At 5:20 PM Patrice caught me in the lobby lounge by the elevator bank.
The stranger stood two steps behind me.
He hadn't left.
I hadn't told him to.
The lounge was full of my wedding.
Two bridesmaids, still holding their bouquets.
Three groomsmen in matching vests.
The officiant, with his binder under his arm.
The photographer, camera down at his hip.
A few early guests with drinks from the lobby bar.
Curt stood by the fireplace with his hands in his pockets.
His tux jacket was buttoned.
He didn't come over.
Patrice opened her clutch and took out an envelope.
She'd had it ready.
Inside was a check.
No. 5518 · Brueckner Mechanical, Inc. · $30,000.00
"Curt signed it in the car."
Under the check was one typed page.
She held it up high enough for the officiant to read.
"Sign that you called it off."
"Personal reasons."
"You never say why."
"Not to anyone, ever."
"Offer's good till Monday at noon."
I read the page once.
It was one paragraph.
Jordyn's name wasn't in it.
Neither was Bryce's.
Thirty thousand was less than half.
"It cost sixty-four thousand four hundred," I said.
Patrice laughed.
A groomsman laughed with her, then stopped.
"Honey."
"We paid for this wedding."
"Ask anyone in that ballroom."
The officiant nodded like that settled it.
Two of the guests nodded with him.
She meant her family.
I meant my card.
Neither of us took it back.
"What's your name?" I asked the man behind me.
I didn't turn around.
"Wes."
"Wes, you can go."
"I'm good here."
"The deal was the lobby."
"This is the lobby."
I almost smiled.
He still had the veil over his arm.
He held it like a coat he was minding for someone.
Marisol came across the marble fast with the tablet.
"Ms. Marchetti."
"I need the client's word on the ceremony room."
"The Juneau Room is set for five."
"Cancel or hold?"
Patrice answered first.
"Hold it."
"And put a late-night extension on the master account."
"Till one."
"People drove from Green Bay."
Marisol didn't write anything down.
"I can only take changes from the client, ma'am."
"I'm the mother of the groom."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I can only discuss the account with the client."
Patrice turned to the officiant.
"Do you hear this?"
"Thirty years in this town."
"And they talk to me like I wandered in off the street."
The officiant studied his binder.
Marisol turned the tablet around.
She turned it to me.
Only to me.
Wes was tall enough to see it over my shoulder.
I felt him read it.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't have to.
EVENT ORDER #26-1010-ASH-04
PAYMENT: VISA ••••8206
There was one line between those two.
I'd signed under it on Tuesday, October 15, 2024.
Mom had been gone seven months.
"Cancel the ceremony room," I said.
That was all.
I didn't say a word about the ballroom.
Marisol touched the screen once and nodded.
Patrice smiled.
She thought she'd won.
"See, sweetheart?"
"You're tired, and you're upset, and we'll handle the rest."
"Dinner's at seven."
"We'll tell everyone you're not feeling well."
Curt checked his watch by the fireplace.
He looked like a man whose meeting had run long.
The stairwell door banged open.
The makeup artist came out of it, out of breath.
She still had a brush tucked in her apron.
She held her phone out to me.
On the screen was her ring-light video.
4:22 PM
It showed my own face in the chair, half done.
Behind me in the mirror, Bryce and Jordyn slipped through the bedroom door.
The door shut behind them.
That was nineteen minutes before I opened it.
"I'm so sorry."
"I didn't see it till I watched it back."
"It's timestamped," she said.
"Just in case."
"I won't need it."
"Send it anyway."
She typed my number in with her thumb.
Patrice never saw the screen.
She was holding out a pen.
"Right here, honey."
"Then go home and lie down."
"And your friend can wait outside."
Wes didn't move.
I took the check from her hand.
I folded the statement around it in thirds.
It was the way I fold a discharge sheet.
Her clutch was still open on her wrist.
I slid the paper inside and snapped the clasp shut.
Patrice looked at the clutch, then at me.
"No."
The lounge went still.
Curt looked up from the fireplace for the first time since I'd come down.
Patrice's smile stayed exactly where it was.
"Monday at noon," she said.
"You'll come around."
I didn't answer her.
Wes didn't either.
Marisol was still holding the tablet out.
The screen hadn't timed out yet.
Under the event order number sat one line.
CLIENT: LEAH R. MARCHETTI