“What?”
“I don’t even care about the flowers.”
I almost smiled.
“Good. Because I saw the flower estimate.”
He covered his face.
“Don’t.”
“Imported peonies, Evan?”
“It got away from me.”
“A floral budget should not be able to escape.”
That finally made him laugh.
A small sound.
Then his eyes filled.
“I’m scared Chloe will leave.”
“Why?”
“Because I lied.”
“That’s a better reason to worry than the venue.”
He looked down.
I pushed the bank statements back.
“I won’t give you sixty thousand dollars.”
His mouth tightened.
“I figured.”
“I also won’t pay your debt.”
He nodded.
“But I’ll help you work through the numbers.”
He looked up.
“That’s it?”
“That’s a lot.”
“No. I mean…”
He stared at me.
“You’re not going to say I told you so?”
“Would it help?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
We stayed at that kitchen table until after midnight.
I made a new spreadsheet.
Not the childhood one.
The current one.
Income.
Debt.
Wedding obligations.
Refundable deposits.
Nonrefundable deposits.
Monthly payments.
Available savings.
Items that could be canceled.
Items that could be renegotiated.
By eleven, the wedding had shrunk from something impossible into something painful but survivable.
The venue was the largest problem.
Their contract had a cancellation fee.
Still cheaper than continuing.
The imported flowers disappeared.
So did the luxury transportation.
The photographer package was reduced.
The guest list could be cut almost in half.
Evan stared at the new total.
“It looks sad.”
“No. It looks paid for.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I have to tell Chloe.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You start with the truth.”
“She’ll be furious.”
“Maybe.”
“What if she calls it off?”
I looked at him.
“If honesty ends the wedding, sixty thousand dollars would only have delayed the ending.”
He hated that.
I could tell.
Sometimes useful truths are rude guests.
He left around twelve fifteen.
The next morning he called Chloe.
Then he asked to meet her in person.
I heard nothing for two days.
Mom texted me:
I hope you’re happy.
I did not respond.
On the third day, Chloe called.
I almost ignored it.
Then answered.
“Hi.”
“Mara.”
She sounded exhausted.
“Evan told me everything.”
“I know.”
“He said you knew before I did.”
“I knew for about twenty-four hours.”
“He lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“He thought you would pay.”
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
Then she said, “I thought you were being cruel.”
“I know.”
“I sent you that message about causing stress.”
“I remember.”
“I’m sorry.”
That caught me off guard.
“You don’t owe me an apology for wanting a wedding.”
“No.”
Her voice shook.
“I owe you one for assuming your money was easier to spend than mine.”
I sat down.
That sentence told me Chloe had understood more in two days than some people in my family had understood in thirty years.
“What are you going to do?”
She sighed.
“We’re not having the Gorge wedding.”
“Okay.”
“My mother is having a crisis.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t sound sorry.”
“I’m a terrible liar.”
She laughed.
Then became serious.
“We’re looking at gardens.”
“A garden sounds nice.”
“I think so too.”
“Is Evan okay?”
“No.”
Honest.
“But we’re talking.”
“Good.”
“I told him if we get married, we start with every account open on the table.”