The glass of tap water I was holding slicked against my palm, slipping through my fingers before I could grip the counter.
It shattered against the porcelain edge of the sink, cold water splashing over my knuckles and dripping down the front of my apron.
Through the glass pane, I saw Ben lift a thin gold band from the gray velvet.
Beneath the ring, tucked into the silk lining of the lid, a small folded slip of paper remained inside the box.
I turned the silver band on my right index finger, round and round, until the metal pinched my skin.
I grabbed a dish towel, wiped my wet hands, and pushed through the screen door into the heavy November air.
The gravel on the path crunched under my flats as I walked toward them.
“Rosie,” I said, my voice rising slightly at the end.
She turned to me, her face bright, her fingers already reaching out for the ring Ben was holding.
“A ring, Cathy,” she said, her voice high and fast. “A gold ring, gold ring.”
Ben did not look up at me immediately, his eyes staying on Rosie’s wrist as he gently took her hand.
His fingers were steady, but he pressed his palms flat against his thighs for a brief second before he slipped the metal over her knuckle.
“I wanted to tell you,” I said to Ben, keeping my voice low. “Why didn’t you say anything to me yesterday?”
He finally looked at me, his eyes dark and flat, before he turned back to help Rosie brush the dirt from her knees.
“The timing had to be right,” he said.
“We grew up together, Ben,” I said, the words tight in my throat. “I thought we didn’t have secrets.”
He stood up, towering over the low shrubs, and wiped his hands on his trousers.
“I need you to be happy for her, Cathy, even if you do not understand,” he said.
He did not wait for me to answer before he took Rosie’s arm and guided her toward the porch
