I simply made sure my own finances were protected and allowed Emily’s decisions to become Emily’s problem.
That afternoon, I hiked farther than I had all week.
Somewhere along the trail, I realized I wasn’t grieving the wedding anymore.
I was grieving the daughter I thought I had.
I stayed in New Mexico for the entire two weeks. I finished three books. I learned to make a local red chili sauce from a woman at a market, and I slept better than I had in months.
When I finally pulled into my driveway, reality was waiting on my front porch.
Emily and Daniel were sitting there.
They looked exhausted. Daniel’s expensive shirt was wrinkled. Emily looked pale. She was holding a thick folder.
I didn’t rush toward them.
I opened my trunk, removed my suitcase, and walked toward the house.
“Mom.”
Emily stood.
“We need to talk.”
“I have groceries in the car that need refrigeration.”
I unlocked the door.
“You can come inside. Take your shoes off. I had the carpets cleaned before I left.”
They followed me in like children who had been called into the principal’s office.
I put away my groceries, washed my hands, filled the kettle, then I sat at the kitchen island.
I didn’t offer either of them tea.
“The wedding was supposed to be yesterday,” I said. “I assume it didn’t happen.”
Daniel cleared his throat.
“No, ma’am. The venue canled.”
“Yes, and the caterer is threatening collections. The florist wants payment for flowers that had already been ordered.”
“That sounds difficult.”
Emily pushed the folder toward me.
“Mom, they’re coming after us.”
I looked at the folder, but didn’t open it.
“We owe almost $34,000 between cancellation fees and deposits. We don’t have it. Daniel’s parents aren’t even answering our calls anymore.”
She swallowed.
“You have to help us.”
I placed my hand on the folder.
“Emily, when exactly did I stop being close enough to attend your wedding?”
Her face changed.