Chapter 7: What Paige Said Next
The cancellation news sat in the group chat for twenty-three minutes before anyone responded.
Then Kayla wrote: *Wait, what does that mean?
The whole shower is cancelled?*
Paige: *The venue cancelled.
Chloe is trying to call them now.*
Rachel: *What clause?
What misrepresentation?*
No one answered that.
I had a feeling Paige knew exactly which clause.
The manager had heard Chloe's voice on his own premises, talking about a vendor she had no intention of crediting or compensating.
He had made his own decision.
I put the phone on the kitchen counter and made coffee.
Daniel sat at the table with his own phone, reading something.
He didn't ask me what was happening in the chat.
He had learned, over the years, when to give me room to think.
I was on my second cup when Paige called.
I almost didn't answer.
But something in me — the same calm that had settled in the night before — said: let her say it out loud.
Let her have to use her own voice.
"Hello," I said.
"Ashley." Paige's voice was careful.
Practiced.
"I want to talk to you directly, not through the chat."
"All right."
"I know last night was — I know it looked bad.
The way things came out."
"The way things came out," I said.
A pause.
"I want you to know that I didn't think it would go this far.
When Chloe asked us not to say anything about the guest list, I thought she was going to tell you herself before the shower.
I didn't know she was going to text you at eleven at night and just—"
"Paige," I said.
"You were at the planning meeting.
You knew two weeks ago."
Silence.
"You watched me post about the cooking in the group chat.
You sent me a message that said 'smells amazing' when I posted the photo of the ziti."
Another silence.
"I know," she said finally.
"I know.
I'm not going to pretend I handled it well."
"I'm not asking you to."
"I just — I want to know if there's anything I can do.
To fix it."
I looked out the kitchen window.
The morning was clear.
A neighbor was walking a dog on the far side of the street.
"There's nothing to fix," I said.
"It's already done."
"The venue cancellation wasn't you?"
"No."
"Do you know who—"
"The manager made his own decision," I said.
"I didn't ask him to do anything."
Another long pause.
When Paige spoke again, her voice had changed.
The practiced quality was gone.
What was underneath it was smaller and less certain.
"She's really upset," Paige said.
"Chloe.
She's been crying since this morning."
I didn't say anything.
"I just thought you should know that."
"Paige," I said.
"I spent eleven hours cooking food for a woman who was laughing at me in her apartment while I was doing it.
I spent my own money.
I arranged childcare.
I took a day off work.
And she told her friends I didn't have the spine to do anything about it." I paused.
"I'm sorry she's upset.
But I'm not the reason she's upset.
She is."
The line was quiet for a long time.
"You're right," Paige said.
It came out like something she hadn't planned to say.
"You're completely right."
I hadn't expected that.
"I should have told you," she said.
"When Chloe first said she wasn't inviting you, I should have called you that same day.
I kept thinking it wasn't my business.
But it was, wasn't it.
It was absolutely my business."
"Yes," I said.
"It was."
"I'm sorry, Ashley."
I stood in the kitchen with my coffee cooling in my hand.
"I hear you," I said.
It wasn't forgiveness.
It wasn't a door slammed either.
It was just the truth of where I was.
After I hung up, I sat down at the table across from Daniel.
"Paige?" he said.
"She apologized."
He raised his eyebrows slightly.
"I think she meant it," I said.
"I don't know what I do with that yet."
He nodded.
"You don't have to decide today."
My phone buzzed.
Not the group chat.
An email notification.
The subject line read: *Re: Saturday Event Cancellation — Formal Notice.*
It was from the banquet hall.
Addressed to Chloe, CC'd to me — because I was still listed in their system as the food vendor contact from my earlier confirmation call.
I read it slowly.
The manager had documented everything.
The conversation he had recorded.
The plan to misrepresent the food source on social media.
The use of a vendor contact — me — without disclosure that the vendor had been removed from the guest list and had not agreed to donate services.
He had CC'd me, I realized, deliberately.
He wanted me to have it.
At the bottom of the email, below the formal cancellation language, was a single line that had nothing to do with the contract.
*Ms.
Ashley — I hope the food found a good home.*
I read that line twice.
Then I forwarded the entire email to my own personal account, closed the app, and finished my coffee.
Daniel was watching me.
"What?" he said.
"The manager CC'd me on the cancellation notice," I said.
"He documented everything."
Daniel was quiet for a moment.
Then: "He was protecting you."
"He was," I said.
"A stranger.
He didn't have to do any of it."
I thought about Sister Mary saying *I think it ended up exactly where it was supposed to be.* I thought about the little girl with the two cupcakes.
I thought about the woman with the baby looking out at the marigolds.
My phone buzzed one more time.
May you like
A new message, direct, not from anyone in the group chat.
It was from Chloe.
