Then I heard Grandma’s voice. Small. Careful.
“Honey, could you pay for the cake now? I spent quite a bit on the ingredients, and I’m embarrassed to say this, but I need to buy my medication soon. Every dollar matters.”
Ashley laughed right in Grandma’s face.
“Oh, Grandma. Why should I pay? We’re family. Can’t you do this for free?”
Grandma blinked.
Ashley laughed right in Grandma’s face.
“I don’t mind doing things for you, dear. I just didn’t expect to pay for this one myself. Every dollar of my pension is already budgeted. I’m sorry.”
“Stop acting poor,” Ashley said. “I’m not paying. I already have enough expenses.”
That’s when I walked out.
“This isn’t right,” I said, and my voice came out calmer than I felt. “You agreed to pay her. Out loud. In front of me, actually.”
“Stop acting poor,”
Ashley rolled her eyes. “It’s a cake.”
“It’s days of hard work and the expense of buying the ingredients.”
“Please.” She turned to the men she’d brought to carry it, pointed at the tiers, and said, “Careful with the top.”
Not a glance back at Grandma.
And then they were gone, and the house was quiet, and the front door clicked shut.
“It’s a cake.”
I wanted to drive straight to the venue and drag that cake back by its ribbon. I had my keys in my hand.
“Please don’t,” Grandma said.
She was sitting at the kitchen table, hands folded, eyes wet. She looked devastated.
“It’s Daniel’s wedding, sweetheart. I don’t want a scene. Not today.”
“She laughed at you, Grandma.”
“Please don’t,”
“I know.” She gave a tiny shrug, the kind people give when they’re trying to make a hurt smaller. “Maybe I should have… I don’t know. Asked for it in writing. It’s my fault.”
“It is absolutely not your fault.”
I sat across from Grandma and took her hand.
She’d asked me not to spoil Daniel’s wedding, but I couldn’t leave her without money for her medication.
“It’s my fault.”
“Where are the receipts?” I asked.
She brought out an old cookie tin filled with receipts for butter, eggs, fondant, gold leaf, and the sugar flowers.
I added them up, then asked how many hours she’d worked.
“Three days. Most of each day,” she said.
“Where are the receipts?”
I counted out enough cash to cover the supplies and pay her for her time.
Grandma stared at the bills.
“Sweetheart, that’s… this isn’t your bill to pay.”
“Don’t worry about that. Please buy your medication.”
“What about the wedding?”
Grandma stared at the bills.
“I’ll take care of that.”
She squeezed my hand.