Diamonds are rough

Kelley bugged me this morning about returning to the giant beanstalk to-be-continued post, but I am putting off the next installment until after I tell this story about our lives, ripped from the "Kate and Ally" archives. It has nothing to do with wedding planning, but everything to do with love.

The story starts about four years ago when Kelley and I were celebrating our first holidays in Chicago. It was Christmas Eve and we decided to stay up drinking wine until midnight so we could open our gifts at 12:01 a.m. Our photo album has great shots of Kelley in a fuzzy, earflap hat that I picked out for her so she could stay warm while walking the dog. And there are several of me and Judy covered in bows pulled from the boxes.

Kelley ordered the gifts I opened to build up to her favorite two. I opened the penultimate box to find a sparkling evening gown with a dangerously low back. Whether it was the wine or my body consciousness, I immediately burst into tears. First I cried about how I could not wear the dress. Then I cried because I hurt Kelley's feelings by crying at her gift. Then I think I just cried for crying sake. Blame it on the wine.

So, Kelley tried to calm me down and produced my last gift: a tiny box. Inside was a pair of square-cut diamond earrings. To this day, I do not remember opening them. The dress made such a deep impression, even jewelry couldn't pull me out of it. She had to give them to me again the next day.

Fast forward several years. I wear the diamond earrings every day. I even wear dangerously low back gowns. Things are good. We are planning our commitment ceremony. Kelley lets me in on a secret: she is thinking about using her grandmother's engagement and wedding rings as our own. I am touched by the thought. She loved her grandmother more than anyone. That's how much she loves me.

Driving home from Christmas shopping at a suburban mall, I notice one of my earrings is loose. The back has fallen out -- probably when I pulled off my thick turtleneck sweater to try on a flirty dress that was marked down to $20 (aka, my drug). I immediately take out my earrings and zip them into a pocket in my purse for safe keeping. When I go to retrieve them, one is missing. I cut the lining out of my purse to search. No luck. The diamond is gone.

I mull the thought of telling her I lost the earring. My mind flashes back to our first Christmas in Chicago. It zips forward to the wedding. Will she trust me with her grandmother's ring if I cannot keep a pair of earrings safe? Will she ever give me a diamond again after the way I acted? I take a poll during lunch at work. A couple of the girls say to attempt to find a replacement. I try.

The search takes me to Orland Square Mall at the height of Christmas season. I take my earring, caked in shampoo and whatever else collects on a post behind one's ear, to every jewelry store. Do you have a match? No. Repeat repeat repeat.

I wind up at the mercy of a blond woman in a diamond store. Her hands are shaking from lack of booze or coffee, I cannot tell. She measures the earring, flips through a book and finds she can order me a duplicate for about $225 but it won't be in until after Christmas. I cannot have bare ears that long. I ask the price of a similar pair, round-cut, but the same size. I ask that she replace the posts with screwbacks so I cannot lost them. Two days and $271 later, I leave the store with earrings in my lobes masquerading as a gift from Kelley. Again, this time without wine, I cry.

Though these earrings look different, Kelley says nothing when she borrows them to wear out on New Year's Eve. I offer them to her one morning when she dresses up for a board meeting at work. It's been all of a month with the new pair, and I am feeling bold.

A few minutes later, as I am walking in the rain downtown to meet my ride, Kelley calls. She has lost one of my earrings. She went to rinse it off under the faucet (what!) and dropped it down the drain. She is really sorry. I tell her it's OK. They aren't the real earrings. They are impostors. But I cannot tell her the entire story now because I am going to throw up.

She takes a poll at work. Serves me right. Karma. I should've told her in the first place.

Still, Kelley is touched by my apprehension about her grandmother's ring. She says this doesn't matter in the scheme of things. I will still get a lovely ring. She still loves me.

For now, the lonely, diamond studs are stashed in our jewelry box. The plan is to save our money for the ceremony and to buy cubic zirconium replacements.