“It’s just wonderful that they have a nice big house to start out in,” Vanessa’s mother boasted, leaning over her wine glass. “Vanessa tells me you’re thinking of downsizing soon to give them some privacy.”
“Downsizing is definitely on the agenda,” I replied, taking a slow sip of sparkling water.
Around 9:00, the dancing was in full swing.
I remained at the table, checking my watch. My flight to Florida departed at 6 the next morning.
I had booked a hotel near the airport for the night. My plan was to slip out quietly before the cake cutting, but Vanessa could not let me leave with my dignity intact.
She had to have one final victory.
She grabbed a fresh glass of champagne from a passing waiter and marched toward my table, her eyes locked on me with a predatory gleam, which brings us back to the cold drip of champagne down my neck.
Vanessa stood there, holding the empty crystal flute, offering her loud, fake apology to the room.
The music seemed to lower, and the guests nearby stopped talking, their eyes darting between my soaked dress and Vanessa’s smug face.
David looked away.
He actually turned his head to stare at the centerpieces, actively ignoring his mother being humiliated in public.
I slowly wiped my neck with the napkin.
I stood up from my chair.
I did not raise my hand to strike her. I did not raise my voice to yell.
I smoothed the front of my ruined silk dress, locked eyes with Vanessa, and smiled.
It was not a warm smile.
It was the smile of a woman holding all the cards.
I stepped around her and walked purposefully across the dance floor.
The crowd parted slightly, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.
I walked directly to the DJ’s booth.