parents.
â¢Â â¢Â â¢Â
True to his word, her father sat at the extra-long dining room table making an entry into his checkbook when Bellamy arrived later that evening. Now that some of her siblings were having children, her parents would never retire that table.
âDad, you do online checking for the vet practice. Why donât you do it for your regular bank account?â
âI do. I just like to reconcile my checkbook the old-fashioned way.â He slid his readers on top of his head as Bellamy kissed his cheek.
And now she knew how Judas felt.
âWhereâs Mom?â
âRight here.â Her mother exited the kitchen carrying a tray laden with a trio of mugs. As she set the offering on the table, Bellamy inhaled a familiar aroma.
âStarbucks, Mom?â
âNo, Bailee sent me this recipe. She found it on Pinterest. Said itâs supposed to taste just like a Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte.â
Seemed her mother was even getting pulled into Pinterest.
Not that Bellamy could blame an Internet site for her money woes. Or her broken engagement. Or her broken heart.
She had no one to blame but herself.
âSo, your father said you needed to talk to us about some more wedding plans.â Her mother handed her a brown pottery mug. âCareful, itâs hot. Did I mention that Reidâs mother and I discussed our dresses when they were here? We donât want to do the whole âmatchy-matchyâ thing, color-wise. But we thought weâd try to coordinate with each other.â
Dresses, again. âNo, you didnât mention that.â
âI know youâve pinned a lot of things on Pinterest, but what do you think about a muted gray? We thought it would work with the navy blue you selected for Elisabeth and Lydia. Or maybe a Williamsburg blueânot like the color you paint the outside of a house withââ
âReid and I broke up.â
Bellamyâs announcement caused her mother to stare at her, her mug of Starbucks-inspired coffee suspended in midair.
âWhat?â
âAfter the barbecue. I gave Reid his ring back.â
âBellamy . . . why would you do that?â
âWell . . . because . . . because . . .â How was she supposed to say all this? â. . . Reid said he couldnât trust me.â
So much for honestyâsheâd just pinned the breakup on Reid.
âAnd why would Reid Stanton say he couldnât trust my daughter?â
Her fatherâs voice took on the deep tone he used when he was angry, but didnât want anyone else to know.
âI had to tell him that I-I . . . overspent the budget. Some.â
Her mother huffed out a breath that ruffled her wispy brown bangs. Waved away her words. âOh, honey, everyone overspends their wedding budget. You and Reid are going to be fine between the money we gave you and the money his parents surprised you with.â
Bellamy stared at the whipped cream disappearing on the top of her coffee. Her mother sounded like Reid didâat first.
But sheâd spent all the money her parents had given themâthe entire amount some couples spent on a wedding.
Her motherâs smile was gentle. Patient. âBellamy, why donât you tell us the specifics?â
Bellamy swallowed, her throat dry and scratchy, like when she was a grade-schooler and her mother used to give her hot tea laced with honey and lemon. There was no simple remedy for what sheâd done.
Reid had decided not to marry her. Would her parents disown her?
âI, um, realized the first dress weâd bought looks a lot like Lydia Stantonâs dressâwell, sheâs Lydia Webster now.â Bellamyâs voice was disappearing. She cleared her throat. Continued. âSatin . . . the same jeweled back . . . you know what my dress looks like. Anyway . . . I went shopping for another dress,
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