The kids at my table stopped playing.
I turned slightly, just enough to see my uncle lean forward, whispering urgently to my dad.
My dad’s face was darkening.
My mom pressed a napkin to her lips.
Elise.
Elise wasn’t smiling anymore.
And then came the balcony video.
It started with wind and laughter. The camera was shaky.
Clearly, someone else had filmed it, but I cut out everything else.
Just left in the part that mattered.
Elise’s voice, slightly slurred.
“I mean, it’s not like I love Carson. Love him, but he’s loaded and I’ve earned it after dealing with my messed up family for years, especially Ian. God, what a martyr. He’s like a side character in a movie no one wants to finish.”
I didn’t have to look at her to feel the panic radiating off her in waves.
The video held on that last line for a few seconds, long enough to land, then a fade to black.
The music returned soft again, but with a new undertone.
A single quote appeared on screen.
White text against black.
“Sometimes the quiet ones are the ones who remember everything.”
And then the slideshow ended.
The lights came back up.
Someone cleared their throat.
Glasses clinkedked awkwardly.
There were murmurss now.
Lots of them.
I heard Carson mutter, “What was that?” loud enough for several tables to catch it.
My dad stood up sharply, knocking his chair over.
“What was that?” he echoed, staring straight at me.
I didn’t answer, just took a slow sip of water.
Elise shot to her feet.
Her voice was high, fake, cheerful, cracking.
“Okay. Haha. Wow, that was um clearly not the right file. Little prank for me and I guess let’s all just forget that.”
But she was cut off by my cousin, who turned to her with a disgusted face.
“Wait, was that real? You actually said that about Carson, about Ian?”
That’s when the unraveling began.
Voices started overlapping.
Someone shouted from another table, “Why would you let that play during the wedding toast?”
My aunt was whispering furiously to my mom.