She talked right over him — said it was irresponsible to spend that kind of money on one evening, said we should be grateful someone was being practical. He paced the room, gripping the phone.
Underneath his anger, I saw something worse: hurt. He’d spent years defending her whenever people called her controlling, always insisting she meant well even when she crossed lines. This line, though, was too big to explain away.
“Give Me the Phone”
I stepped toward him. “Give it to me.”
“Jessica, no.”
“Give it to me.”
He handed it over. I waited for Linda to finish talking, then said the last thing anyone in that room expected.
“You’re right, Linda. Don’t worry about it.”
Dead silence on Tristan’s end of the room. My bridesmaid looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Linda actually laughed — small, satisfied. “See? Jessica understands.”
I said nothing else. I hung up and made exactly one call.
“Who are you calling?” Tristan asked.
