He looked at the flowers. At the cake. At me. And he let out a breath.
“For a little while.”
The cake was incredible. Real buttercream, the kind I’d only ever tasted at other people’s weddings. For half an hour, it almost felt easy. Grandma asked how we’d met. Enzo told her about the fries and the stacked chairs, and for a second he nearly smiled.
Then she set down her fork.
“Your father would love to see you, you know.”
The room went cold.
“Don’t,” Enzo said.
“I’m only saying…”
“I know what you’re saying. Don’t.”
We didn’t stay long after that.
Out in the parking lot, Enzo leaned against the car and stared at the asphalt.
“You never really told me what happened with your dad,” I said.
He was quiet for a long time.
“He ran my whole life. Which college. Which major. Which summer job. It was always understood that I’d go into the family business and take over one day. When I told him I didn’t want it, that I wanted to build something of my own, he said…” He swallowed. “He said that as far as he was concerned, I was dead.”
“Enzo.”
“So no. I’m not going to dinner with him.”
I wrapped my arms around him. But a small, quiet part of me was thinking: people change. Families mend. Maybe it doesn’t have to stay broken forever.
And another part of me, the part I’m least proud of, was thinking about the stack of envelopes on our kitchen counter. And my mother.
For illustrative purposes only
Part 3
A week later, Grandma called and asked if I’d meet her for coffee. Just me.
I told myself it would be rude to say no.
She was easy to talk to. She asked about my job, my childhood, where I’d grown up. Eventually she asked about my family, and before I knew it, I was telling her about my mother. The diagnosis. The hospital stays. The bills that kept stacking up faster than we could pay them. How the wedding had shrunk to almost nothing because every spare dollar went to her care.
Grandma listened, nodding, her face full of sympathy.
“That’s a terrible weight for a young couple,” she said. “And I know my son is not an easy man. He’s proud and stubborn, and he doesn’t know how to bend. But he misses Enzo. I believe that.” She reached across the table and patted my hand. “Why don’t the two of you come to a family dinner? Just one. Let them sit in the same room.”
That night, I told Enzo about the coffee and the invitation.
He looked at me like I’d slapped him.
“You met her without telling me?”
“It was just coffee.”
“Cait, I told you how I feel about this. I need you to respect that.”
“I’m not asking you to forgive him. I’m just saying maybe one dinner…”
“No.”
We went to bed without saying goodnight. It was the first time in five years.
Two days later, Grandma called again.
“I’ve been thinking about your mother,” she said. “I’d like to help. Let me take care of some of those hospital bills. Consider it a wedding gift.”
“I can’t let you do that,” I said immediately.
“Of course you can. That’s what family is for.”
I said no again. And then I thought about my mother sitting at her kitchen table with a calculator, trying to decide which bill could wait one more month.
I gave her the billing information.
By the end of the week, a huge portion of the balance was gone. Paid in full, straight to the hospital. When I called my mom to tell her, she cried so hard she couldn’t speak.
I told Enzo that evening. I thought he might be relieved.
He wasn’t.
“Cait,” he said, rubbing his face, “do you really believe she’s not going to want something back?”
“She said it was a gift.”
“She always says that.”
As if on cue, my phone rang. It was Grandma. Her voice was as warm as ever, but there was something underneath it now.
“I was so glad I could help your mother, sweetheart. I hope you know how much this family cares about you.” A small pause. “Have you two given any more thought to that dinner?”
Enzo took the phone from my hand.
“We’re not coming, Grandma.”
On the other end, she sighed. Just a sigh. But it said everything.
Enzo handed the phone back and looked at me.
“Now she’s got us on a hook,” he said quietly.
I lay awake that night with a sick, sinking feeling in my chest. I’d thought I was helping my mother. I was starting to wonder what I’d actually done.
Part 4
At a little after midnight, my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
It was a text from a number I didn’t recognize.
Enzo is about to lose something he can never get back.
I stared at it until the screen went dark.
I asked Grandma to meet me the next afternoon. This time I didn’t bother with small talk.
“You used my mother’s medical bills to get to him,” I said. “Didn’t you?”
She didn’t deny it. She folded her hands on the table and looked at me steadily.
“Enzo’s father is changing his will,” she said. “If Enzo doesn’t come back into the family business, he’ll be cut out completely. This is his last chance. I’m trying to save my grandson from a mistake he’ll regret for the rest of his life.”
“So the reception? The flowers, the cake?”
“I wanted to win you over,” she admitted. “I knew Enzo wouldn’t listen to me. But he listens to you. When you told me about your mother, I saw an opportunity.”
My face went hot. “Did you help her because you cared, or because you needed leverage?”
See more on the next page