Revolutionary
Tony gave Bernice a ring. The diamond was small, and shaped like a heart. Does this mean what I think it means, she asked, her double chin and a few estrogen driven stiff hairs quivering with emotion.
Yeah, I guess it does, he said as if, despite the ring, it had just occurred to him for the first time.
What will your mother say? He shrugged.
Uh oh, she said. Marie will need to be convinced. He laughed. Good luck with that, he said.
Bernice kissed Tony on his dry , cracked lips. We need to bring her something when we tell her, Bernice said, with wisdom, she thought. Bernice thought hard, scratched her head while white flakes settled on her red sweater like wedding rice. His mother was a prodigious cook. Bernice pleased her, way in the beginning, by eating more than Tony and his brother at the dinner table. Marie beamed: You got a good woman there, she'd said to her son with an upward flick of her chin, her voice coarse from the Cigarillos, but uncharacteristically tender with sentiment. Bernice had only been a fish eater, but Marie's meatballs and roast beef enticed her and besides, few ever said no to Marie. Bernice packed on the weight, her face broke out, and her dandruff became worse. Now Marie only grudgingly asked her son's intended to dinner. When she did, she made Bernice do the dishes, while she smoked and watched her with a malignant disgust she could barely conceal. The sight of Bernice made her gag.
At Costco, they wandered the large warehouse, through refrigerated aisles, under yellowish lights. Tony said, "A bribe?" Bernice nodded because she knew a thing or two. Bernice stared at the cutlery sets they couldn't afford. Her eye caught the blade of a large knife whose claims seemed too good to be true: "Never sharpen your knife again!" Its handle was black and strong with thick silver rivets. Tony scratched behind his ear. Well, well, well, he said.
On the doorstep, Tony knocked like a guest. Bernice thought it was strange. That's new, she said. Marie opened the door and saw Tony first, his face burgundy colored, his hands stuffed like sausages in his cargo pants. She saw the twitch of his lips. Bernice beamed and wordlessly extended her left hand adorned with the small heart shaped diamond first. Marie opened her mouth slightly, thin bands of saliva stretching beyond their limit. Bernice then plunged the box with the big knife on display, it's bold statement plastered across the top, right at Marie. The blade caught the sun and Marie flinched. While Bernice burped a nervous giggle, Tony stood, frozen.
Later, Bernice wondered how long they stood there, never having been invited over the threshold. We are like revolutionaries, Bernice tells Tony, who just wants her to stop talking about it for a little while. Well, okay, I guess, he said, doubtful. It took some doing, but he coaxed her to put the ring back in blue velvet snap-jaw box. Just until things die down a little, he said, licking his lips over and over again, pretty sure they'd just seen the last of Marie. "After all," he said, "Rome wasn't built in a day."