Her first morning back from Michigan, Anne lounged in her daybed and summoned up their afternoon stuck on the lake. Even though the rain had cleared and they’d witnessed the most beautiful purple-and-pink-hued sunset ever, Sergio wasn’t pleased. He shivered with cold and didn’t say a word, but she sensed the whole experience scared him. She had been stuck out there before and assumed someone would eventually come along. And she had been right. Before it was completely dark, a boat came along and towed them back to the dock.
She sighed and thought of the conversation she’d had with Sergio as they headed south back to the airport.
“I’m sorry the trip was a bust. I’d hoped you’d be smitten with the mitten.”
“I liked it.” He put his hand on her knee.
“No, you didn’t.”
“To be honest, I felt like a fish out of water.”
They both laughed at his unintentional joke.
“Will you ever want to go back?”
He shrugged. “Sicuro.”
“How about Perchville in February?” She smiled but kept her eyes on the road.
“What’s that?”
“Fishing tournament and Polar Bear Swim. They cut a hole in the ice, and people dive into Lake Huron.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I’ve done it before, but I know it’s not for you. You didn’t care for my family, either.”
“Your mom is nice, but the rest of the family is pretty . . . unusual. It was hard to get a word in edgewise. I’m sure they are good people. They love you, and over time I’ll probably love them, too.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
Anne’s eyes moistened. “You’re so sweet. Are you certain we’re meant for each other?”
“Why not?”
“You’re rich and I’m poor. You’re sophisticated and I’m not.”
“I don’t care about any of that. I’ve told you before, you’re different than the women I meet in the fashion industry. You’re wholesome and down to earth. One of the things I love about you is that you take me out of my comfort zone and encourage me to try things I’d never even imagined doing before.”
“Like the Polar Bear Swim?”
He laughed. “No, I’m not doing that! Like fishing, thrifting, and eating terribly gross food.”
She laughed. “What else?”
“Carrying a woman in my arms in a subway station, shipping Ferragamos across the country to get her attention.”
“And?” Her voice took on a sultry timbre.
“I’m not going to say any more.” He smiled a smile that had warmed her all the way home.
Anne laughed and popped out of bed, poured some coffee and lit her gardenia candle. Since quitting her valet job, she loved having hours on end to do her art. She pulled her hair up and twisted a scrunchie into it, then started back in on the flapper collage, adding more color and depth to the girls’ clothes.
While the collage dried, Anne moved to her shoe painting. The shading and darks and lights of the rhinestones were still challenging her. She needed inspiration.
From her stash, she grabbed an old tackle box about the same size and shape as the shoebox, screwed off the lid, and removed the inset, setting it aside. To the mermaid-blue paint left over on her palette she added a little oxide green and stirred it together to make a delicious turquoise. She painted the entire box, inside and out.
In front of her found-object shelf, she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply and letting her breath out slowly. After a minute or so, she opened her eyes and scanned the ceramics. She skipped over the Goldilocks with braids, a blue-and-white Chinese fisherman, and a white poodle, but reached for the Lladró knockoff, a teen in a flowing gown. Anne ran her fingers over the smooth texture and set it on the table. She picked a few other things that appealed to her: a dollhouse-sized old-fashioned telephone, a cameo charm, a dove in flight, a faux diamond ring, and a starburst pendant.
Anne’s phone buzzed. “Hi, Mom. I’m back safe and sound. What did you think of Sergio?”
“He’s nice, dear. But are you sure he’s really for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s so foreign.”
Anne cringed. “That’s one of the things I love about him. Yes, dark and handsome, too.”
“If you’re sure, then when can we start planning the wedding?”
Anne laughed and sat on a kitchen chair. “We haven’t even lived together yet.”
“These are modern times, but is that really necessary? What would Aunt Tootie say?”
“Probably something like ‘shacking it up with the Italian’? But how else can I tell if Sergio and I are compatible?”
“Don’t you know that by now? Maybe you should give him the ‘old tomato’?”
“Like Suzi?” Their neighbor had given her then-boyfriend, Tom, an ultimatum, and now she was stuck with three kids, a yard full of knee-deep weeds, and a husband carousing at Barnacle Bill’s every night.
Anne believed in the romance of a proposal. Not a videotaped Facebook posting, but a one-of-a-kind, private candlelit dinner. She didn’t expect him to get down on his knee at the beach and propose like Brian did with Pootie. Sergio wasn’t the type, more the diamond-ring-in-a-champagne-glass type. “I want him to love me enough to ask me himself.”
“I’m sure he does and is just waiting for that special moment.” Her mom always had such a positive attitude. “Gotta go. Big Avon party this afternoon.”
“Good luck!” Anne hung up, musing over what her mother had said about living together. She’d read in The Sun that for the first time in the modern era, the majority of couples lived together before marriage. It made perfect sense for her to live with him.
With the painted box dry, she twisted eyelet screws in the top of the inside; tied fishing line to the starburst, ring, and dove; and attached them, making sure they were all at different lengths, as if flying. She glued the ceramic girl to the back of the box underneath the ring, the telephone next to the girl, and the cameo in the forefront. The outside needed one more thing, so she decoupaged a strip of antique lace along each side. Standing back, she studied the assemblage with a smile and felt that rush of proud happiness. Her piece resembled one by Joseph Cornell, one of her favorite artists.
She touched the telephone and pushed the diamond ring back and forth as if it were a swing. “I’m going to call it Waiting for a Ring,” she said aloud with a laugh.
Then it hit her. Fay and her mother were right. Anne needed a commitment before moving all the way across the country. Sergio hadn’t mentioned anything about marriage lately, and they’d really only discussed it in broad terms. Mrs. Landenheim wanted her to sign the new lease, and Anne needed to move forward with her life and make plans. She hated to do it, but she’d have to bring it up to him herself.
She scrolled through her music, located her favorite Beyoncé hit, and shook her booty around the room, singing at the top of her lungs. “’Cause if you liked it, then you should put a ring on it!”