Chapter 7 - The Fallout at the Country Club
By noon, the shockwave of Emma's viral success had thoroughly dismantled Barbara's social standing at the elite country club where she spent most of her week. According to a text from Jessica—who was now desperately trying to switch sides to stay in our good graces—Barbara had attempted to storm into the club's dining room for her usual bridge game, only to be met with whispering gossips and knowing glances.
“Everyone saw the post,” Jessica texted me privately. “Mom locked herself in the powder room for twenty minutes. She's furious. She's claiming Emma 'tricked' the brand and that you guys manipulated her. But honestly, Laura... everyone is asking how they can get in touch with Emma for custom pieces.”
I didn't bother replying to Jessica. People like Jessica and Barbara only understood power and status, and right now, Emma held all the cards.
That afternoon, David received a very sheepish call from his mother. We didn't put it on speaker, but David filled us in afterward.
"She wants to apologize," David said, looking uncomfortable as he sat at the kitchen table with George and me.
"Apologize?" George snorted, stirring his tea. "Barbara doesn't know the meaning of the word. What did she actually say?"
"She said... well, she said she might have been 'slightly hasty' with the garbage bag," David muttered, rubbing his eyes. "And she wants Emma to come over for tea so they can 'clear the air' before we fly off to New York."
"And what did you say?" I asked sharply.
"I told her that if she wants to see Emma, she can come over here, apologize directly to her face, and bring a real gift—not garbage," David said, a hint of steel finally entering his voice. "I told her I'm done asking Laura and Emma to absorb her insults for the sake of 'family peace'."
George smiled, reaching across the table to clap his son on the shoulder. "Well, look at that. My boy grew a spine after all."
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Emma, who was sitting at her desk sketching a new dress design for the New York gala, didn't even look up from her paper. "She won't come, Dad. Grandma's pride is too big. She'd rather pretend I don't exist than admit she was wrong."
Emma was right. Barbara never called back, and she never came over. Instead, she retreated into her mansion, nursing her wounded ego while the rest of our family prepared for the journey of a lifetime.
