with her. The bright stone cast a shadow of Alan at her left hand. Each excited inquiry made Alan’s shadow grow stronger. He was with her at work, at the grocery store, at the salon. Even the nail lady looked up at her now. Everyone seemed to ask her about the ring and who bought it. “Yes, I’m getting married soon. His name is Alan. He’s an engineer,” was her response. Dennie was never alone.
She took it in stride. She found she could make the ring sparkle more if she used air-dryers in restrooms. The low light in restaurants was her favorite place to look down and fan her left hand under her eyes. In the dim light the ring sparkled, and she often didn’t want to look away. Alan’s shadow, his mark, mesmerizing.
As winter arrived the sun set before Dennie got home from work. In their apartment Dennie sat at her laptop and Alan at his Xbox. Dennie drowned in invitations, colors, and clothes in planning their summer wedding.
“Do you like how this photographer does their lighting?” she said.
“Dunno. How much does it cost?” said Alan.
That’s okay. She kept scrolling, calling, and researching until she found vendors and rentals Alan would approve of too.
Dennie loved to catch a glimpse of the glittering ring dancing over her keyboard at work until one day, she glanced down while typing, and like seeing a bug splatter on the windshield, she pulled her head back in disgust. One of the small halo stones surrounding the large diamond fell out of its setting. Dennie panicked at the ugly vacancy facing her. Where did it fall? Is it in the keyboard? She scanned the tiny canyons of the keyboard. She glanced around the cubicle, looking for a sparkle under the office’s fluorescent lighting. Dennie couldn’t stand the gap. Good thing we have plans to shop for wedding bands this weekend. Alan will sort this out. The jeweler is going to get an earful, she thought.
Alan’s yells got them a nice discount on bands. They didn’t match. Dennie wanted old-school gold and Alan wanted white gold. With her refurbished setting and their mismatched bands, the couple walked back to the car. Dennie wanted to wrap her hand in his, but Alan was still fuming from his tirade at the jeweler.
By April the bridal shower was coming up, and wedding time was closing in. Dennie ran around asking professionals to fix her face and her hair. She wasn’t expecting to fix the ring as well. “I’m looking for big, soft curls, not the small ones like I usually have,” she said to the stylist, but in that moment, in her reflection, there was another hideous hole where a diamond should be. The same stone had fallen out a second time.
Hoping to leave Alan out of it, Dennie had the ring fixed herself. She ran to a jeweler at lunch. He needed until the end of the day. If she hurried, she would slip home only slightly late. Sometimes Alan came home late too.
The jeweler called her back before she reached the door.
“Look here,” he said, one eye squinting through an eye loupe, “there’s a dent here in your main stone.” And like a dentist pointing out a cavity, the jeweler stuck a pinhead inside the diamond’s dent. “That we can’t fix, ma’am; the diamond is flawed naturally; you’ll need to sign this for me.”
The room darkened around Dennie. How had she missed it? All of the glances, all of the admirations, and there it was, a cavity slightly off-center. Alan bought a damaged stone. Unblinking, Dennie signed the waiver. Alan bought her a faulty ring.
Dennie paused before leaving the store. She imagined her aunts and cousins at the bridal shower, huddled in floral prints and manicures, reaching out to see the ring. How could they praise Alan’s good taste if they saw the cavity? It would be a permanent stain on Alan’s reputation. No, nobody can know. This is my little secret. Dennie pledged to keep the ring as clean and as shiny as possible to hide the cavity from prying eyes. Alan’s shadow trailed behind her as she walked out the door, ringless.
***
In June their California wedding arrived in a rush of green grass, champagne, and an orange sunset. A dream in a sea of plans. The ring was fixed, the diamond stayed put, and nobody saw the cavity in the ring. After the champagne and whisky was drunk, in the newlywed suite, Dennie rubbed Alan’s back over the toilet. He slurred a sarcastic, “Boys will be boys,” and told Dennie her vows were overly emotional. His were simple and respectful. She was sure Alan wouldn’t remember saying anything the next day. Alan passed out on the bathroom floor. Alone in the marital bed, Dennie thought about her overly emotional vows. She clutched the sheets tight to her chin and fell asleep.
Over the honeymoon and after Dennie obsessed over the cavity and the stone that wouldn’t stay put, Dennie dared the gem to run free a third time. She glared at it. She washed the dishes and eyed it. She took out the trash and watched it. She sat in her cubicle and half-expected it to be gone. Alan’s shadow began to peek out from under the ring almost every day. The shadow followed her eyes around the ring, laughing at the cavity, at Dennie’s secret, at her obsession.
She couldn’t believe she missed the day it did fall out. She was at a conference for work that week. She imagined one of the hotel workers cleaning and finding a little, lost diamond lying alone on the nightstand. She imagined a rainbow glint catching someone’s eye on the sidewalk. It was probably in somebody’s pocket by now, off on other adventures. Maybe it found its way to the beach, disguised as any other grain of sand.
With the small gem gone, her secret might not be kept for long. Surely Alan would see the damage to the ring. When Alan picked her up, she walked to the car with her arms folded across her stomach. Alan’s shadow crept out from the dark hole in the ring. It hissed at her. She ignored it and they listened to the radio back to their apartment.
Alan’s shadow knew the stone was missing. Alan himself didn’t notice the gem gone when they got home. He didn’t notice that day or the day after. Dennie cooked him dinner and served his plate right under his nose, and nothing. He ate his food and watched TV. She began to scratch her face with her left hand while she talked. She waved her left hand around. She twirled her hair around her left hand. Day after day he never saw the missing stone. At bedtime the hole mocked her. Alan’s shadow mocked her. Towering over her bed, a dark figure rose up from the ring in its box and hissed at Dennie.
Silly girl, he doesn’t see the ring or you, it said as she rolled over, turning away from the dark corner where the ring sat.
The empty spot was so hideous, Dennie couldn’t stand looking at it. If she took the ring off, she was free of Alan’s shadow and the broken ring, but her finger felt empty, vulnerable. If she kept it on, the hole stayed and Alan’s shadow laughed.
Alan never came to bed with her. She twisted and turned in her sheets while Alan played video games on the couch. Every night, in the darkness of their bedroom, Alan’s shadow stood tall, breathing over her. She could feel the cold air in the corner of the room by the dresser. Did he do it on purpose? Did Alan leave his shadow free to torment her alone in the darkness?
***
Two years after Dennie’s most Instagrammable day, she came home one gloomy June night with a bottle of white wine. In the bedroom, taking off her work clothes, she found a note on the dresser next to her jewelry box.
I’m sorry, Dennie. Keep everything. I took what I need, the note said.
Two dresser drawers were open and empty, along with half of their walk-in closet.
Standing behind her in the opposite corner of the bedroom was Alan’s long, thin shadow—waiting, laughing.
Dennie crouched on the floor, rocking back and forth. She spun the heavy ring around her knuckles, around and around. A soft tsk-tsk came from above.
“I won’t take the ring off,” she said. “My parents won’t know. My coworkers won’t know. The nail lady won’t know. I’ll keep it on and nobody will know.”
THE END
Author Bio: Elise Swanson Ochoa’s work has been featured or is forthcoming in West Word Revue, The Loch Raven Review, Los Angeles Poets for Justice, The Opiate, Packingtown Review, Potato Soup Journal, and Wrath-Bearing Tree. She holds a BA in Spanish and linguistics from UCLA and a Doctor of Optometry degree from Southern California College of Optometry. Elise is an optometrist in Santa Barbara. She currently attends Creative Writing courses through UCLA Extension.