My mother wore the necklace in almost every photo of her adult life.
I placed the photos under the kitchen light and stared at them for a long time. I wasn’t wrong about the dinner.
The pendant in all the photos was identical to the one Claire wore on her collarbone. And I was the only one who knew about the small hinge on the left side. My mother showed it to me privately the summer I turned twelve and told me the piece had been in our family for three generations.
I wasn’t mistaken when I saw it at dinner.
Claire’s father gave it to her when she was little. Which means she’s had it for at least 25 years.
I looked at the clock. It was almost 10:05 in the morning. I answered the phone. They told me her father was away on a trip and wouldn’t be back for two days. I couldn’t wait two days.
Claire gave me her number without a second thought, probably assuming I wanted to introduce myself before the conversation about marriage got serious. I let her think that.
Her father answered on the third ring. I introduced myself as Claire’s future mother-in-law and maintained a friendly tone.
Claire’s father had given it to her when she was little.
I mentioned that I had admired Claire’s necklace during dinner and was curious to learn its story, as I also collect antique jewelry.
A little white lie. The most controlled one I could come up with.
