Chapter 5 - Please Leave in Front of Everyone
The gravel shifted under my heels when I stepped back from the gate. I hadn't realized how many people had stood up until I heard the chairs scrape.
From the aisle entrance I could see straight down the rows. White chairs, wet legs shining under the string lights. Women in dresses with shawls pulled tight against the damp air. Men with their hands in their pockets, turning to look. The musicians under the white tent had stopped mid-phrase. One violinist held her bow suspended above the strings, waiting.
Olivia moved forward so she was no longer half hidden behind the staffer. Her veil caught the light. Her face, which had been cold at the gate, was flushed now. She didn't lower her voice.
"Mom, you weren't invited," she said again, louder this time, like she wanted the back row to hear it. "You're not family anymore. Please leave."
The words landed in the quiet. Someone near the floral arch let out a small breath. I felt my hand tighten around my handbag strap. My phone was heavy in my other hand, screen still lit with the bank app I hadn't closed.
I looked at her, then at the people watching us. My throat was dry. I didn't plan what I said next. It came out before I could soften it.
"Was my money still invited?"
A ripple went through the guests. A man in the third row turned fully around in his chair. Two younger women by the aisle lifted their phones. I saw the red recording dots blink on. Then three more. Then a whole side of the aisle.
The coordinator, a woman in a black dress with a headset, hovered two steps behind Olivia. She put a hand out like she might touch Olivia's elbow, then pulled it back. She glanced at the staffer with the clipboard, then at me, then at the guests with their phones up.
"Olivia," she whispered. "We need to start or we lose light."
Olivia didn't look at her. She kept her eyes on me. "You paid for all of this," she said. It wasn't gratitude. It sounded like an accusation she wanted everyone to forget. "And now you're trying to ruin it."
"I'm not trying to ruin anything," I said. My voice shook. I paused and breathed. "Before you walk down that aisle, check your phone."
"What did you do?" she asked.
The guests heard that too. The phones didn't go down. If anything, more went up. I could see my own pale blue dress in a dozen little screens, my short gray hair damp from the air, my heels sunk a little into the wet gravel.
I didn't answer her. I turned because I couldn't stand there with everyone staring at my face. The dark sedan was still parked where the driver had left it, rear door open. The gravel crunched loud under my shoes as I walked toward it. The floral arch and the tent and the orchestra blurred behind the car windows.
Each step felt longer than it should have. I heard a chair tip, someone whispering, "Is that her mother?" Someone else shushed them.
At the car I stopped. The driver was standing by the front, watching me, waiting for a signal. The inside of the sedan smelled like leather and rain. I put one hand on the top of the open door frame and swung one leg in, settling half onto the back seat. My dress pulled tight across my knees. My handbag slid against my side.
I didn't close the door.
I sat there with one foot still on the gravel, the door wide open, my phone lit in my lap. The evening air came in cold. From where I sat I could still see Olivia at the entrance, white lace bright under the string lights, veil moving a little in the wind, guests standing and filming between us.
May you like
She was looking at her phone now, finally looking. Her mouth opened. She looked up at me across the aisle and the gravel and all those raised screens.
I held her gaze and waited.
