“Don’t bother writing the check, Dad.”
Isabella stood quickly.
“Mason, please. I want you to understand how much this means to me. I’m sorry if your feelings are hurt, but Carter and I are going to be married. I hope eventually you can forgive us for wanting to bond as a family.”
Her voice was sweet.
Her eyes weren’t.
“You know what, Isabella?”
I held her gaze.
“You may eventually marry my brother. You may charm my parents. But after tonight, you and I are never going to have the relationship you seem to think we’re going to have.”
I turned and headed for the door.
“Mason, don’t walk out,” Dad shouted behind me. “If you leave right now, you’re turning your back on this family.”
I didn’t stop.
I opened the front door, stepped into the freezing Chicago night, and closed it behind me.
I hurried to my car with shaking hands.
Once I was inside, surrounded by the dark silence of the vehicle, everything I had been holding together finally came loose.
I sat there for nearly an hour, crying until I was exhausted.
I wasn’t mourning a vacation.
I was mourning the end of an illusion.
For years, I had believed that if I worked hard enough, achieved enough, gave enough, and sacrificed enough, I would eventually become worthy of the same unconditional loyalty Carter received without trying.
That night, I finally accepted something painful.
No matter how hard I worked, I could never purchase the kind of approval I wanted.
I would always be expected to be dependable.
Carter would always be protected.
Unless I stopped participating.
Around midnight, my phone buzzed.
It was my best friend, Elijah.
Elijah had known me since our freshman year of college. He had watched my family dynamic for more than a decade.
I answered.
My voice sounded exhausted.
“Hey, man,” Elijah said. “Just checking in. Did you show them the final itinerary? How excited are they?”
I started crying again.
It took me almost ten minutes to explain what had happened.
I told him about Dad’s ultimatum.
I told him about Mom’s pawned necklace.
I told him Dad had said Isabella deserved my seat more than I did.
Elijah went completely silent.
For so long that I wondered whether the call had disconnected.
Then he spoke.
“Mason, listen carefully. They did what?”
“They kicked me off my own trip.”
I wiped my face.
“I guess I have to accept it. If I cancel everything, they’ll tell everyone I ruined their anniversary.”
“Stop.”
His voice became firm.
“Listen to what you’re saying. You’re still trying to protect people who just showed you exactly how little they respect what you’ve done for them.”
I didn’t answer.
“You planned the trip, right?”
“Yes.”
“You paid for it?”
“Yes.”
“Who is the primary contact on every reservation?”
“I am.”
“Whose travel agent?”
“Mine. Dylan booked everything under my name and my card.”
“Exactly.”
I sat straighter.
Elijah continued.
“They told you gifts belong to the recipient. Fine. Let them keep that logic. But you’re still the person who controls the reservations. I’m not telling you to cancel the flights and leave anyone without transportation. I’m telling you to decide what kind of gift you’re comfortable providing now.”
The fog in my head began to clear.
“The reservations are all in my name,” I said quietly.
“Yes, they are.”
“You really think I should change them?”
“I think you should stop financing luxury for people who just told you that you’re not welcome on the luxury vacation you paid for.”
The next morning at eight sharp, I called Dylan.
“Dylan, it’s Mason. I need to make some major changes to the Dubai booking.”
“Oh, hey, Mason.”
I heard his keyboard clicking.
“What’s going on? We’re only a few weeks from departure. Are you adding another dinner reservation?”
“No. I’m no longer going on the trip. My brother’s fiancée, Isabella, is taking my place. Please change my ticket to her name if the airline rules allow it, or reissue the reservation however you need to.”
There was a pause.
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“There’s more.”
“All right.”
“Cancel the first-class flights for all four travelers and rebook them in standard economy. Use the least expensive reasonable option available.”
Dylan stopped typing.
“You want to downgrade all four international tickets from first class to economy?”
“Yes.”
“Mason, that’s a long flight.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
“Okay. I can do that. The fare difference should produce a substantial refund.”
“What about the hotel?” I asked.
“The Burj Al Arab?”
“Cancel it.”
This time, Dylan didn’t say anything.
“Find a basic three-star hotel in Deira. Safe and clean, but simple. Two standard rooms. No suites. No luxury extras.”
“Mason, Deira is a completely different experience from what we originally planned. Depending on traffic, they could spend a long time getting to some of the major tourist attractions.”
“I understand.”