Then she said she planned to work me into the toast because watching me pretend not to care would be funny.
Nobody laughed at the recording.
Not one person.
Tessa lunged for the phone.
Dylan stopped the audio and pulled it away.
“That was private!” she shouted.
He stared at her.
“So was her life.”
Tessa froze.
The room went so quiet I could hear silverware clinking faintly in the main restaurant beyond the double doors.
Her father stood.
“That’s enough.”
I expected him to tell Dylan to stop.
Instead he looked at his daughter.
“Did you really plan this?”
Tessa’s eyes filled, but her anger arrived before any tears could fall.
“Why is everyone suddenly acting like she’s some victim? She makes everything about being a single mother.
Everyone has problems.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity.
I had barely spoken all night.
Dylan said exactly that.
“She hasn’t made anything about herself.
You did.”
Tessa turned on him.
“Oh, please.
You’ve been judging me since we got here.”
“I’ve been watching you.”
“Same thing.”
“No.” Dylan’s voice stayed remarkably calm.
“It isn’t.”
He placed his phone on the table, screen down.
Then he removed the napkin from his lap and laid it beside his plate.
The gesture mirrored mine so closely that I noticed immediately.
Tessa did too.
Her eyes dropped to the napkin.
“What are you doing?”
Dylan took a long breath.
“This isn’t because of one joke.”
The room shifted again.
Tessa’s mother sat very still.
Dylan continued.
“For months, I’ve watched you talk about people like they’re rankings.
Who earns enough.
Who married well.
Who looks right.
Who is useful.
Who isn’t.”
Tessa shook her head.
“You’re twisting everything.”
“I kept telling myself it was insecurity.
Then stress.
Then wedding pressure.
Yesterday, when you told me what you planned to do tonight, I asked you not to humiliate her.”
He looked at me briefly.
“You agreed.”
Tessa folded her arms tighter.
