“Were you?”
He studied me, and for the first time since I’d met him, I saw uncertainty.
“I hope there’s no bad blood,” he said. “Would hate for family stuff to spill into business.”
I looked at him for a long second.
“What family stuff?” I asked.
Then I got in the elevator and let the doors close on his face.
That should have been enough for me.
It wasn’t.
Because humiliation rarely travels alone in families like mine. It arrives with accomplices.
The first text came from my mother later that afternoon.
I hope you understand Logan was joking. Sometimes your sensitivity makes things harder than they need to be.
Then another.
Also, sweetheart, next time maybe try a sport coat. Ivy was a little embarrassed.
Embarrassed.
Not concerned about how I’d been treated. Embarrassed by the optics of my existence.
I ignored both texts.
The next blow came a week later in the form of an email from my father with the subject line: Wedding Support Plan.
