PART 3
Then to Denise.
Then to the phone still in Michael’s hand.
Finally she laughed.
A small, brittle laugh.
“Oh my God.
Is this what this is about?”
“This,” he said, lifting the phone with the photo on it, “is about my niece being handed crackers and water at my wedding because my wife told the planner not to feed her.”
A murmur moved through the nearest tables.
One of Brooke’s coworkers turned in her chair.
A cousin near the cake table actually said, “What?” out loud.
Brooke lowered her voice.
“Michael, I can explain.”
“Then explain.”
She drew in a breath.
“The numbers changed at the last minute.
Denise knew the caterer was strict.
Someone had to come off.”
“Someone,” Michael repeated, “being an eight-year-old child?”
Brooke’s jaw tightened.
“She wasn’t even supposed to sit at the family table.”
The words landed badly.
Even before anyone answered, the room reacted.
A few people shifted.
A bridesmaid stared openly now.
One of Michael’s college friends, still holding a cocktail, looked from Brooke to me and then down at Ava’s bowl with visible discomfort.
Denise cleared her throat.
“There’s more.”
Brooke spun toward her.
“You need to stay out of this.”
Denise, who had looked exhausted all evening, suddenly looked offended.
“I stayed out of it when it was a catering issue.
I’m not staying out of it now.”
She opened the black binder.
Inside were the final seating documents, vendor notes, and last-minute revisions sent to the planner’s office.
Denise turned to a printed email, flattened it with her palm, and angled it toward Michael.
May you like
I moved closer.
So did Brooke.
