“Stop acting poor,”
Ashley rolled her eyes. “It’s a cake.”
“It’s days of hard work and the expense of buying the ingredients.”
“Please.” She turned to the men she’d brought to carry it, pointed at the tiers, and said, “Careful with the top.”
Not a glance back at Grandma.
And then they were gone, and the house was quiet, and the front door clicked shut.
“It’s a cake.”
I wanted to drive straight to the venue and drag that cake back by its ribbon. I had my keys in my hand.
“Please don’t,” Grandma said.
She was sitting at the kitchen table, hands folded, eyes wet. She looked devastated.
“It’s Daniel’s wedding, sweetheart. I don’t want a scene. Not today.”
“She laughed at you, Grandma.”
“Please don’t,”
“I know.” She gave a tiny shrug, the kind people give when they’re trying to make a hurt smaller. “Maybe I should have… I don’t know. Asked for it in writing. It’s my fault.”
