Vanessa contacted me the following week.
Her first message was brief.
Eleanor, I think we should talk.
I didn’t answer immediately.
Two days later, she sent another.
I’m sorry about the cake. I didn’t realize how upset you’d be.
I read it while sitting at my kitchen table.
I considered ignoring it.
Instead, I wrote back.
Vanessa, you arranged for me to be photographed while you smeared food across my face. You knew I hadn’t agreed to it. That wasn’t a misunderstanding.
Her reply came several minutes later.
You’re right. Can I come speak with you?
I agreed to meet her at a café near my house.
When I arrived, Vanessa was already seated.
She wasn’t wearing the dramatic makeup or expensive jewelry I’d seen at the wedding.
She looked tired.
“Thank you for coming,” she said.
I sat opposite her.
She spent several minutes explaining the stress of planning the wedding.
Her parents’ financial difficulties.
Her disappointment over the canceled after-party.
The embarrassment she felt when everyone learned I’d paid for the reception.
I listened.
Then I said, “Vanessa, you’ve explained why you were unhappy. You still haven’t explained why you chose to humiliate me.”
She stared into her coffee.
Finally, she said, “I was jealous.”
I hadn’t expected that answer.
“Of what?”
“Of how Daniel talks about you. How he always says you know what to do when something goes wrong.”
She looked up.
