Chapter 4: One More Place to Give Up

Two days later, my mother called another “wedding planning meeting.”

The hotel manager, cake designer, and photographer were all there, but the long table was covered with schedules for Sloane’s launch event.

The cake designer rolled over a cart with six tasting samples.

I glanced at them. All red velvet.

“Don’t you have any other flavors?”

My mother was organizing media talking points for Sloane and didn’t even look up.

“Red velvet is the safest choice. Sloane likes it.”

“This is for the wedding cake.”

“I know.” At last, my mother looked at me. “But you’ve never really cared for sweets, so what difference does it make? The launch event will need cake, too. Keeping the flavors the same makes everything simpler.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t care for sweets.

It was that growing up, whenever the family bought dessert, Sloane liked red velvet, my brother liked chocolate, my father wanted low-sugar, and my mother only ate raspberry mousse.

By the time it got to me, there was usually only one slice left in the box.

Eventually, I just stopped choosing.

The cake designer hesitated. “So for the main wedding cake, we’re definitely going with red velvet?”

“Yes,” my mother answered for me.

Sloane scooped up a small spoonful of frosting and gave me an apologetic smile.

“Mara, if you don’t like it, we can add a different flavor for one of the layers.”

“No need,” I said.

My mother nodded with satisfaction, as if I had finally decided to be mature.

My father immediately handed Sloane a media contact list.

“I’ll personally call these foundation directors. As for the TV stations, make sure you prepare your interview scripts well in advance.”

“Won’t that be too much?” Sloane asked softly.

“Of course it should be a big deal,” my mother said. “Your launch event is the most important thing our family has going on this year.”

The table fell silent for a second.

Ethan picked up a piece of cake and tasted it, his head lowered.

No one seemed to think there was anything wrong with what she had said.

Next came the photography plan.

The moment the photographer opened the timeline for our wedding portraits, my mother reached out and pointed to the section for family photos.

“Sloane should be in them, too. She’s part of the family. It gives the pictures more symbolic meaning.”

The photographer asked, “So you’d like one full family portrait?”

“More than that,” my mother mused. “Take a few of her with Ethan, too. They’ve always been close, so they’ll look natural together. Like brother-and-sister photos.”

I looked at Ethan.

He didn’t object. He only asked the photographer, “Will that affect the rest of the schedule?”

My brother let out a laugh beside him.

“If there’s not enough time, just cut a few of Mara’s solo bridal shots. A bride standing around posing all day looks the same in every picture anyway. No need to waste an hour.”

The photographer awkwardly shuffled his papers.

But my mother nodded seriously.

“That works. Sloane still has an interview before the launch. We can’t have her getting too tired.”

I sat there among them, quietly watching as the photographer trimmed back my shoot time and added three more photo setups next to Sloane’s name.

I didn’t argue.

The wedding venue no longer belonged to me.

The money in our savings account no longer belonged to me.

And now, I didn’t even get a say in who would be photographed at my own wedding.

After we left the hotel, my mother rode home with me.

As soon as the car stopped, she pulled out several interior design swatches and followed me into the living room.

“While we’re at it, let’s talk about your home after the wedding.”

The apartment had two bedrooms.

The master would be for Ethan and me. The second bedroom had been intended as my study: a long desk by the window, built-in bookshelves covering an entire wall, and a set of lockable filing cabinets.

It was the only room in the whole apartment I had insisted on designing myself.

My mother held out a pale pink wallpaper sample.

“The second bedroom should be this color. Get a larger bed and add a vanity.”

I frowned.

“There won’t be a bed in the second bedroom. It’s going to be my study.”

“The plan has changed,” she said casually. “Once Sloane’s organization is up and running, she’ll be very busy. She may end up staying with you a lot, so it makes sense to prepare a room for her instead of having her stay in hotels all the time.”

I stared at the pink wallpaper.

“She has an apartment in Boston. Why does she need her own room in my new home?”

The smile on my mother’s face vanished.

“What do you mean, *your* new home? It’s Ethan’s home, too. Besides, Sloane comes from such a difficult background. We need to give her a stable home.”

“She already has a home.”

“What’s wrong with giving her one more place to stay?”

My mother pushed the swatches closer.

“You’ve always been the sensible one. Just give in to your sister for once. You can put your desk in the living room or the master bedroom. You do all that paperwork—you can do it anywhere, can’t you?”

I could already see the study stripped bare.

The bookshelves turned into a wardrobe. The long desk replaced by a vanity. A decorative sign Sloane liked hanging on the door.

She would be able to come and go as she pleased, stay as long as she liked.

And I would be left holding my laptop, searching for a corner in the home I had helped pay for where I wouldn’t be in the way.

I gave up the wedding date, and they took the venue.

I let the transfer go unchallenged, and they took our savings.

I gave up a few portrait shots, and they slotted Sloane into a ceremony that was supposed to be mine.

That was when I finally understood: every time I gave way, it was never the end.

It only taught them they could take more the next time.

My mother had already started messaging the renovation company.

I lifted my head and, for the first time, interrupted her.

“I don’t agree.”