Mavis continued.
“What month?”
“Same date.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“Oh, wonderful. I’ll need something lighter, then.”
She started talking about dresses, shoes, and whether she could wear pale champagne without it photographing as white.
On the drive home, I finally asked Ryan.
“Are you going to tell her?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Mavis called while we were eating breakfast.
“Give it a day or two. She always assumes. I think it’s time she learned a lesson.”
That happened three days later.
Mavis called while we were eating breakfast.
Ryan put her on speaker.
“I need the hotel details,” she said.
“For what?”
“So I can book our room.”
There was a pause.
“For the wedding.”
Ryan buttered his toast.
“What about it?”
“So I can book our room.”
Another pause.
“What?”
“Mom, you’re not coming.”
Silence.
I stopped chewing.
Then Mavis laughed.
A short, confused laugh.
