Chapter 2: The Favor She Signed
Two weeks before the wedding, Simone had arrived at my office wearing oversized sunglasses, carrying a designer handbag, and behaving as though the world had personally inconvenienced her.
My office occupied the second floor of a converted brick warehouse on the edge of town. Below us was a commercial kitchen that smelled of garlic, warm bread, and rosemary.
It wasn't a glamorous building.
But the rent was manageable, the equipment was paid for, and the business belonged to me.
I loved that place.
Every dent in the stainless-steel counters reminded me of a job I had fought to win.
Simone walked through the door without knocking.
“Darius, you have got to help me.””
I kept typing.
“Good morning to you, too.””
She dropped her handbag onto the chair opposite my desk.
“Don't start. I'm under enough pressure.””
“You're planning a wedding. You're supposed to be under pressure.””
She pulled off her sunglasses.
“The florist has increased her price. The venue wants the final payment. Marcus is asking questions about the budget, and I still need to sort out the food.””
That finally made me look up.
“The food?””
“Yes, the food.””
I leaned back.
“Simone, your wedding is in fourteen days.””
“I know how many days are left.””
“Then you know a wedding for one hundred and fifty people needs a proper catering contract, a menu, staffing, delivery arrangements, equipment, and a deposit. We can't put that together overnight.””
She waved a hand impatiently.
“That's why I'm here. You're my brother.””
There it was.
Those five words had paid for more of Simone's life than she would ever admit.
You're my brother.
She used them when she wanted money, when she wanted my time, and when she wanted me to forgive something she would never apologize for.
“I'm your brother,” I agreed.
“I'm also the owner of a business with paying clients.””
“So you'll help me?””
“I'll help you find a caterer who can handle the wedding on such short notice.””
Her mouth dropped open.
“A different caterer?””
“Someone with the capacity to feed one hundred and fifty people properly.””
She stared at me as though I had suggested she marry a stranger.
“No. Everyone already knows you're doing it.””
I stopped typing.
“Everyone knows what?””
“That you're handling the food. I've told them.””
“Who is everyone?””
“My friends. The wedding planner. Marcus's family. People at the venue.””
I rubbed my forehead.
“Simone, you cannot book my company by announcing it to people.””
“Why do you always make everything difficult?””
“Because food doesn't appear by magic, and employees don't work for free.””
She leaned forward.
“Fine. What if I only ask for one thing?””
I waited.
“A small plate. Something beautiful for Marcus and me. Just for a photograph, and then we can say you gave us a special family tasting.””
I studied her face.
“You want one plate for you and Marcus?””
“Yes.””
“Not dinner for your guests?””
“No, Darius. I have other arrangements.””
“Who is catering the reception?””
She adjusted the strap of her handbag.
“The details are handled.””
That wasn't an answer.
I knew it, and she knew I knew it.
But I was tired. We had lost a major corporate client the previous week, and I had been covering two kitchen shifts because one of my cooks had injured his wrist.
I didn't have the energy to argue about a favor that would take me twenty minutes.
“One plate,” I said.
“I will prepare one tasting plate for you and Marcus. That's all.””
“Fine.””
“No full catering.””
“Yes.””
“No kitchen staff assigned to the wedding.””
“Yes, Darius.””
“No ingredients or equipment for one hundred and fifty people.””
She sighed.
“Can you stop treating me like a child?””
“Can you stop asking for things you haven't actually arranged?””
She sat back, offended.
Then she opened her handbag and pulled out a folded catering card.
I'd designed the cards for small private tastings. They listed the requested dish, the service date, the number of servings, and the conditions of the arrangement.
At the bottom was a declaration confirming that the customer understood the scope of service.
I filled in the details.
*Client:* Simone Bennett.
*Event:* Wedding reception.
*Service requested:* One plated tasting sample for the bride and groom.
*Quantity:* One serving.
*Full-service catering:* Not included.
*Payment:* Family courtesy, no charge.
I slid the card toward her.
“Sign here, please.””
She glanced at it.
“Really? Paperwork for one plate?””
“It's a company record. Sign it.””
She grabbed my pen and scribbled her name.
Then she slid the card back.
“There. Are you happy?””
“Yes.””
“Good. Because I'm not asking you for anything else.””
I looked at her.
“Promise?””
Her smile appeared almost instantly.
“Promise.””
She gathered her things and stood.
