Chapter 5 - The Price of Keeping the Peace
The next morning, Jasmine stood in her bedroom holding the ruined gown.
She had considered throwing it away.
The damaged shoulder hung uselessly, and the long cut down the front had left the delicate fabric impossible to restore to its original appearance.
Still, she couldn't bring herself to place it in the trash.
It represented six months of work.
Early morning shifts.
Missed outings with friends.
Small sacrifices nobody had noticed.
She folded it carefully and returned it to the shopping bag.
A soft knock came at her door.
Marcus stood outside.
"Grandma wants us over at two."
Jasmine looked up.
"Is Denise coming?"
"Yes. Brianna too."
Her stomach tightened.
"Do I have to go?"
Marcus stepped inside.
"No. But Grandma asked to hear from you, and I think your voice deserves to be heard."
Jasmine looked at the dress.
"What if they call me selfish again?"
"Then they'll have to say it in front of people who know what happened."
She was quiet for a moment.
"Will you let me talk without answering for me?"
Marcus nodded.
"Absolutely."
That afternoon, they arrived at Grandma Ruby's house.
The living room smelled of fresh coffee and the cinnamon cake Ruby had baked that morning.
Renee and Anthony were already seated.
Denise stood beside the fireplace, dressed immaculately in a cream-colored pantsuit.
Brianna occupied the armchair nearest the window.
Her damaged handbag rested on her lap.
The severed strap was tucked beneath it like evidence waiting to be presented.
When Jasmine entered, Brianna looked down at the shopping bag in her hands.
"Seriously? You brought the dress?"
Jasmine didn't answer.
Ruby approached her first.
The seventy-five-year-old woman wore a simple lavender cardigan and pearl earrings.
She hugged Jasmine tightly.
"I'm glad you're here, sweetheart."
Then Ruby looked around the room.
"Everybody sit down."
Denise began speaking almost immediately.
"Ruby, I appreciate you doing this. Yesterday was deeply upsetting, and I think everyone would benefit from acknowledging how things got out of control."
She glanced at Marcus.
"Especially certain people."
Marcus remained still.
Ruby folded her hands.
"Denise, we're going to hear everybody."
Brianna lifted her handbag.
"Before anything else, I want to know who's replacing this."
Marcus nodded.
"I already said I will pay to have the strap repaired."
"Repaired?" Brianna scoffed. "It's a three-thousand-dollar designer bag!"
"I understand what it cost. I'm responsible for the damage I did, and I'll pay for a proper repair."
Denise shook her head.
"See? Everyone is pretending Marcus's behavior was acceptable."
"No," Marcus replied. "I'm saying it wasn't acceptable. But we're also discussing what happened before I picked up those scissors."
Denise crossed her arms.
"Jasmine started screaming."
"Because Brianna was cutting her dress," Renee interrupted.
Brianna rolled her eyes.
"She was acting like it was some priceless masterpiece."
Anthony leaned forward.
"She asked you to stop. Twice. You kept cutting."
Brianna looked toward Denise.
Denise immediately responded.
"This is exactly why I didn't want Jasmine's emotions controlling the discussion."
Ruby raised a hand.
"Enough."
Everyone fell silent.
She turned to Brianna.
"Did you cut Jasmine's dress?"
Brianna looked irritated.
"Yes."
"Did she ask you to?"
"No, but—"
"Then what gave you the right?"
Brianna hesitated.
Denise answered instead.
"Jasmine knew we had chosen a coordinated color scheme for the portrait. She insisted on wearing whatever she wanted."
Jasmine looked up.
"Dad said I could wear the dress."
Denise's jaw tightened.
"Because your father always gives you whatever you ask for."
That accusation was so far from Jasmine's experience that she almost laughed.
Marcus turned toward Denise.
"She paid for it herself."
"And that means we should rearrange the whole photograph around her?"
Ruby stared at her.
"Why would Jasmine's dress require rearranging anything?"
Denise opened her mouth, then closed it.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Jasmine finally understood the question nobody had asked.
It had never been about whether her dress matched.
It was about whether Denise wanted her to stand out.
And whether Brianna believed she had more right to be admired.
Jasmine set her shopping bag on the coffee table.
Her hands trembled as she unfolded the damaged peach fabric.
She spread the torn gown across the surface, the ruined shoulder visible to everyone.
Then she looked at her grandmother.
"Before anybody asks me to forgive Brianna," she said, "I need you all to understand what this dress really meant to me."
Marcus sat back.
May you like
He had promised not to speak for her.
Now it was Jasmine's turn.
