Chapter 2 - The Shockwaves Hit
The kitchen descended into a chaotic uproar. Vanessa dropped her phone onto the quartz countertop as if it had suddenly turned into a venomous snake, her eyes bulging in disbelief.
“Are you out of your absolute mind?!” Vanessa screeched, her face contorting into an ugly mask of pure panic. “Two hundred people are arriving at the grand ballroom on Saturday night! Invitations went out a month ago! Mark’s business partners, our parents, local politicians—everyone is flying in! You can’t just cancel a twenty-thousand-dollar catering contract over a spilled drink!”
I leaned calmly against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest. The contrast between her shrieking hysteria and my absolute, chilling calm seemed to unnerve her even more.
“It’s just dinner, Vanessa,” I repeated, echoing her own flippant excuse back to her with surgical precision. “Go to a local diner. Order some pizzas. Stop making such a federal case out of a meal.”
Chloe, who had been lazily scrolling through TikTok on her phone during the outburst, finally looked up, her expression shifting from boredom to sudden, sharp realization. “Wait... Mom, what is she talking about? What happened to the catering?”
“Your aunt just sabotaged our entire anniversary party out of petty jealousy!” Vanessa yelled, pointing a trembling finger at me while grabbing her phone again, frantically redialing the catering company.
I watched her sweat. It was a glorious, pathetic sight. For weeks, Vanessa had lorded this anniversary over the entire extended family, boasting in group chats about how she had secured Bellamy Catering—the most exclusive, sought-after culinary team in the tri-state area—entirely sponsored by her loving, successful sister. She had built her entire social standing for that weekend around the opulence of an event she hadn’t contributed a single dime toward.
“Hello? Bellamy? Yes, this is Vanessa Vance, the client—no, listen to me, my sister made a mistake, she’s stressed, we want to reinstate the order!” Vanessa babbled into the receiver, her voice pitching higher with every second.
I heard the murmur of the manager’s voice through the speaker, crisp and polite, yet carrying absolute finality. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Vance, but once a contract of this magnitude is terminated with less than forty-eight hours' notice, our kitchen immediately allocates those perishable provisions and staff resources to our corporate waitlist. The slot is gone. There is nothing we can do.”
The line went dead with a sharp click.
Vanessa slowly lowered the phone, her hands shaking violently. She stared at me, the veil of haughty superiority completely shredded. “They won't take it back. They gave the slot away.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” I said flatly. “Perhaps you should have taught your daughter some basic respect before expecting the rest of the world to clean up her mess.”
“Mom, what are we going to do?” Chloe whined, finally grasping the gravity of the situation as her mother’s social humiliation loomed large. “People are flying in from Chicago! Dad is going to lose his mind when he finds out!”
“Your father is already on his way home from the office,” Vanessa whispered, horror dawning in her eyes. Mark was a man obsessed with appearances, social status, and corporate optics. If he found out his wife and daughter had torpedoed his milestone anniversary celebration because Chloe couldn't resist a petty act of teenage sabotage, there would be hell to pay in their household.
I didn't stick around to watch the domestic explosion. I turned my back on them, climbed the stairs, and walked down the hallway to Emily’s room.
The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open gently.
Emily was sitting on the edge of her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. She had managed to change out of the ruined green silk into an old pair of sweatpants, but her eyes were red and swollen, tear tracks still wet on her cheeks. The ruined dress lay draped over a laundry basket in the corner, a dark, unsightly crimson blot staining its heart.
My heart ached with a fierce, protective pain. I walked over, sat down beside her on the mattress, and wrapped my arms around her trembling shoulders.
“Honey,” I murmured softly, kissing the top of her head. “Get dressed in your backup clothes. We’re going out.”
May you like
Emily sniffled, looking up at me with confusion. “Mom... prom starts in two hours. And my dress... it’s ruined. There’s nothing left.”
“Who said anything about the prom here?” I smiled, a small, confident smirk touching my lips. “Grab your small purse and your ID. We’re driving into the city. I know a boutique in Boston that has a window display with your name on it.”