At the door, she turned back.
“By the way, don't mention any of this to Marcus. I want the wedding to feel like a surprise.””
I frowned.
“Why would the scope of a catering favor be a surprise?””
“Because he worries about everything. I'll explain it to him later.””
“Simone—”
But she was already walking away.
I watched her descend the stairs, her heels striking each step like punctuation.
Something about the conversation bothered me, though I couldn't have said precisely what.
I placed the signed card in a folder marked *Family Courtesy* and returned to work.
For the next ten days, I heard nothing about it.
Then my mother called.
“Your sister says you've agreed to do the wedding catering,” she said.
I was checking a delivery schedule when she spoke.
“No, Mom. I've agreed to prepare one tasting plate.””
There was a long pause.
“That's not what she told me.””
“Then she's mistaken.””
My mother sighed, and I heard a cupboard close in the background.
“Darius, she has so much on her shoulders right now. Could you just do this one thing for her?””
I stared at the phone.
“Mom, I don't know what you want me to say. There are one hundred and fifty guests.””
“She said the money was already settled.””
“What money?””
“The catering money.””
I straightened.
“Simone hasn't paid my company a penny.””
My mother fell silent.
Then she said, “Maybe there's been a misunderstanding.””
“There hasn't. She signed the card.””
I heard her breathing change.
“What card?””
“The agreement. The one confirming I was providing one plate.””
My mother's voice became very quiet.
“Did Simone sign it herself?””
“Yes.””
“And you still have it?””
“Of course.””
Another silence.
Longer this time.
Then my mother said something that made my stomach tighten.
“Darius, please don't make her look bad in front of Marcus.””
I lowered the delivery schedule.
“Why would I do that?””
“She has worked so hard to make this wedding beautiful.””
“That doesn't answer my question.””
“She's your sister.””
“And I'm her brother. Not her bank. Not her employee. And not a magician.””
My mother inhaled sharply.
“Your father would be ashamed to hear you speak like that.””
The words hit harder than she intended.
Dad had died six years earlier, and our family had spent those years turning his memory into a weapon whenever one of us refused to cooperate.
I closed my eyes.
“Don't bring Dad into this.””
“Then don't embarrass your sister.””
She ended the call before I could answer.
I sat staring at the phone.
For the first time, I wondered whether my mother knew more than she was telling me.
That afternoon, I reopened Simone's file.
The card was still there, her signature written across the bottom in blue ink.
I took a photograph of it and saved a copy in my business records.
Then I slipped the original into a protective sleeve and locked it in my office cabinet.
I didn't know why I felt the need to protect a piece of paper documenting one free plate of chicken.
I only knew I had a bad feeling about my sister's wedding.
Three days later, Marcus called me.
I'd met him several times over the past year. He was a civil engineer, patient and soft-spoken, with the slightly exhausted appearance of a man who had become responsible for solving problems other people created.
“Darius, could I ask you something about the wedding?””
“Of course.””
“Simone says you've got the catering covered.””
I closed my eyes.
“Marcus, I need to be very clear about something.””
He chuckled nervously.
“Here it comes. She told me you two had a whole arrangement.””
“We do. It's for one tasting plate.””
The silence on the other end was immediate.
“One plate?””
“Yes.””
“But she showed me a catering invoice.””
“What did it look like?””
“I didn't look closely at it. She said she'd taken care of the vendor payments, including yours.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Marcus, I haven't sent her an invoice for the wedding. I've never quoted a price for the wedding.””
“That's strange.””
“It's more than strange.””
He exhaled.
“I'm sorry. I don't want to get in the middle of a family disagreement.””
“Neither do I. But I won't let my company take the blame for something I never agreed to do.””
“I understand.””
His voice sounded sincere.
Then he said, “I'll talk to Simone.””
He ended the call.
I hoped he would.
I hoped he would ask her to show him the agreement, check the receipts, and find out where the catering arrangements actually stood.
Instead, the following morning, my mother called again.
This time, she was crying.
“Darius, please,” she whispered.
“Just bring enough food for the guests.””
I gripped the edge of my desk.
“Mom, I can't feed one hundred and fifty people on two days' notice.””
“Your sister will be destroyed.””
“Then she needs to tell the truth.””
My mother made a small, broken sound.
May you like
And before she hung up, she said the one thing that convinced me this was no longer just about a wedding.
“She promised me everything would be paid for.””
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