A short, confused laugh.
“What?”
“I’m your mother.”
“You’re not invited.”
Nothing came from her end of the call for several seconds.
Then she said, “Excuse me?”
Ryan put down his knife.
“You heard me.”
“You cannot exclude the groom’s mother from his wedding.”
“I can.”
“I bet this is her doing.”
“No.”
His voice hardened.
“This is my decision.”
Mavis started shouting.
Ryan waited until she finally stopped long enough to breathe.
Then he said, “You destroyed our invitations because we wouldn’t let you control the guest list.”
“It was an accident!”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“You have no proof.”
Ryan laughed quietly.
“Mom, there were ninety-six envelopes sitting in the center of a table.”
“She has poisoned you against me.”
“Stop blaming her.”
“I am your mother!”
“And she’s going to be my wife.”
“So you’re choosing her.”
“No. I’m choosing my marriage. You forced me to make a choice.”
Then he hung up.
By that evening, three relatives had already called Ryan.
The next morning, his aunt messaged me.
Then his grandmother called.
Mavis had apparently told the family that I’d convinced Ryan to ban her from the wedding because I was “still bitter about an innocent cleaning accident.”
