The Necklace
When I was growing up, my mother supplemented her income with different side hustles, most of which included sales. In the 80s, she held Tupperware parties. I remember several women gathering in the living room of our raised ranch, smoking cigarettes on our oversized floral furniture, passing around harvest orange and olive green Tupperware containers with grooved tops.
For a while, she modeled in fashion shows, helping sell fancy shoes, clothes, accessories, and fur coats to wealthy women. When I was in high school, she began buying jewelry in New York City and selling it at jewelry parties, where she made a decent profit. She always made a point to dress up and wear the most expensive items to the parties, which other women would covet and buy.
This is how she got the necklace.
Unlike much of the other jewelry she sold, the necklace wasn’t gaudy or flashy. It was simple and elegant — with a tear-shaped diamond resting in the middle of smaller, circular diamonds that crept up each side of a gold chain. For years, my mother kept the necklace stored away, waiting for the day it could be made into an engagement ring for me.
The summer before my senior year of college, a friend of mine introduced me to Jason — a tall, handsome engineering student who made me laugh. A few weeks later, I told my mother I had met the man I was going to marry.
