“Please,” Mom pleaded softly. “Your father didn’t mean it that way.”
“Yes,” I replied. “Yes, I said that.”
“You’re tough, Jennifer,” Dad replied. “You’re humiliating us.”
“There must be another way,” Mom said desperately, turning to Jordan. “Please…”
Jordan shook his head.
“I’m taking my wife’s side.”
Dad jumped up, anger etched on his face. His next words shattered the little relationship we had left.
“I guess I shouldn’t have expected a man of my average height to wear the pants to this wedding. It’s hard to resist your wife when she’s twice your size, isn’t it?”
“GET OUT!” I shouted.
For the first time that night, Mom looked really overwhelmed. No repentance. No epiphany. Just terrified, because she finally realized that they had no choice.
He took his father’s arm and led him to the door.
None of them came back.
The front door closed behind them with force, a sound louder than any insult that could have filled the room.
For several seconds, neither Jordan nor I moved.
Outside, a car door slammed.
“It didn’t go as planned,” I finally said.
Jordan looked at me calmly, with the same serenity that had always been ours.
“No,” he admitted. “But it was the right decision. You did the right thing, as always.
I felt an inner relief.
It was not a relief. It was not a victory.
To be clear.
The kind of victory that comes when you finally stop pretending that something broken can still be repaired.
The bill remained unpaid between us.
Neither of them tried to contact him.
