Chapter 9 - The Blue Handwritten Notes
She left it open on the kitchen island like it was nothing.
We were back at her house because she’d texted that morning, short and breezy: come over, let’s reset, I made coffee. I hadn’t answered for an hour and then I went anyway. The tote was on the bench by the front door, the checkered one, tan leather trim catching the light. Her blazer was draped over the back of a dining chair. She was in a cream sweater now, moving around in socks, pouring coffee into two mugs like the airport hadn’t happened.
“I left the planner out,” she said, not looking up. “In case you wanted to see what we were dealing with. No secrets.”
She said it the way she’d always said things to me, like generosity. The brown leather planner was open, snap closure folded back, black pen clipped to the rings. Blue ink on lined paper. I could see her handwriting from where I stood, slanted and neat.
I didn’t move right away. I stayed by the island and wrapped my hands around the mug she’d pushed toward me. It was warm. The kitchen smelled like coffee and the lemon cleaner she always used.
“Thanks,” I said.
She smiled, that composed smile. “I’m glad you came. I hated how we left it at the airport. You know how I get when I’m stressed.”
I nodded and didn’t say anything. My breathing was shallow. I could hear the fridge humming.
She stepped away to answer her phone in the other room. Her voice went soft and pleasant, that customer-service tone she used with everyone else. I stood alone with the planner.
For a second I just looked. The page was headed PARTY — MARCH, underlined twice. Under it, a list.
I leaned in. I didn’t have to pick it up.
Vineyard at Cedar Hill — deposit $2,500 — contact Mara 555-0148
Catering, Laurel & Sage — $3,200 + bar — Jen 555-0193
Hotel block — 12 rooms — cancel by 3/15 or charged
Photographer deposit $800 — nonrefundable
Below that, names in blue. Ten names, with little checks next to them. My name wasn’t on it, and then it was, at the bottom, with a line through it. She’d crossed it out. Next to it she’d written cat sitter — me? The question mark was light, like she’d pressed less hard.
My throat got tight. I stared at the numbers. I added them in my head without meaning to. Over six thousand dollars, and that was just what was on this page. There were tabs behind it, more pages.
I heard her laugh in the other room. “No, we’re figuring it out, it’s totally fine,” she was saying. “It was a group decision.”
A group decision. I looked back down at the words she’d written. Entire party. She’d told the staff at the counter to cancel everything, the entire party, in that quiet firm voice, and now it was here in blue ink, every dollar and every person she’d erased in ten seconds.
I realized then what I hadn’t let myself realize at the airport. She couldn’t just call Mara and Jen and say never mind. Not without saying she’d done it on impulse, in front of us, to win a point. She’d have to admit she’d canceled six thousand dollars and twelve rooms and ten people because she’d wanted to look decisive. Her composed image depended on no one knowing it was impulsive.
My hand was shaking a little. I set the mug down so I wouldn’t spill.
She was still on the phone. I could see her silhouette in the doorway, back turned, one hand on her hip.
I didn’t want to steal it. I didn’t want to hide it or take a picture of every page and hold it over her. That wasn’t what I was there to do. But I needed something real, something that wasn’t just my memory of what she’d said versus what she’d later say she said.
I slipped my phone out of my pocket. The planner was still open, still hers, still on her counter where she’d left it. I didn’t move it. I just angled my phone over the top of the page and took one photo. Close enough to read Vineyard at Cedar Hill and the two phone numbers, the deposit amounts. I made sure the time stamp would show. One factual detail, not the whole thing.
The shutter was silent. My thumb hovered over the screen, and then I locked the phone and slid it back into my pocket.
She came back in, phone against her chest. “Sorry, that was Jen,” she said. “She’s trying to get us our deposits back. I told her not to worry about it.”
She looked at the planner, then at me, and smiled again. She didn’t notice I’d been looking. Or if she did, she pretended not to.
“You good?” she asked.
I picked up my mug again. The coffee had cooled a little.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m good.”
May you like
She closed the planner then, snapping the leather with a soft click, and slid it toward the edge of the island, closer to her side. The blue notes disappeared under the cover.
I didn’t ask about the money. I didn’t say I know what entire party cost. I just stood there with the photo in my pocket, a verifiable fact that she’d been the one to do it, and felt for the first time since the airport that I wasn’t the one who had to make myself smaller to keep the story smooth.
