She doesn’t think about it.

But there’s an unbearable weight on her finger. So heavy she removes it – without thinking – as soon as she gets home every afternoon.

She remembers – in the beginning – never wanting to have it out of her sight, giggling at herself, as she peeked out from behind the shower curtain during her bath to make sure it hadn’t fallen off the counter. She recalls buying a tub of jewelry cleaner at the drugstore the night he proposed, and how carefully she’d scrubbed it with that ridiculously tiny brush every morning, loving the shine of the small diamond, not caring that it wasn’t what she’d always imagined, or that it hadn’t fit initially.

But it’s just a ring.

So, she doesn’t let herself dwell too long on the reasons why it feels so good to take it off. Doesn’t ponder the way she lets it bounce, with a defiant ping, into the tiny ceramic bowl, mixing with her modest jewelry collection as if it’s nothing special. She used to sleep with it on her hand every night – even if it scratched her face – as she dreamed of white. But now, she hasn’t cleaned it in ages and the gold is dull and lifeless, a small bit of wispy string caught in one of the prongs.

No reason to analyze why.

It’s just a ring.

She doesn’t realize that the day she stopped cleaning it is the same day his smile turned to concern at the prick of tears in her eyes over something Roy hadn’t bothered to notice.

Or that she stopped worrying about where it was during her shower the night after she put hot sauce on her hot dog instead of catsup. He had laughed mercilessly as she fanned her mouth, before buying her a 12-pack of water with a note that said, “Wow. That was one hot dog, Beesly. I’m impressed, but just in case…”

There was the time her head lolled to his shoulder in the midst of one of Michael’s ridiculous presentations, followed a few days later, by his outstanding creation of spontaneous dento-hydraplosion. She’d stopped wearing it at night the week after.

The night she got drunk at “The Dundies” and kissed him – yes, she remembered – was the first time she’d tossed it, unceremoniously, into the jewelry bowl.

After the teapot at the Christmas party and those few, eternal moments on the deck of the Booze Cruise, she’d told Roy she hoped one day they could afford to get her a silver ring instead of gold, because that’s what she’d always wanted. He hadn’t known and only grunted, “Babe, that one’s fine,” in response, before she flung it into the bowl.

During the jinx she’d said, “You can tell me anything,” then sat wondering at the look of response on his face. She didn’t hide her smile a little later when he handed her the Coke and whispered, “Hi,” like it was the best thing he’d ever said. That day her hand felt like a dead weight and she went to her desk, slipping the ring off – for just a few minutes. At home, she dropped her purse at the door and her ring in the bowl.

But it was just a ring.

And she hadn’t thought about any of it.

Until now.

And tonight she’s thinking about everything:

The relief in his voice when he confessed.

The word, love, and the tear in his eye.

The sadness when he said, “I want more than that,” and the sudden chill she felt as he walked away.

Her mom, asking if she might feel the same way.

The tingle in her spine as he walked toward her.

Being pressed against him, his arms around her waist and her hands in his hair.

His lips on hers.

Her lips on his.

The devastation in his eyes, and the pounding in her heart, when she said she was still marrying Roy.

The chasm as he walked away.

She’s sitting in the dark and she’s thinking about all the things she’s felt. About all the times she’s felt them. About her ring.

And she knows he’s sitting in the dark somewhere, too.

That revelation makes her want to stop thinking.

She thinks too much.

So, when the door opens and Roy comes in, followed by the scent of a sports bar, she doesn’t contemplate what she’s saying because she’s decided the truth comes out best when you don’t prepare for it and just let it happen.

She decides she’ll deal with Roy later. She’ll give him a better explanation as to why she put her tarnished ring in his hand and shook her head no. Why she grabbed her keys, tears in her eyes, and walked out the door, leaving him standing in the dark, his mouth open and eyes wide.

When she slams the car door and drives toward his house, she isn’t questioning what to say, she just knows she has to see him.

He answers the door, eyes red and hair mussed. She sees the hurt in his eyes, but doesn’t think before she speaks, because if she does, she won’t be brave.

Two hours later, she’s drained and out of words and she’s left him speechless at least four times over:

Once, when she cussed at him for springing this on her.

Once, when she told him she thought she might feel the same way about him as he did about her, but refused to use “the L word” yet. Too soon.

Once, when she kissed him, because he stared at her with that fullness in his eyes, and promised he was all for going slow and understood why.

And once, when she told him all the times she’d taken off her ring because of him.

They decide it won’t be easy – especially for her – but that’s okay because now they’re sitting on his couch, still in their Casino clothes and the night is starting to give way, but she’s nestled under his arm, her head resting on his chest, his cheek pressed against her hair, while his hand trails lazy along her arm…

The weight is gone and all she does is feel.