Engagement Rings and Hot-Tub Flings
(July 11, 2016)
8: A Grand Day Out
After their run on Monday morning, Wendy and Dipper showered, changed, and had breakfast just before eight. Soos, Melody, and the kids joined them—Mabel was sleeping in, since the Shack wasn't open on Mondays. Dipper told Soos they probably wouldn't be back until almost night.
The big guy said cheerfully, "Long as you're back for opening tomorrow, dawgs! Mr. Pines and Dr. Pines and their wives won't be here to help. Mr. Pines and Sheila are going to New Jersey for a couple of days so he can show her, like where he grew up and junk. And Dr. Pines and Lorena got called to go to New Mexico or some place because of some weird business going on. He's investigating and she's taking notes or some deal. So we're gonna need you!"
Wendy reassured him: "We'll be back tonight."
They left right after breakfast, and as she had promised her dad, Wendy drove the Dodge Dart. They gassed up before leaving the Valley, then headed north to hit Interstate 84 for the drive west, along the south bank of the Columbia River. Dipper was excited, a little tense—and apprehensive.
He'd been through Portland before, but had never really stopped to explore the town. His impression was that it was kind of like San Francisco, a crowded-together downtown with suburbs spread out around it. He didn't always do well in unfamiliar settings, so that was one thing contributing to his uneasiness. And now that he and Wendy were actually setting out to look at engagement rings—well, it was a huge move, and it made his worrier kick in.
What if she didn't like any of them? What if she changed her mind, wanted to postpone the decision? What if the storekeepers didn't take them seriously? What if Wendy even backed out of their marriage plans? He kept rubbing his palms on the knees of his jeans because they felt damp.
Dipper spent most of the drive gazing out the window at the passing scenery: glimpses of the river, the pine-clad hills on the far side, and to the left, rocky bluffs and then taller hills with mountains beyond. Traffic began to turn sluggish after they passed Troutdale, and the last few miles turned into a spastic crawl, with lots of slow-down, speed-up situations.
"You nervous, man?" asked Wendy, who hadn't talked much, either.
"Kinda," he admitted. "It's a big step, isn't it?"
"We could just make a day of it," she said in a kind voice. "We don't have to be in a rush to get a ring, you know."
"No. Let's do it," Dipper said. "I want to, and I'm going to tell everybody, too—even at school. I want people to know. I don't think it's rushing things, Wen. I mean, we've been sort of hiding everything for three years now. And your friends probably still think it's cute that you date me in the summer, that there's not so much to it. Time it was in the open. I'll feel better then."
"Me, too. It's a deal," Wendy said. "OK, we're coming to the Portland exits. Give me a goal."
It was already getting on for eleven o'clock in the morning. Dipper used the GPS app on his phone to locate the first of the six jewelers, on the west side of the river. Wendy took the exit and slowed to city-traffic speed, and right away they ran into the first problem of shopping in freestanding stores in a city and not at a mall: parking.
Wendy found an on-street spot—"Parallel parking, boo!" she muttered, but she maneuvered into the slot with only one try, and no back-up monitor to help. When they got out, Dipper asked, "Where's the parking meter?"
"Down the block a ways," Wendy said. "This is pay-and-display, man. Don't you have that in Piedmont?"
"I . . . don't really know," Dipper admitted. "I never get to drive our car into town, I guess. Just to the mall and like that. I never paid much attention to town parking!"
"You gotta persuade Mabes to share the wheels, man. Anyway, it's easy," she said. "Hey, you don't have a credit card on you, do you?"
"A credit—no," Dipper said, absurdly slapping his pockets as if one might turn up by magic. "Do we need one?"
She grinned. "Well, you can use one, but you don't have to. I changed out a five in the Shack, so I've got a pocket full of quarters. Here we go."
She stopped at the meter, fed in some quarters, and got back a little printed receipt. They went back to the car, she opened the curbside door, and then she stuck the receipt to the inside of the passenger window. "There we go. See? The receipt has the time of expiration on it. Best thing, if we get back and there's time left, we can park in any open metered space until time's up."
They had ninety minutes, but it turned out that they didn't need it. They walked two blocks to McSparkle's Fine Jewelry and looked at rings, but the sales clerk was annoyingly pushy—"That one will go fast, a five hundred dollar down payment will hold it"—and so after ten minutes they thanked her and left.
"Like any of those?" Dipper asked.
"Some were sort of OK, but man, I don't want a three- or four-carat diamond! The prices are through the roof, and they're so gaudy."
Dipper nodded, glad that they agreed. "What about the designs, though?"
Wendy tilted her head. "Mm, I like the solitaires better than the fussy ones—I'm not a fussy sort of girl, I guess. Oh, and I don't like the ones where the stone sticks way up. I'd be snagging it all the time, and what if I was tinkering with an engine and, like, snapped the diamond out of the setting and lost it? One that's a flatter cut would be safer, and I'd like it better, too. Prettier and much more practical."
Dipper shook his head. "I don't think practicality is usually an issue!"
She hip-bumped him as they walked side by side down the sidewalk. "Well, it is with me. Where to next?"
