“Caterer needs a $2,000 deposit by tomorrow. I forwarded them your email. Handle it today, please.”
I picked up the phone and typed, “I will not be paying for the caterer. You and David need to handle your own wedding expenses.”
The phone rang immediately.
I answered.
“What do you mean you aren’t paying?” Sarah snapped. “You’re the mother of the bride. You’ve literally contributed nothing to this wedding except a free place for David’s family to stay.”
“I am living on a fixed income, Sarah. I told you this.”
“Sell some of the farm equipment, then figure it out. You’re being incredibly selfish.”
“No,” I said calmly.
“No?”
“No.”
I hung up.
I didn’t block her, but I put her ringtone on silent. I felt a slight flutter in my chest, but but I took a deep breath.
Setting a boundary feels like a betrayal when you’ve been accommodating your whole life.
But I was done.
Tomorrow was going to be interesting.
Over the next few weeks, I watched the disaster slowly taking shape through the updates in the family group chat.
I stayed quiet, observing the train wreck from a safe distance.
David’s mother, Brenda, had joined the chat. She was a woman who liked to manage things.
“Rachel,” Linda typed one Tuesday. “I’ve decided the welcome dinner for the out-of-town guests will be on the back patio at the farmhouse. Please ensure the string lights are working and the patio furniture is wiped down. We expect about 40 people.”
I looked at the message.
I pictured Arthur, who went to bed at 8:30 p.m., suddenly dealing with 40 strangers and string lights on a Thursday night.