Chapter 2 - The Wedding I Was Still Paying For
“Can Adrian straighten this out before the twentieth?”
My father's question hurt more than I expected.
I was sitting on the edge of the bed I had shared with Adrian for two years, staring at the empty place on my finger.
“Dad, I don't want him to straighten it out.”
There was a pause.
“I thought you wanted to get married.”
“I did.”
“Then help me understand.”
I looked toward the bedroom doorway. Downstairs, Adrian was moving dishes around in the kitchen. I could hear a cabinet open and close.
“He gave Kelsey and Wes half our wedding after I told him no. He changed the schedule. He increased the guest list. He let me discover it at the venue.”
Dad was quiet.
Then he asked, “Did he apologize?”
I pressed my thumb against the pale indentation where my engagement ring had been.
“He offered to take them off the schedule.”
“That wasn't what I asked.”
“No,” I whispered. “He hasn't apologized.”
My father sighed.
“Then I think you should come home tonight.”
I was thirty-four years old. I hadn't lived in my childhood bedroom in almost twelve years.
But hearing my father offer it made me cry for the first time that afternoon.
“I have so much stuff here.”
“Bring your toothbrush. We'll figure out the rest.”
Twenty minutes later, I carried an overnight bag downstairs.
Adrian was sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop open.
“I've been looking at the numbers,” he announced.
I stopped beside the refrigerator.
“What numbers?”
“The cancellation penalties. The hall keeps the deposit if we cancel after Friday. The caterer has already ordered certain things. And the photographer needs written notice.”
“I know.”
“Julia, we're talking about thousands of dollars.”
I had paid attention to those numbers for fourteen months.
I had skipped weekend trips, taken extra drafting assignments, and worn the same winter coat through another Michigan January because I wanted us to begin our marriage without credit card debt.
“You should have considered that before changing our wedding.”
Adrian turned the laptop toward me.
A spreadsheet filled the screen.
Our original budget occupied the left side.
On the right was a second column labeled Combined Celebration.
The total was almost six thousand dollars higher.
But something underneath caught my attention.
“Why does it say I've already contributed another three thousand dollars?”
Adrian looked at the screen.
“That's just how I divided the deposits.”
“What deposits?”
“The money already paid.”
I leaned closer.
There were entries for additional chairs, extra meals, a second ceremony setup, and an extended photography package.
Beside each was a column marked Julia/Adrian Fund.
“Adrian, that isn't their money.”
“I haven't collected their share yet.”
“Then why did you approve expenses using ours?”
He shut the laptop halfway.
“Because we had to reserve everything before the deadline.”
I stared at him.
“You committed our money to their wedding.”
“Temporarily.”
“Without asking me.”
“We were going to settle everything afterward.”
Afterward.
The word had become a place where Adrian stored every promise he didn't want to keep today.
I picked up my bag.
“I'm going to Dad's.”
His expression changed.
“Are you seriously moving out?”
“I'm staying somewhere I don't have to argue about whether my answer counts.”
He stood.
“I didn't cheat on you, Julia.”
I stopped.
I hadn't accused him of cheating.
“You keep acting like Kelsey being my ex makes this worse,” he continued. “That's ancient history.”
“This isn't about who she used to date.”
“Then why can't you just let us help them?”
“Because you didn't ask me to help. You decided I would.”
He looked genuinely frustrated.
And that was the worst part.
He still seemed to believe we were disagreeing over a reasonable compromise.
I left before he could explain another column.
Dad lived in a modest ranch house twenty minutes away, the same house where my mother had once kept tulips in coffee cans along the back steps.
He was waiting beneath the porch light.
He didn't ask whether I was sure.
He simply took my bag.
Inside, there was leftover chicken in the refrigerator and a stack of mail on the kitchen counter.
Ordinary things.
I was grateful for every one of them.
Dad put a plate in the microwave.
“Your mother would have had something to say about this.”
I managed a weak smile.
“She usually did.”
“She wasn't always right.”
“She would have been about this.”
He smiled sadly.
Then he reached into the drawer beside the refrigerator and removed a white envelope.
“I need to show you something.”
Inside was a receipt from Cedar Mill Hall.
Six thousand dollars.
I recognized the amount immediately.
Dad had given us that money in February.
He had called it his contribution toward the wedding, although I'd argued that his retirement savings mattered more than expensive table settings.
He'd insisted.
My mother had died four years earlier, and he said he wanted to give me something she would have been proud of.
“I sent the check directly to Adrian,” Dad said.
“I know.”
“That's not the part you need to see.”
He turned the receipt over.
On the back, Adrian had written a short note.
Thanks again, Frank. This will help us take care of both families.
I frowned.
“Both families?”
Dad nodded.
“I thought he meant yours and his.”
“Of course he did.”
But the wording bothered me.
Dad took off his glasses.
“Last week Adrian asked whether I'd mind if a few more people attended.”
“What?”
“He said there were some family circumstances, and he didn't want you stressed about it.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What did you say?”
“I said I trusted the two of you to decide.”
He looked ashamed.
“I didn't know you had already told him no.”
I touched his hand.
“Dad, you didn't do anything wrong.”
He looked down at the receipt.
“Maybe not. But I should have asked you.”
The following morning, I called Naomi before going to work.
She answered on the second ring.
“Julia. I was just preparing your information.”
“I need to know exactly which payments came from me.”
“I can send the account history, but there may be something else you should review.”
Her tone was careful.
“What?”
“The revised event estimate wasn't the first combined-wedding proposal we received.”
I sat upright.
“What do you mean?”
“There was an earlier version.”
“When?”
She hesitated.
“April seventeenth.”
I closed my eyes.
Adrian hadn't asked me about sharing the wedding until early May.
Nearly three weeks later.
“Who submitted it?”
“Adrian requested the preliminary estimate. I assumed you had discussed it.”
I heard a printer working somewhere behind her.
“Julia, I'm going to send you both versions. There's also a seating diagram attached to the first request.”
My computer chimed.
I opened the email.
The original drawing showed two ceremony areas, a shared reception, and four chairs behind the head table.
At the bottom was a typed note.
Please reserve the revised arrangement. Both couples have agreed in principle.
I read it twice.
Then I noticed the date beside the approval.
April seventeenth.
And underneath, in the section labeled Primary Wedding Contact, was my name.
Not Adrian's.
May you like
Mine.
With an email address I had never seen before.
