“She wanted to see something connected to the wedding,” David said.
Ryan’s mother spoke up. Her voice was small.
“I knew I wasn’t invited,” she said. “By then. I knew. But I asked David about the cake. Just to see it. Just one thing. He told me where it was being made.”
David sighed and rubbed his forehead.
“I shouldn’t have taken her there.”
“But you did.”
“Yes. I did.”
A few weeks earlier, David had driven her to the bakery. She’d looked at the cake designs. She’d learned the pickup date. She’d learned who was handling the order.
I turned to her.
“What’s your name?”
She hesitated for a long time.
Then she said, “Laura.”
And suddenly everything about that bakery note made sense.
Do not release cake to Laura.
No last name. No mention of the bride’s mother. Just Laura.
