Pearl Ring
He and his betrothed moved into a cream-colored apartment in the outer ring of the concentric circles that made up the apartment complex. At the center of the complex was a swimming pool. He first noticed her pearl ring on their first trip to the apartment’s swimming pool when she took off her diamond engagement ring but kept the pearl one on to swim. He wondered about it but didn’t ask her. She might have worn the pearl ring all the time, the whole time he’d known her, but somehow, he hadn’t noticed. If he asked about it so far into their relationship, she’d think he wasn’t paying attention. That he’d asked to marry her without knowing her well.
He often stayed up to watch TV for an hour or so after she went to sleep, but that night he pretended to be tired. After preparing herself with various ointments like a mummy might before resting in a sarcophagus, she settled into bed and took off one ring, her diamond engagement ring that had cost him so much. If he hadn’t bought that, they could have afforded a nicer apartment closer to the center of the complex.
She slept on her back with her hands folded over each other, the right one with the pearl on top.
Pearls came only from ugly things, oysters. They probably hurt the little fellows, like passing a kidney stone. For hours, he wondered, unable to sleep. Did another man give her the pearl ring? Someone more important to her? Maybe it was a gift she’d given herself for graduating or getting a raise.
The next day, he asked her about it.
“It was a gift from my mother,” she said. Unconcerned by his concern, she sipped iced coffee through the plastic straw in her thermos, just as she did every morning.
“Your mother?” He had never known her to be close to her mother. “What was the occasion?”
“I was born.”
He must have looked at her with skepticism, because she elaborated. Normally, she hated elaboration. “I grew into it,” she explained.
“Your mother perfectly predicted what your adult ring size would be?”
She nodded and sipped until the last bit of liquid burbled into her straw.
“Why take off your engagement ring but leave the other one on? When you swim and stuff?” he said, looking down at the table, at the white plastic space between his hands.
“I didn’t notice I did that,” she said. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. And you keep it on to sleep. Maybe other times, too. I just didn’t notice until now.”
She shrugged. “I guess I don’t want to lose the diamond. Besides, the pearl ring is so comfortable, I forget it’s there. Pearls are so smooth. The diamond nicks me sometimes.”
They went back to the pool that day. It was even sunnier than the day before, and she spent longer in the water. He made an excuse to go back to the apartment early. He found the diamond ring on her nightstand and hid it under the bed. That might teach her a lesson.
When she returned, she showered and didn’t mention the ring. He worked on his laptop, and he ignored her for the rest of the night. She didn’t even notice her engagement ring was gone!
Until the next morning when she was dressing for work. He watched her get ready. She felt on the nightstand and frowned, but the first place she looked was under the bed. She put the diamond ring in its place without looking at it. Did she never admire her own hands? Wasn’t that the point of a diamond ring?
He couldn’t stop thinking about the rings all day. He had thought he could trust her, but this made him nervous for reasons he could not explain. Could he even trust his own senses? They’d been betrothed for months before moving into the new apartment, and he had never noticed the little pearl. Had it appeared out of nowhere?
That night, he mixed cocktails, making hers stronger. Another round. Another. She passed out on the couch, and he picked her up and put her in bed. While she was out, he left the diamond on her finger and took the pearl.
Soft, thin gold and a dribble of pearl. Like something ancient. It wouldn’t fit on any of his fingers except his left pinky. He smelled the ring. What was so special? It didn’t smell like the sea. He bit it a little, and he felt that it was gritty. A real pearl. From her mother, she said.
He looked down and saw she was still breathing. The pearl ring wasn’t so vital. It wasn’t keeping her alive.
Instead of returning it, he kept it on his own finger. He hoped she’d wake up and notice, but she slept through her alarm the next morning and hurried to make it to the office without being terribly late. If she noticed he’d stolen her pearl ring, she said nothing about it. She took off her diamond and showered, then returned it to her finger after zipping up her skirt.
He wore the pearl ring all day as he worked from their apartment. He wore it at night when they cooked and ate at their plastic table. She didn’t mention it, and it was so soft and light, it was easy for him to forget it was there.
Decades later, he died before her, and the funeral home director asked if she wanted his rings.
“Rings?” she said.
“One wedding ring. One pearl ring,” he said.
She didn’t remember the pearl ring. She’d even forgotten what his wedding ring looked like. It was such an everyday thing.
“I won’t take them,” she said. “It’s good to bury someone with a few things.”
Mini-interview with Ivy Grimes
HFR: Can you share a moment that has shaped you as a writer (or continues to)?
IG: I mostly wrote poetry when I was younger, but I started frequently writing fiction after reading Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.
HFR: What are you reading?
IG: The Orange Eats Creeps by Grace Krilanovich and The Interior Castle by St. Teresa of Avila.
HFR: Can you tell us what prompted “Pearl Ring”?
IG: Honestly, I like to thumb through my copy of Penguin’s Dictionary of Symbols sometimes, and I was reading the entry about pearls.
HFR: What’s next? What are you working on?
IG: I’m slowly working on a long story about evil, and in between, I’m writing quick stories about other things.
HFR: Take the floor. Be political. Be fanatical. Be anything. What do you want to share?
IG: Inspired by a notion from DC writer and librarian Christopher Stevenson, I’d like to wish everyone a very happy birthday.
Ivy Grimes lives in Georgia, and her stories have appeared in The Baffler, Maudlin House, ergot., hex, Cold Signal, Cover, BODY, and elsewhere. Her collection Glass Stories is available with Grimscribe Press. For more, please visit ivyivyivyivy.com.
Check out HFR’s book catalog, publicity list, submission manager, and buy merch from our Spring store. Follow us on Instagram and YouTube. Disclosure: HFR is an affiliate of Bookshop.org and we will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase. Sales from Bookshop.org help support independent bookstores and small presses.
Heavy Feather Review 