She waited.
“But I’m not apologizing for defending my mother.”
Her face tightened.
“Nathan, your mother made me look terrible.”
“Ashley, you told a sixty-two-year-old woman not to touch you because she smelled like manure.”
“She did smell.”
“That doesn’t justify humiliating her.”
Ashley stood.
“I was wearing an expensive gown!”
“And Mom was wearing a dress she’d bought because she wanted to celebrate with us.”
Ashley looked away.
I continued.
“She paid for most of the wedding. She never asked for thanks, never asked to be recognized, and never tried to control the ceremony.”
“That’s not true.”
“What did she control?”
Ashley folded her arms.
“She always has an opinion.”
“Name one decision she made about our wedding that you didn’t want.”
Ashley hesitated.
“She wanted that awful photograph of your father displayed.”
I stared at her.
“You mean the picture of Dad standing beside the first two trucks?”
“Yes. It didn’t fit the decorations.”
“He died seven years ago. Mom wanted one photograph of him at his son’s wedding.”
Ashley looked away.
“And when you complained, she agreed to leave it out.”
She didn’t answer.
I sat down.
“Ashley, I went to see Rachel today.”
Her expression changed.
