“I didn’t know about the vendors,” he said.
“Did you know about the venue call?”
“No.”
“Did you know Mom wanted my flowers transferred to Vanessa?”
His eyes dropped.
“No.”
I watched him stir sugar into his coffee even though he had always taken it black.
“Why did you ask me here?”
“Your mother is upset.”
I leaned back.
“Then you still don’t understand.”
“She shouldn’t have called the vendors.”
“No, she shouldn’t have.”
“She panicked.”
“She tried to take pieces of my wedding and hand them to Vanessa.”
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“She thought if the wedding moved, the flowers would go unused.”
“The wedding was never moving.”
“She believed you would reconsider.”
“Because I always did before.”
He looked at me then.
For once, there was no defense ready in his expression.
Only exhaustion.
“I should have said something at dinner,” he admitted.
“Yes.”
“I thought it would blow over.”
“It always blew over because I gave in.”
“I never wanted you to feel less important.”
“Wanting isn’t the same as doing.”
The waitress placed our plates on the table. Eggs, toast, and potatoes. Neither of us touched them.
Dad lowered his voice.
“Your mother thinks you’re doing this to hurt Vanessa.”
“I’m doing this because they tried to sabotage my wedding.”
“She says she only called the florist.”
“Would one vendor be acceptable?”
“No.”
“Then stop minimizing it.”
He looked toward the window.
A delivery truck rolled through the wet parking lot, its tires crunching over gravel.
“Vanessa’s party might be canceled,” he said.
I waited.
“Several relatives said they won’t attend if it stays on your wedding weekend.”
“That sounds like a consequence.”
“She’s devastated.”
“So was I when my mother asked me to erase my wedding.”
“She’s afraid people will think she did this on purpose.”
“Did she?”
Dad’s expression changed.
It was subtle—a slight tightening around his eyes, a pause that lasted half a second too long.
I noticed.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“Dad.”
He picked up his coffee and put it down without drinking.
“Vanessa originally wanted a date in December.”
The diner noise seemed to fade.
“Then why did she change it?”
“She found out your venue had a separate garden pavilion available the Friday before your wedding.”
My skin prickled.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“She wanted to host her engagement party there.”
I stared at him.
My sister had not merely chosen the same weekend.
She had planned to hold her engagement party at my wedding venue, using my flowers, my shuttle, and possibly even my guest list.
Dad looked ashamed as he added the final piece.
“Your mother thought the family could attend Vanessa’s party Friday and your wedding Saturday. But when the pavilion was already booked, they decided your ceremony should move instead.”
The truth landed slowly, then all at once.
My wedding had not conflicted with Vanessa’s celebration.
My wedding was the celebration she intended to take over.
### Part 5
I left the diner without touching my breakfast.
Dad followed me into the parking lot.
“Claire, wait.”
I turned beneath the gray morning sky.
“Did Vanessa know the pavilion was unavailable before she announced her engagement date?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
“And Mom knew?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“A couple of weeks.”
My laugh came out sharp and humorless.
“So the dinner was staged.”
“It wasn’t staged.”
“They chose the date. They contacted my venue. They tried to redirect my vendors. Then they invited me to dinner so Mom could make it sound like an unfortunate coincidence.”