Daddy leads you down the hall to the bathroom. Just inside the door, he steps to one side to let you pass. His back rustles the shower curtain—a small, airy sound.
You walk toward the sink on the opposite side of the room, your bare toes lifting when they meet the cold tile. A dim and dusty shaft of afternoon light slants in from the high, square window. Daddy closes the door. Now you see his reflection in the long mirror behind him, his thick hair and the strip of tanned skin above his collar where a tag sticks up.
He has been away for the weekend, has just arrived home. He hasn’t yet removed his windbreaker. He takes a few steps, gestures toward the toilet. He’s brought a surprise, and you understand you’re to receive it here. You close the lid and sit.
Squatting before you on the bathmat, he reaches into the windbreaker, draws out a small object pinched between thumb and forefinger. A gold band, delicate and thin as strands of hair. At a point the band forks to form two halves of a heart.
He holds the ring out to you. You lift your fingers, careful not to seem greedy, but eager enough to show your appreciation. Still, he holds the ring steady, so you know the present is not yet secured.
“I bought this just for you,” he says.
“It’s pretty,” you answer, hand frozen in midair.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see your figures in the mirror. The scene reminds you of a proposal you saw once on tv.
“Thank you,” you say, remembering how the woman on tv had lowered her eyes to her sparkling new diamond as the man slipped it onto her finger. You lower your eyes now, as Daddy slips the heart ring onto yours. It slides on easily, but you feel a tight point where the bottom of the heart dips, pressing into your skin.
Two weeks later in the school cafeteria, a girl at your table asks to try on the ring. It’s the first time you’ve taken it off. When the period ends, you watch her pack up and walk away, the ring still on her finger.