Chapter 3 - The Empty Yard
Saturday afternoon arrived, brilliant and clear. The sun was shining brightly, casting golden light over the neighborhood—a perfect day for an outdoor party.
At 1:30 PM, my phone began to vibrate violently on the kitchen counter.
Elise Calling.
I let it ring until it went to voicemail. Ten seconds later, a text message popped up: Lenor, where is the furniture team? The baker isn't answering her phone! The party starts in 30 minutes! Where are the decorations???
I ignored it.
Three minutes later, another call. Then another. Then a flurry of frantic text messages: LENOR ANSWER THE PHONE! The guests are arriving! There is no cake! There are no chairs! What is going on?! Did you forget to confirm the vendors?! Mark is furious!
I casually picked up my mug of tea, took a slow sip, and dialed Elise’s number. She answered on the very first ring, her voice screeching through the speaker so loudly that Mia, sitting across from me eating a slice of prime rib I'd cooked for lunch, flinched.
"LENOR! Where the hell are you?! People are pulling up to the driveway right now and my backyard is literally completely EMPTY! Where is the cake? Where are the tables?!"
"Oh, hi Elise," I said, my tone as serene as a calm ocean. "I assumed you didn't need those things."
"What are you TALKING ABOUT?!" she shrieked. I could hear the background noise of car doors slamming and suburban chatter—her guests were arriving. "I paid you—well, I told you I'd pay you today for the deposits! Where are the vendors?!"
"Well," I replied smoothly, "you told me yesterday that having Mia's presence—and by extension, the things tied to her—would make everyone 'uncomfortable.' You said her efforts were 'overbearing' and that Tyler wanted a 'normal' party without her 'vibe.' Since $2,300 worth of furniture, cake, lighting, and candy were entirely designed, planned, and funded by Mia and myself, I realized that having those items at your house would ruin your event's 'vibe.' So, I redirected everything here."
There was a sudden, violent pause on the line. I could almost hear the rusty gears turning in Elise's shallow brain as the reality of the situation slammed into her.
"You... you redirected the cake?" she whispered, horror creeping into her voice. "Lenor, there are forty people in my backyard right now! Mark’s boss is here! Tyler’s whole baseball team is here! I have nothing to feed them! I don't even have enough chairs for the parents to sit down!"
"That sounds like a scheduling conflict for a 'normal' family," I said coolly. "You wanted a party without Mia. You got one. Completely untouched by her presence or her money."
"You spiteful, petty bitch!" Elise roared. "It's a child's birthday! How could you do this to Tyler?!"
"Tyler explicitly told you he didn't want Mia there because she’s in a wheelchair," I reminded her sharp as a razor. "He chose to exclude his cousin. Actions have consequences, Elise. But don't worry—we didn't forget his birthday. We actually sent a gift over with a courier. It should be arriving right about... now."
"A gift?" Elise snapped, caught off guard. "What gift?"
"Enjoy the party, Elise," I said, and hung up.
Across town, at Elise’s sprawling two-story home, the scene was devolving into utter chaos.
Over forty guests—including Mark’s high-profile corporate boss, wealthy neighbors, and snobbish local mothers Elise had spent months trying to impress—were milling around a completely bare lawn. There were no tables. No shade canopies. No music. No food except for two bags of potato chips Elise had frantically dumped into plastic bowls, and a cooler of tap water.
The atmosphere was wildly awkward. Parents were standing in high heels on the grass, shifting uncomfortably, while kids wandered around looking confused.
"Elise, sweetie," asked Victoria, the local neighborhood HOA president and notorious gossip, "where is this elaborate dessert bar you posted about on Instagram yesterday?"
"It's... there was a logistical delay with the caterer!" Elise lied through her teeth, her face red and blotchy with sweat. "It's coming! Just... give us a moment!"
Just then, a sleek black courier van pulled up to the curb. A delivery driver stepped out carrying a large, beautifully wrapped gold box tied with an oversized silk ribbon.
"Delivery for Tyler Vance!" the driver announced loudly.
Tyler, standing near the back patio looking bored and miserable, perked up. "A gift!" he yelled, running toward the front yard, followed by several of his friends and curious parents.
Elise let out a breath of relief. She assumed that despite my harsh words, I had ultimately caved and sent a high-end luxury gift—perhaps the $500 PlayStation VR headset Tyler had been begging for—to save face in front of the family.
"See?" Elise announced loudly to the surrounding crowd of parents, trying to regain her composure. "My sister always delivers in the end! Go ahead, Tyler, open it in front of everyone!"
Tyler grabbed the box, setting it down on a front porch step. The crowd gathered round, watching expectantly.
He pulled the ribbon. He tore open the expensive gold paper. He lifted the heavy cardboard lid.
Inside the box, resting on a bed of dark velvet tissue paper, was not a VR headset.
It was an oversized, professionally printed, glossy photo album. And sitting right on top of the album was a crisp white envelope addressed to Elise and Mark Vance.
Tyler blinked, disappointed. "What is this? Books?"
Mark, Elise's husband, stepped forward, frowning. "What's going on?" He reached into the box and opened the white envelope.
Inside was an itemized legal invoice printed on formal stationery, complete with copies of receipts, bank transaction logs, and a attached letter written in bold, dark ink.
Mark read the top line out loud before he could stop himself:
INVOICE FOR UNPAID SERVICES & INTENTIONAL EMOTIONAL DISTRESS. AMOUNT DUE: $2,300.00
The surrounding parents gasped. Victoria pulled out her reading glasses, leaning in closer.
May you like
"What is that, Mark?" Victoria asked, her eyes gleaming with predatory social curiosity.
Mark didn't answer. His face went pale as he scanned the letter attached beneath the invoice. It was a printed transcript of the phone call between Elise and me from the night before, along with a deeply personal note written directly to the party guests.
