Gemotions

The inherited diamond ring, once shimmering on my grandmother's hand, now rested on a piece of black velvet. My cousin, David, was practically wringing his hands, waxing lyrical about its sentimental value, about the memories it evoked.

I watched the way the light hit the facets, the way it refracted and sparkled. Another pretty thing, I thought. Another thing that needs to be insured.

"So, what do you think?" David finally asked.

"Whatever makes sense," I said, my gaze drifting to the window.