She raised both hands.
“I didn’t mean anything.”
Ryan put down his glass.
“You knew exactly what you meant.”
“I’m only saying my side of the family is larger.”
Ryan pushed the list back toward her.
“No more additions. This is our wedding.”
Mavis stared at him for several seconds.
Then she smiled.
It was a strange smile.
Not embarrassed.
Not apologetic.
Almost vindictive.
“Of course.”
She folded the list.
“I understand.”
Frank didn’t say anything else, but he stopped looking at her.
A week later, I finally finished the invitations.
All ninety-six.
I’d spent three evenings checking addresses, applying labels, fixing mistakes, and putting stamps on envelopes until my fingers hurt.
When the last one was finished, I stacked them neatly in the exact center of our dining table.
I even climbed onto a chair to photograph them from above.
Then I sent the picture to Ryan at work.
“FINALLY DONE. Tomorrow they go in the mail!”
That morning, I’d cleaned the entire house because Ryan’s parents were coming for dinner.
Mavis knew this.
I’d complained to her over the phone about spending two hours vacuuming, wiping the baseboards, dusting shelves, and mopping both the kitchen and dining room.
