“That venue is very ambitious,” she said. Her voice had that tone, the one that sounded like concern but felt like a knife. “Are you sure you can afford it without help?”
I didn’t answer.
“I just don’t want you to be embarrassed, honey. Cancellation fees are expensive. Maybe something smaller would be more appropriate. You don’t want people comparing to Emily’s wedding.”
She said “Emily’s wedding” repeatedly. I hung up when she said, “You’re setting yourself up for disappointment.”
Ryan had heard the whole thing on speaker. He was quiet for a long time.
“She’s threatened,” he finally said.
“It’s just her being Mom,” I said.
“No,” Ryan said. “She’s scared you’re going to prove you don’t need her.”
I didn’t believe him. Not yet.
I was at a client’s house measuring a garden bed when my phone rang. Melissa Harper, the venue coordinator.
“Hi, Kathy,” she said. Her voice was strange. Careful. “We just processed your package downgrade request from this morning. I wanted to confirm the changes.”
I stood up. “What?”
“Your email requested a downgrade from platinum to silver package. That’s a $14,000 reduction. I just wanted to make sure everything’s financially okay.”
My stomach dropped. “Melissa, I didn’t send any email.”
Silence.
“It came from cathywheeler.gmail.com.”
“That’s not my email,” I said. My voice sounded far away. “My email is cathy.wheeler.events@gmail. I’ve never used bride anywhere.”
More silence. Then someone created a fake account.
I sat down on the curb. The client’s dog was barking inside. The sun was too bright.
“Can you forward me the email?” I asked.
A few minutes later, it was in my inbox. Subject: package change request. Wheeler wedding.
“Hi Melissa, this is Kathy Wheeler. We need to downgrade our package due to unexpected financial issues. Please process floral platinum to basic $600. Catering premium to standard, cake three tier to two-tier. Cancel videography. Thank you, Kathy Wheeler.”
Sent from cathywheeler.britegmail.com.
I forwarded it to Ryan. Then I called Melissa back.
“Can you trace who sent it?”
“I can ask our IT,” she said.
“Kathy,” she said slowly, “our IT traced the IP address. It’s not exact. IP addresses can only show general location, but it shows the email was sent from the Valentine area, ZIP code 28277. It was sent on a Thursday morning.”
I closed my eyes. My mother lives at 123 Piedmont Circle, Valentine, ZIP code 28277. She works from home on Thursdays.
“Melissa,” I said, “can you print everything? The email, the IP information, all of it.”
“I already did,” she said quietly. “I had a feeling you’d need proof.”
That night, Ryan came over. We sat at my kitchen table and stared at the printed pages: the fake email, Melissa’s confusion, my correction, the venue’s IT report showing Valentine, 28277, Thursday morning.
Not proof. Not exactly. You can’t trace an IP to a specific house without a warrant, but combined with my mother’s work-from-home schedule, and her phone call after my Instagram post, it was enough to know.