monogamy

By Morgan Larkins

He’d bought the ring from a mall kiosk for four-hundred dollars in cash. It’d taken him eighteen shifts at the diner to save the cash, some of it going into other envelopes tucked around the double wide for rent and groceries, for the vacation they’d been trying to plan for four months. When he got to the car, he took the stone to the glass of his phone and scratched. It came up clean. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected it, but still his stomach sank and he pushed it back into the little plush box and closed the top. He put it into his glove compartment and started his truck, pulling out of the mall parking lot to drive back to the diner. 

“Did you get it?” Amelia asks as soon as he stepped back into the back, tying his apron on after clocking back in. He nods. 

“Mhm,” he says. “Not real diamond, though. I checked.” 

“Well,” she says. “That’s okay. I’m sure she’ll love it anyway. When do you plan on doin’ it?” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Within the week I guess.” 

“Where’s the ring at right now? Just sittin’ in your truck?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Someone’s liable to steal it! Just leavin’ it sittin’ in your truck like that. Are you crazy?” Amelia asks, shaking her head. 

“Someone’s liable to steal it here, Mels,” he says. “Can’t be wastin’ four hundred like that.” 

“No faith in the good people here,” she says. “I’m goin’ t’smoke. Have fun.” He spends the rest of his shift flipping burgers and making fries and pancakes, putting cheesecake in to-go boxes for kids who’d eaten a six strip chicken basket. She texts near the end of the shift to ask when he’s coming home and what they should have for dinner, and if he needs

a new pack of Spirits because she’s at the gas station. They could save a lot of money if he stopped smoking. He files it away for his New Year, New Me list he never follows. He’d asked her sister for her ring size because he hadn’t wanted to spoil the surprise. He’s sure to go through the last two cigarettes in his box on the short drive home to calm himself down, would probably take a shot of tequila if he had any. 

“Good luck, cowboy,” Amelia says on his way out. “Your hands are shakin’.” “Thank ya, Mels,” he says as he gives her a lopsided smile. She twiddles her fingers in response, turning to fill someone’s orange juice at nearly eleven at night. 

The light on the stairs is still on when he pulls into the gravel driveway. He takes the little black box out of the glove compartment and tucks it into the pocket of his jeans, taking a deep breath before pulling his key out and pulling his backpack out. He unlocks the front door and then pushes the screen door open, closing both and locking them. 

“Hi,” she says, twirling around a corner, her hair twirled into two messy braids. She looks like she has two purple suitcases under her eyes, her smile seeped in exhaustion. “How was work?” 

“Work,” he says. “I could have picked something up there if you were tired.” “It’s okay. I wanted to,” she says. “Haven’t eaten at home in a while, y’know.” “Okay, baby,” he says, leaning down to kiss her cheek. She leans up to kiss him, soft and 

easy. She walks back into the kitchen, the balls of her heels making it sound like she’s stomping. He follows her. 

“Do we have wine?” 

“White, I think. It’s in the fridge if we do. I don’t remember buying it.”

“Means it’s old,” he laughs. He pulls the half-empty bottle out and pulls the two wine glasses they have out, pouring the two of them glasses. He sets two plates and their silverware at the table, grabbing another two smaller glasses for water. 

“We celebratin’ somethin’?” she asks, turning to look at him over her shoulder, smiling. He shrugs, grinning. He feels like he’s pushing a throttle in his chest, more like a coke can that’s been shaken up and can’t be opened. 

“Nah. Just feelin’ good,” he says. “We both got the day off tomorrow, y’know. Doesn’t hurt.” 

“Sure,” she giggles, shaking her head and turning back to the stove. He sticks his hand in his pocket and thumbs over the rubbery, leather black box. He almost wishes he would have bought one of those velvet ones. He breathes in and breathes out, shaking his head. “It’s stir fry, by the way. I’m still trying to work out my own recipe, so it might not be that good.” 

“Everything you make is good, baby,” he says. She shakes her head and laughs. She brings the pan over when it’s finished and puts more food on his plate than on hers. He frowns and evens it out, taking a sip from his wine glass. They hold hands over the table and pray before they eat. 

“How was work for you?” he asks around the food in his mouth. She shrugs. “My knees hurt,” she says. “But it was fine other than that. Boring. No one was angry.” “I’m glad,” he says. They eat quietly under the yellow light, the sound of silverware 

against plates scraping against ceramic and aluminum. He pulls the box from his pocket and pushes it on the table in front of her as she finishes her glass of wine. 

“What?” she asks. “What is that?”

“Will you marry me?” he asks. She looks up at him, putting her silverware on the table and her newly free hands on her chest. Her cheeks flush, eyes flashing glassy. He opens the box and she closes her eyes, moving her hands from her chest to her mouth. “I don’t have no — I don’t have no special speech or nothin’. I was just wonderin’ if you wanted to marry me.” 

“Of course I will,” she says. She wipes at her cheeks and takes the box from the table, pulling the ring from the box and sliding it onto her finger. “It’s beautiful. Oh my gosh.” “It’s — it’s not a real diamond. I’ll get you somethin’ better when we got more money, but I couldn’t wait,” he says. He sees it; the big house and fancy diamond ring, the white picket fence and maybe a dog. They could afford a full-blood at this point, but they choose a mutt because it reminds her of him. 

“I don’t care. You don’t even have to get me a new one. I love it,” she says. “I love you. Thank you.” 

“I love you, too,” he says, holding her hand across the table. 

“I got your Spirits, by the way. They’re in the bedroom,” she says. 

“Thank you, honey,” he says. They finish eating, the ring glinting under the yellow light on her finger. She takes it off to clean the dishes, sitting it gently on the countertop while she slides bright pink rubber gloves on to scrub down the plates and pans. She slides the ring back after she pulls the gloves off, watching her fingers in the light, and he watches her profile. He grabs his pack of cigarettes from the bedroom, smacking the pack before pulling one out and heading outside to light it. 

“I’m gonna stop soon,” he says. She’s pulling her t-shirt off, jeans already pushed low. She slips on the only silk nightgown she has, one they’d bought at Goodwill together in a soft pink. “Promise, baby. Then we’ll have more money.”

“It’s alright,” she says, leaning up to kiss him. “When do you want to have it? The wedding.” 

“Summer? Your cousin’s barn?” he asks, pressing his hands gently onto her hips. She hums and nods, tapping her thumbs against his cheek. 

“That sounds good.” She leans up to kiss him again. “We’ll have to save up for the chairs.” 

“Let’s go to bed,’kay? Talk about it in the morning,” he says, nodding. She hums again and they crawl into bed together, pressing her body closer against his. He wraps his arm around her waist, pressing his nose into her hair. 

“Goodnight. I love you,” he says. 

“I love you, too. I’m glad we’re getting married,” she says. 

“I am too,” he says quietly, tracing the features of her face with his eyes. He presses a kiss to her shoulder and tells himself after this pack of Spirits there won’t be another one. They have to save up for chairs, a wedding, a baby in the future; then a house. He’s going to give her what his parents didn’t have — a good life, a happy one. He kisses the back of her head and sleeps. 

Morgan Larkins is a writer located in Bowling Green, KY where she attends university. She is a double major in journalism and film. She spends her time watching movies and ice hockey, while also writing to satisfy her fictional needs. She hopes that her work expresses her fondness for family and the countryside.