I handed him my phone.
“Look where they were.”
He studied the photo.
Then he looked at the actual dining table.
Then the bucket.
“You’re sure you want to call this a mishap?”
Mavis crossed her arms.
“Because that’s what it was.”
Ryan kept looking at the ruined invitations.
Then he said something I hadn’t expected.
“Don’t reorder a single invitation.”
I blinked.
“What?”
Mavis’s smile faltered.
“We’re not replacing them.”
I stared at him.
“Ryan, people need invitations.”
“We have a wedding in ten weeks.”
“I know.”
“Not anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
Ryan squeezed my hand.
“We’re changing the wedding.”
Mavis stared at him.
“No, you’re not!”
He turned toward her.
“Yes. We are.”
Frank arrived shortly afterward.
He took one look at the ruined invitations, then at Mavis, and barely said a word throughout dinner.
That night, after his parents left, I asked Ryan if he had been serious.
He opened his laptop.
“Completely.”
“About what?”
“Small wedding.”
“We already have a small wedding.”
He turned the screen toward me.
“Smaller.”
“How much smaller?”
There was a beach resort on the screen.
I stared at him.
“You’re joking.”
