I Waited Until Rehearsal Dinner

sat in my folder from the planner emails.

Dad slowly sat down.

Mom pressed her fingertips to her temple.

“Emily,” the manager said, trying not to look like he wished to be dead, “how would you like to handle the remaining twenty-eight thousand six hundred?”

I actually laughed then.

I couldn’t help it.

Not a nice laugh. One quick ugly one.

Emily looked at continue reading …