The emerald ring my grandfather placed on the hand of the woman he expected would grow old alongside him. The emerald ring passed down to my mother when she married. The emerald ring that is loaned to every woman in our family on her wedding day. This is what I think about in the awkward moment when the jeweler tells my mother the uncomfortable truth. Green glass, he says. My mother’s face mirrors her feelings. Sadness. Disappointment. A tinge of embarrassment, too. As we walk away with the treasure tucked securely in her bag, I ask this. Does it matter?
Faye Deal is an avid reader who relishes getting lost in words.