A couple received a wedding gift. It lay unobtrusively in the stack of  generosity which was carried by groomsmen to the couple's apartment, and dominated the corner of the living room while the newlyweds honeymooned in Hawaii. The afternoon of their return they giggled over the fun of peeling off the silver paper and shiny bows, when they came upon one from the bride's aunt and uncle. The latter had been married for forty years at the time. Surprisingly, it had a card that gave instructions to wait.

"Open when you have your first argument."

Hmm. Not the most likely sentiment to consider when the proofs aren't yet back from the photographer, and kisses still come as quickly as breathing.

The young wife put the gift on a closet shelf next to the Christmas decorations, of which they had but one tin full. They forgot about it. 

There were disagreements over dishes, and forgotten promises, and one or both of them would recollect the mysterious gift. But these were not serious enough to be dubbed The First Argument. Then the young marrieds would pull themselves back in line and leave the box for a darker day.  

Sometimes they wondered what could possibly fit in a container the size of a salad spinner, or a pair of bath sheets. Her aunt and uncle had a solid relationship, and surely knew a thing or two about forgiveness. What would they offer? 

Months slipped into years, and every time they felt a tug toward opening the box they rallied their affection and it stayed on the shelf. 

On their tenth anniversary they decided it was time. Of course it was not that they had never exchanged barbed words, or stomped out of the house in a huff. But somehow they had always told themselves that this was something less than an argument, and could be righted like a duck after a dive. 

Yet spat or no spat, they wanted to open the box. To see what the magic fix looked like. The young man, though no longer quite so young, put on the music from their ceremony. She put their two children to bed a tad early, and quickly piled the dishes from supper. They sat next to each other on the couch. The way they used to. Before kids. Before soccer. Before business trips. They looked at each other softly. For once they didn't hurry. 

The tape that held the box shut was yellowed, which meant that her aunt had used the old kind, the roll that she kept with wrapping supplies. The paper had been folded so long it sighed apart in relief. Inside there were smaller items, each swaddled in creamy tissue. 

A wine glass. Perfect, with a stem long enough for four fingers to curl around it. 

Another, as lovely as the first. 

A crystal vase. The woman recognized it, as one that had often been on her aunt's table for special occasions, with a single red rose circled with baby's breath.

Bath salts. Although she had never used them herself, she knew that for her aunt a hot bath was the equivalent of a vacation. 

A box of peppermint tea. It was long past the expiration date, but that did not negate the memories. Her grandmother had served tea after every family meal, and both her aunt and her mother had carried on the tradition. 

An envelope with two crisp twenties. Her aunt was a frugal woman and this comprised a magnanimous gesture. She thought of the things it could have bought for her aunt. New sheets with no patches. A flat of pansies for her garden. Dinner out. But here it lay in her lap. An antidote for squabbling.

She unfolded the note, written in that distinctive script that she recognized from birthday cards and letters when she was in college. 

They looked at each other. All thoughts about what they should have been getting done dissipated. The music swelled just like it did ten years before as they walked up the aisle. They kissed like they had not done in a long time. 

Then he picked up the glasses and vase, wrapped them in tissue paper and grabbed a bottle of sparkling juice. He put the box under his arm. 

"Where are we going?" she smiled at this burst of sponteneity. 

"To your aunt's house. To pick flowers." 

She grabbed two teacups and they were out the door.