In Yorokobi, where they explained up front they were just doing initial window-shopping, the clerks treated them more respectfully. Wendy found two rings that she liked—one a simple solitaire (but with a smaller stone, she insisted), one with a cluster of three smaller stones, two quarter-carats flanking a one-carat center diamond. Still, the cost of all three together was, she thought, way too high. Dipper used his phone to snap images of the ones she liked.
They walked back to the Dart, drove more than a mile to the next spot, and took advantage of the thirty-two minutes of parking they had left to look into Landlord of the Rings. The two ladies who owned the store graciously showed them rings in roughly Dipper's price range, maxing out at four thousand. None was exactly what they were looking for, but they were attractive and not gaudy, at least.
Wendy said another solitaire, this one three-quarters of a carat, was close, but again she'd like a different cut on the stone. "Oh, we can create a custom ring," their guide said. "Made to your specifications."
Dipper found a ring with a round, flatter stone. However, it was more than nine thousand dollars. "That's a pink diamond," the lady explained. "They cost a lot more."
"Do you like the color?" Dipper asked as Wendy slipped the ring on and examined it.
"Yeah. It's real nice, but not nine thousand dollars nice," she said, taking the ring off again.
After going back and photographing the ring that Wendy said was a possible, Dipper wandered off to ask the second lady about setting stones that he could supply.
"Of course," she said. "We do that all the time. We just need to know the ring material—silver, gold, platinum—and we can provide a design with your approval and then make it to order." The base for the work would be five hundred to seven hundred and fifty dollars for silver, a thousand for gold, and twelve hundred fifty for platinum.
"We know that not everyone can pay five thousand dollars and more for a ring, but we like to make it possible for young people who can't afford a very expensive ring to have something beautiful," she said.
"I may be back soon," Dipper said. "Thank you!"
After looking at a few more rings, Wendy said their parking time was almost up, so they looked for a place to have lunch. They found a quirky-looking little restaurant, Cocoa Moe's, which had a very small lot and offered free parking. "Let's check it out," Wendy suggested, and she lucked into a slot as someone else was leaving.
The rich chocolate smell almost overwhelmed Dipper as they entered. "Mabel would come in here and never leave again!" he said.
It wasn't a fancy place, just a few marble-topped tables for two or four, all but one already occupied. Counter service only, so they took the only available table and looked through the menu. "Yum!" Wendy said. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" she showed him her menu, with an item marked by her thumb.
"We Mint It, Too!" Dipper read. "'Bolivian dark chocolate, spiked with extract of organic, locally-grown peppermint.' Hot chocolate, huh?"
"Let's get a cup each," Wendy said. "And maybe split a sandwich?"
As it happened, Dipper found a sandwich on the menu that sounded promising: Veg Way Do You Go? It was basically a veggie-with-cheese, but you could personalize it any way you wanted. They went for five-grain bread, grilled portabello mushrooms, sautéed onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and Moe Sauce, Please!
Dipper brought the tray back from the counter and set down the two oversized mugs of frothy hot chocolate, then put the plate with the cut sandwich halfway between them. It was plenty big enough for two, especially since it came with home-made chips.
Wendy took a sip of the chocolate, closed her eyes, and said, "We found our special place, Dip!"
It was incredibly tasty, just sweet enough with a subtle chocolate bitterness and a creamy texture, and spiked with the cool, lingering taste of mint, so reminiscent of good times with Wendy. The sandwich was delicious enough with its moderately spicy sauce and meaty mushrooms, but the hot chocolate was obviously Moe's pride and joy.
Best of all, they sold packages of the basic hot-chocolate mix, plus tiny little bottles of the mint extract. Dipper bought two of each. The woman at the register said, "Now, that's best if you use it within six months."
"I don't think we'll need to worry about that!" Dipper told her. He also found out that he could order the mix and the extract from Cocoa Moe's online store—all the better!
As they resumed their shopping at about twelve-forty, Wendy said, "Dude, I think the cocoa is a better score than an engagement ring! I love me some peppermint, and the chocolate just doubles down!"
She drove downtown, to the next cluster of stores. Dipper photographed a few more rings, but he was getting a good idea of what Wendy would like, and he was feeling much better about the whole endeavor. At four-thirty, they decided to look at one last place, a huge chain jewelry store in a big mall.
Parking there was much more straightforward—you drove in, took a ticket, the boom gate lifted, you found your space and left your ticket tucked behind the visor. They spent more time in the mall than they'd planned, looking at clothes and other stuff as well as the rings, and they didn't leave until well past six.
"Better head straight back to the Falls," Wendy said as they made their way to the parking-lot exit from the mall. "We can stop for fast food or something along the way, but we need to get back. Tomorrow's gonna be crazy, and I want to get some sleep tonight."
They came out into a coolish, partly-cloudy late afternoon. Wendy said, "Nuts. I didn't memorize where we parked."
"I got it," Dipper said, taking out his phone. "I did a GPS reading and saved it."
"Smart guy," Wendy said. "I think I'd like to marry you."
The trouble came when they got to the parking slot (A-229) and found a 2014 BMW, light gray, parked there. No forest-green 1973 Dodge Dart was anywhere in sight.
Dipper said, "I don't understand—"
"Oh, man!" Wendy said, clenching both hands and sounding furious. "Somebody stole my car!"