Chapter 7 - The Phones Stayed Up After the Cake Was Covered
I didn't hear the plastic first. I heard my own voice coming back at me from three different phones at once.
The cake was under clear plastic by then, the roses dulled through it. The fork was gone into a bag. The uniformed woman still stood at the end of the table with her hands folded over her apron, like she had finished her part. Jonathan stood two feet from me and it felt like ten.
Then from behind us, near the bar, somebody's speaker played it too loud.
"And this is only the beginning."
It wasn't her voice now. It was thinner, recorded through a crowd. I turned before I could stop myself. A girl in a navy bridesmaid dress held her phone sideways, already looping it. A man beside her mouthed the words along with it.
"And this is only the beginning."
My cheeks burned under the sconce light. I could feel the tiara slipping a fraction to the right. I fixed it without thinking, and that small move got filmed too.
Jonathan's mother came through the guests like she owned the floor plan. She'd taken off her wrap. Her cheeks were flushed pink.
"Jonathan," she said. She didn't lower her voice. "Take your wife off the floor. Now."
I looked at him. He didn't look at me. He looked at his mother, then at the cake, then at the staff woman.
"Mom, we can't just —" he started.
"We can," she said. "Everyone is filming this. Do you understand what this looks like?"
Another phone went up on my left. On its screen I saw myself from five minutes earlier, bent forward with my hand to my head. My mouth was open. I looked away.
I tried to step toward the lobby doors because my legs wanted to run. The air in the ballroom had gone too warm, too sweet from flowers and frosting. My earrings swung when I moved and one caught in my hair.
I heard it then, not from the staff woman, but from the crowd, repeated like they'd learned it.
"She's lying."
A woman in gold-rimmed glasses whispered it to her husband while staring straight at me. "She's lying. She's been stealing."
"She's been stealing from this family," her husband finished, nodding toward me. He said it like a fact he'd been handed.
My throat closed. Those were her words. "Don't eat the cake. She poisoned it. She's lying. She's been stealing from this family." Now they didn't belong to her anymore. They were out in the room, loose.
I stopped at the edge of the carpet. The lobby was right there past the double doors, dimmer, quieter, empty chairs. I could have gone and waited where no lenses pointed. My hands were shaking.
Jonathan finally touched my elbow. "Maybe you should step out for a minute," he said quietly. "Until —"
"No," I said.
His mother stared at me. "Excuse me?"
I breathed in. The sequins on my sleeves scratched my wrists when I folded my arms. "If I leave, that clip is the story," I said. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted. "I'm staying by the cake."
Jonathan dropped his hand. "Okay," he said, but he looked at his mother when he said it, not at me.
I walked back to the table. Each step felt long. Guests parted just enough to let me through and keep filming. The plastic crinkled faintly under the vent air. I put my right hand lightly on the edge of the table, beside the covered tiers, where everyone could see I wasn't touching anything.
The staff woman watched me come. She didn't move.
"You should have listened to her," she said, low enough that only Jonathan and I heard. She nodded toward his mother.
"Funny," I said, "because I recorded what you put in it." I threw her own line back because I had nothing else. My eyes watered and I blinked hard under the warm light.
Jonathan stepped between us. "Stop," he said. "Both of you, just stop for one minute."
His mother followed me to the table. "Jonathan, you need to choose," she said. "Her or this family’s name. You can’t stand in the middle while that video spreads."
Two more phones lifted. Someone near the dance floor said, "Play it again." And again that thin recorded voice cut through the strings still playing soft from the speakers.
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"And this is only the beginning."
I kept my hand on the table. I didn't pick at the plastic. I didn't cry. I counted my breaths and stared at the white roses until the spots in my vision cleared, and waited for sirens I still couldn't hear.
