“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?” Dr. Porter’s voice is murderous steel, her finger in Marie’s face. “What on earth were you thinking?” Dr. Derjian opens Shannon’s mouth again and looks in, examining.
Marie gives her a condescending look. “I am the mother of three girls and the grandmother to two boys. A good whack on the back is all anyone with something lodged in their throat needs.” She looks at Shannon with an exaggerated expression of patience and holds out her hand. “Spit it out.”
“I said I swallowed it, Mom.”
“No one swallows a -- what?” Marie gasps.
“Your arrogance will kill someone,” Dr. Porter shoots back, making Marie go white. Her confidence is gone.
“Mild lacerations and significant swelling,” Dr. Derjian says evenly, examining Shannon’s throat again. He’s clearly pissed at Marie, too. “What’s the metal?”
“Platinum,” I say.
“Good,” he adds, nodding. “No worries about allergies.”
“She’s allergic to bees,” Marie says in a small voice.
“I mean metal allergies,” he clarifies.
“What now?” Shannon croaks out.
“Water. Cool water,” Dr. Derjian says, turning to pour her some. “Sip slowly, through the straw. We’ll have to order X-rays now.” Dr. Porter glares at Marie but nods.
“As long as the ring doesn’t get stuck, the only way out is through,” he says with a mild smile.
“Through?” Jason asks.
Derjian cocks an eyebrow. “Through.”
Andrew chooses this moment to speak. “When you say ‘through’, you mean...”
“It has to be pooped out,” Marie whispers.
The two doctors nod.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Dr. Porter says. “We need to get visual confirmation that it’s in the esophagus, that it’s not perforating, and to make certain it continues to move through the digestive tract properly.”
“I have to poop my own engagement ring out,” Shannon says, then clutches her throat, pounding on her chest. She looks remarkably like a mama gorilla.
“Can’t you just crack her chest open and do surgery?” Marie asks, mortified.
Shannon nods vigorously. “Please,” she whispers. “That would be so much better.”
“Don’t talk,” Dr. Porter orders. She opens Shannon’s mouth and peers in. “The swelling may get worse before it gets better. Drink the cool water and don’t speak for a few hours.”
“Maybe I should have you swallow a ring if it meant a doctor ordered you not to speak for a few hours,” Jason says to Marie.
“I’m sorry!” Marie says to Shannon.
“S’okay.”
“Don’t speak!” I remind her.
Shannon nods, motioning for my phone. I give it to her, but she’s shaking, tears pouring out of her eyes.
“She has to poop the ring out,” Andrew says again. He’s not just Captain Obvious, he’s the CEO of Obvious, Inc.
“Yes,” the doctors say. “Most likely,” Dr. Porter clarifies.
Andrew looks at me. “You can totally have that ring, bro.”
“No shit,” I say.
“Um, actually, yes shit,” Amanda notes.
We all groan. Except for Shannon, who just weeps quietly and pokes at my phone. She finally holds it up and I read:
I’m sorry I swallowed your mother’s ring.
It’s like a gut punch.
I type back: I’m sorry I ruined your tiramisu.
She reads it and gives me a choking laugh, plus a look with eyes filled with love and the future. It’s the first genuine moment we’ve had all day, the only moment not fraught with irritation or disaster, and all I want to do is clear the room and take her in my arms.
“Congratulations,” Andrew says, shaking my hand.
“She hasn’t said yes,” I point out.
“You haven’t even proposed yet!” Shannon growls.
“Shhhh!” Marie and Jason say to her.
“She can’t say yes,” he replies. “Literally.”
I try to hide my smile. “You’ll be my best man?”
“Sure.”
“Farmington Country Club?” Amanda asks, looking at Shannon, who just shrugs.
Marie bursts out with, “Yes! An outdoor wedding!”
“I take it back,” Andrew mutters. “Terry will be a good choice.”
Amanda whacks him in the shoulder. “You are such a jerk! Get over your stupid phobia about being outdoors! You seriously would refuse to...”
He holds his palms up in surrender and leaves. Amanda follows him, berating him. Their arguing voices fade as they get farther away. I’ll deal with my stupid jerk phobic brother later. Right now I have a ring-filled, not-quite fiancée who has to give birth to her own engagement ring. Through her butthole.
A medical assistant walks in with an assortment of supplies, but the most noteworthy item in her hands is a giant stack of empty French fry trays. The red-and-white patterned kind.
“What are those?” I ask.
She looks at me and smiles, so chipper she could be a punk cheerleader. Long blue hair in pigtails. Bright blue eyes. She has a bandage over a tattoo and a hole in her lip where a piercing obviously normally goes. Braces. She looks young enough for Dad to date.
“Oh, that’s to catch the ring!”
“The—”
“You’ll use those when you eliminate, Shannon,” Dr. Porter says to her. “Felicia here will give you a list of foods that will help speed up the process.” She pauses. “And tiramisu is not one of them.”