“What are you talking about? Ava was on the RSVP.”
“I know she was. She was removed in the final count. There’s a note—‘per bride.’”
Silence stretched between us. Then he said, “Brooke told me there was a mix-up with the caterer.”
“Michael, I saw the note.”
Another pause, shorter this time. He exhaled. “Send me the original photo. Not a screenshot—the original.”
I sent it.
He didn’t call again that night.
The next morning, I took Ava to a pancake place off the interstate. I needed her to have at least one good memory from the weekend. She ordered chocolate chip pancakes and told me she didn’t want to wear the blue dress again because it felt like the “crackers dress.” I had to look out the window until I could trust my face again.
At 9:14, Michael texted: Brooke says Denise misunderstood.
At 9:16, I replied: Then ask Denise.
