She wanted a production.
She wanted a destination wedding in the Bahamas because, as she said, “Indiana light makes everyone look dead.”
My mother acted as if this were reasonable.
“She only gets married once,” Mom said.
“She’s been engaged twice before,” I reminded her.
“That is ugly of you, Jessica.”
That was another rule in my family. Facts became cruelty when they inconvenienced Valerie.
At first, I agreed to help with a modest amount. Five thousand dollars. I said it clearly. I wrote it in a text so no one could later claim confusion.
Mom sent back a heart emoji and wrote, You are such a blessing.
Three days later, Valerie called crying because the resort required a scouting trip.
“A what?” I asked.
“To tour the venue,” she said, as if I were slow. “You can’t just choose a beach from pictures, Jess.”
“I’m not paying for a vacation.”
“It’s not a vacation. It’s planning.”
I said no.
That night my mother called.
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