I shook my head.
“No.”
He looked stunned.
“Mom—”
“Michael, if you want those additional services, you can arrange to pay for them.”
He rubbed his face.
“We didn’t budget for that.”
“Then you don’t need them.”
He stared at me.
And I realized he’d never expected me to say those words.
***
The next morning, I woke in my own house.
My dress hung in the laundry room.
I’d tried removing the frosting, but a pale greasy stain remained near the neckline.
I called a professional cleaner and arranged to bring it in.
Then I made coffee.
My phone had been ringing since seven.
Michael.
Cassandra.
Two unfamiliar numbers.
A message from my niece, Rachel.
*Aunt Helen, are you okay? Someone posted a video from the reception.*
I opened the link.
It was a short clip from the cake-cutting ceremony.
Cassandra appeared smiling.
Then she smeared frosting across my face.
The video stopped just before I asked for the microphone.
Its caption read:
*When your mother-in-law can’t take a harmless wedding prank.*
My stomach tightened.
