Trishelle sat on the sofa when we arrived, showing no joy on this supposed happy day. But when she saw Emily, she immediately took her hand, thanking her profusely for all her hard work organizing the wedding.
After I paid my respects and called Trishelle her first name, she responded reluctantly. Then, Emily pulled out a tattered envelope from the bag containing the one my parents had given to James and handed it to me.
I mimicked James by squeezing the envelope, and Emily noticed. She said, "Don't mind it, Cynthia. In our hometown, it's customary for the daughter to give out the envelopes for her mother. This paying respect and calling the first name is just a formality, so we don't usually put money in it."
I had little expectation for this wedding, but I didn't anticipate something even more infuriating. "I saw my husband squeeze the envelope when he received it. Is that another of your hometown traditions? And what kind of daughter are you?" I threw the envelope in front of her and asked sternly.
The lively scene went silent as everyone turned to watch us.
