Chương 3
The obligations existed in legal agreements.
I sat very still.
Then I noticed an email sent that morning from Meadow Creek’s billing office.
It thanked me for choosing them and reminded me that the final consolidated vendor balance of approximately thirty-eight thousand dollars would be processed according to the payment arrangements on file.
I read it once.
Then again.
Outside my room, an ice machine dropped a load of cubes with a mechanical crash.
I opened the payment authorization portal.
My card was still there.
I looked at my own name beneath it.
Athena Sinclair.
For the first time all day, nobody was arguing with me about who I was.
I clicked the small link beneath my card number and read the cancellation warning twice.
Removing the payment method would not erase charges already authorized, and it would not terminate any contract I had signed.
That mattered.
Anger had gotten me as far as the portal, but anger was not going to make a thirty-eight-thousand-dollar decision for me.
I closed the browser.
For ten minutes I sat on the edge of the bed eating cold fries and listening to the air conditioner hum.
Then I called the venue.
A woman named Melissa answered on the fourth ring, sounding tired in the way people sound after coordinating someone else’s expensive happiness all day.
“Meadow Creek Events, this is Melissa.”
“My name is Athena Sinclair, and I’m the contract holder for the Sinclair-Caldwell wedding tonight.”
There was a pause filled with keyboard clicks.
“Yes, Ms. Sinclair, I have your account.”
“I need to understand exactly what I’m responsible for after tonight.”
Her voice changed slightly.
Not alarmed, exactly, but more careful.
“Is there a problem with the event?”
“I’m asking about the contract.”
“All right.”
She walked me through it.
The deposits had been paid.
The remaining venue balance would not be processed automatically because my card had only been authorized for the initial payment.
A final invoice would be issued after damages, overtime, and service adjustments were calculated.
The catering company, florist, and photographer had separate terms.
Some had my card authorization.
Some only had me listed as the contracting party.
Nothing was as simple as pressing one button and walking away.
That irritated me, but it also steadied me.
Real consequences were rarely clean.
“I want all future communication sent directly to me,” I said.
“It already is.”
“No one else can change payment information or approve additional charges.”
Another pause.
“Your mother has been coordinating details.”
“I understand.”
“Is she no longer authorized?”
I looked at the half-eaten burger on the desk.
“No.”
Melissa did not ask why.
She only said, “I can place a note requiring written approval from you for any post-event additions.”
“Please do.”
“Done.”
I thanked her.
Before hanging up, she said, “Ms. Sinclair?”
“Yes?”
“I hope everything is okay.”
I looked down at my navy dress.
The skirt was wrinkled from sitting in it for hours.
“No,” I said.
Then I ended the call.
The catering company had an emergency event number.
A man named Dev answered over enough background noise to make me pull the phone away from my ear.
I explained who I was.
He remembered my name immediately.
“Right, Athena, you approved the late-night biscuit station.”
Of course I had.
Brooke had texted me at two in the morning London time because Garrett wanted biscuits after dancing and Mom said it would look cheap if they ran out of food.
“I need any balance billed by invoice,” I said.
“No automatic card charge.”
Dev hesitated.
“We have an authorization.”
“I’m withdrawing authorization for any charge that has not already been processed.”
“That might require accounting.”
“Then please have accounting contact me.”
“All right, but just so you know, dinner is already served.”
“I’m not disputing services you provided.”
That silence was different.
He had expected a fight.
“I just won’t authorize automatic payment tonight.”
“Understood.”
I called the florist next.
Then the photographer.
I did not cancel anything.
I did not interfere with the wedding.
Flowers remained on tables.
Dinner remained on plates.
Photographs continued being taken.
Brooke got exactly the evening she wanted.
The difference was that when the invoices arrived, the people who had promised to reimburse me would finally have to participate in paying them.
At nine thirty, I changed into sweatpants and an old London Marathon T-shirt even though I had never run the London Marathon.
A coworker gave it to me after deciding the color looked terrible on him.
I wore it whenever I was miserable.
It had become an unofficial uniform.
At ten twelve, Brooke called.
I watched her name vibrate across the screen.
I let it stop.
A minute later, she called again.
Then came a message.
Are you seriously mad?
I stared at it.
Another followed.
Mom said you left because you were upset about seating.
I laughed aloud.
It was not a pleasant sound.
I typed three different responses.
I deleted all three.
Finally I wrote, You watched me fly here knowing I wasn’t invited.
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
It vanished.
Returned.
Vanished again.
Then Brooke wrote, I thought Mom had handled it.
I set the phone facedown.
That phrase had built half my family’s life.
Mom handled it.
Dad handled it.
Athena handled it.
Brooke floated through the middle, benefiting from decisions she somehow never quite made.
My phone rang again.
This time I answered.
Music thumped faintly behind her.
“Athena?”
“What?”
“Can you not be like this tonight?”
I closed my eyes.
“Like what?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Brooke, I genuinely don’t.”
Someone near her shouted her name, and she muffled the phone for a second.
When she came back, her voice was lower.
“I’m married now.”
“Yes.”
“This is supposed to be the happiest night of my life.”
“Then go be happy.”
“You’re making me feel guilty.”
“That sounds inconvenient.”
She exhaled sharply.
“You always do that.”
May you like
“Do what?”
“Make everything sound like some moral test.”
