Chapter 5
For a few seconds after Toby nodded, the only sound in the room was the muffled music from the Grand Hall.
He had thought I agreed. Not because he had asked me, or because he had heard it from me, but because Sherry said I was generous and the party kept getting bigger.
I looked at my son, the boy who once pretended chicken nuggets were a businessman’s lunch, and tried to see the man who had told me there was no room for me.
“When, exactly, did you decide I’d approved the changes?”
Toby’s eyes dropped to the papers between us.
“I didn’t decide. I thought—”
“That you knew?”
He exhaled through his nose. “A few weeks ago, Sherry said you were happy to help make the party special. She said you’d already taken care of the original booking.”
“I did take care of the original booking.”
“I know.”
“And the deposit.”
“I know, Mom.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. When did you think I approved seventy-two guests, champagne, and a seafood station?”
His face tightened. “When the invitations went out, I guess.”
“The invitations named Sherry as host.”
“I didn’t pay attention to that.”
“Did you ask her whether I was paying for any of it?”
“No.”
“Did you ask me?”
“No.”
The answers came plainly, with no excuse attached. That was something, but it didn’t undo the choices underneath them.
I placed one finger on the venue’s written confirmation of my spending limit.
“Then what did you actually hear from either of us?”
Toby rubbed his thumb along the edge of the table. “Sherry said you liked the idea of a bigger celebration. She said you told her you wanted everyone there.”
“I said I wanted a meaningful dinner for twenty-four people.”
“Maybe I mixed things up.”
“You mixed up what you wanted to believe with what I told you.”
He flinched. Paige looked at him, then back at me.
“Did Sherry say anything about the bill?” I asked.
“She said everything was handled.”
“By whom?”
“I assumed you.”
“You assumed I was paying because I paid the deposit.”
He didn’t answer.
I thought about the emerald-green dress still upstairs in my bedroom, waiting for an evening I had been told not to attend. The hurt was sharp, but anger made it easier to look at the facts.
“Did you know I wasn’t on the guest list?”
Toby glanced at Sherry.
She had been standing near the door, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Now she shifted her weight.
“I knew the seating had changed,” he said.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I didn’t know you’d been told not to come until you called me.”
“You told me there was no room.”
“There were seventy-two people.”
“Was there room for Sherry’s boyfriend?”
Toby’s mouth opened, then closed.
Sherry’s expression turned cool. “That’s not fair. He was part of the hosting arrangement.”
“And I was part of the original arrangement.”
“Billie, we’ve already discussed the guest count.”
“No. We’ve discussed what you say you intended. I’m asking what my son knew.”
Paige leaned forward, her palms resting on the table.
“I knew there were more guests,” she said. “I knew Mom was changing the seating. I didn’t know Toby had told you not to come.”
I turned toward her. “Did you know I wasn’t on the chart?”
Her gaze flickered to the doorway.
“Yes.”
The admission landed harder than the explanation that followed.
“Mom asked me to help with the seating,” Paige continued. “There were a lot of people to place, and she said you weren’t coming.”
“Did you ask why?”
“I thought you’d decided not to attend.”
“Did you ask me?”
“No.”
“Did you ask Toby?”
“I thought he knew.”
Toby stared at the table.
Paige swallowed. “I’m not saying that makes it right.”
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t.”
She nodded, eyes bright but steady. “I helped arrange the tables. I should have checked with you before I changed anything.”
Sherry’s voice sharpened. “The seating was a practical matter. We had to accommodate the guests.”
“You accommodated your boyfriend,” I said. “And your daughter helped.”
“I didn’t know Billie had been told not to attend,” Paige said. “I thought she’d chosen not to.”
“You knew I had a place in the original plan,” I replied.
“I did.”
“And you took it off the chart.”
Paige lowered her eyes. She didn’t deny it.
Toby pushed back his chair a few inches, then seemed to think better of standing.
“Can we please not turn this into a list of every mistake people made?” he asked. “It’s my birthday.”
“That’s why I’m asking you,” I said. “You’re the one who called me.”
“I called you because there wasn’t a place for you.”
“You could have fixed that.”
“I couldn’t just move someone after they’d arrived.”
“You could have asked me to come anyway. You could have called Sherry. You could have asked what happened before telling me to stay home.”
He looked at me then, and for the first time his expression seemed less defensive than ashamed.
“I didn’t want to start a fight with Sherry,” he said.
The room went quiet.
“And you thought it was easier to start one with me?”
His eyes closed briefly.
“I didn’t think of it that way.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s the problem.”
A knock sounded at the door. Before anyone could answer, a young server stepped inside holding a clipboard and several sheets of paper.
“Sorry to interrupt. Mrs. Lamb asked me to bring the current seating chart. There were a few questions about the table placements.”
Sherry straightened. “You can leave it here.”
The server set the clipboard on the table. A folded sheet slid partly out from beneath the chart. Sherry reached for it, but the server had already noticed the page.
“This one was with the earlier copies,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you needed it.”
Sherry pulled the folded sheet toward herself.
“That’s just my notes.”
The server nodded, then left and closed the door.
For a moment no one touched the papers.
Daniel turned the clipboard around so we could see the chart. The Grand Hall’s tables were marked in careful rows, with names assigned to each seat. Table One had been placed nearest the head table. Sherry’s boyfriend’s name appeared beside hers.
I looked for my own.
There it was—on an earlier version clipped behind the current chart, in faint pencil beside a chair near the end of Table One. The name had been crossed through. In the revised chart, my place was gone.
“May I see your notes?” Daniel asked Sherry.
“Why?”
“To preserve what was in the event file and understand the revisions.”
“These are personal working notes.”
“They relate to the seating chart,” I said.
Sherry’s fingers tightened around the folded page.
“This is unnecessary.”
Toby looked at the crossed-out name. “Mom, you said there was no room.”
“There wasn’t room for everyone where they wanted to sit.”
“But you said there was no room for her,” Paige said.
Sherry gave her daughter a warning look.
Paige didn’t look away. “That’s what you told me. That Billie wasn’t coming, so we could use her place.”
“I didn’t tell you to remove her.”
“You asked me to redo the table.”
“Because the guest list changed.”
“And I put your boyfriend there,” Paige said quietly.
Sherry unfolded her notes, perhaps to point to a seating adjustment, perhaps to gather them up. The page held a list of names and table numbers, with short marks beside several changes. At the bottom, a handwritten line read, “B. Huitt—remove; M. at Table One.”
I stared at the words.
“Who wrote that?”
Sherry covered the page with one hand. “It’s a planning note. It doesn’t mean what you think.”
“Then what does it mean?”
“It means we were trying to make a difficult seating plan work.”
Daniel examined the chart without touching it. “The current chart has revision initials beside each change.”
At the edge of the page, next to my crossed-out place, two letters had been written in blue ink: S.L.
My attention shifted to the notes beneath Sherry’s hand. The same cramped initials appeared beside the change assigning her boyfriend to Table One.
Toby saw them too.
“Those are your initials,” he said.
May you like
Sherry’s hand remained on the paper.
The seating chart had no place for me. But beside the change that removed it were the same initials as the notes Sherry had carried into the venue.
