My Daughter Invited Me For My 70th Birthday Then Left Me Stranded At The Airport While She Partied In Napa. I’ve Given Her Over $90k, So I Just Cut Her Off For Good. Was I Too Harsh?
The Realization
I checked my phone. No messages. I called Jessica. It rang six times, went to voicemail.
“Hi, this is Jess. Leave a message.”
I didn’t. Just hung up. Tried again 5 minutes later. Same thing.
By 3:15, my feet hurt. I sat on my suitcase. By 3:30, I called Brad, my son-in-law. No answer. I texted Jessica again.
I’m here at arrivals B4. Where should I wait?
Read receipt. Still no reply.
At 3:51, I stood up, brushed off my slacks. I told myself there was traffic. There was always traffic in LA. But something cold was crawling up my spine, the kind of cold that asks questions you don’t want to answer.
I opened Instagram. I rarely used it, had only downloaded it to see photos of the grandkids. Jessica’s profile loaded. The most recent post was from 20 minutes ago. A photo: wine glasses, four of them held up to the camera. Behind them, rolling hills covered in grape vines. Bright Sunday.
The caption: Girls trip goals. Napa here we come.
Tagged: Molen (Brad’s sister), Carrie (Jessica’s college friend), Shannon (another friend I’d met once).
I stared at it. Scrolled down. Another photo from an hour ago. The four of them in a car, sunglasses on, laughing.
Caption: Road Trip vibes: Napa.
That was 4 hours north of LA, maybe more.
The Confrontation
I stood there on the curb, suitcase beside me, clutch purse in my hand. And the sun felt different now, heavier, meaner. I called again. This time she picked up.
“Mom, hey.”
Her voice was loud, background noise of laughter and music.
“What’s up?”
“I’m at the airport.”
Silence. Then:
“What?”
“At LAX. You said you’d pick me up for the party.”
More silence. The background noise faded, like she’d moved away from the group.
“Mom, your birthday is not until next weekend.”
I closed my eyes.
“No, it’s the 16th. Today’s the 16th.”
“No, it’s the 9th. Your birthday is the 16th. We said we’d do the party that weekend.”
My hand tightened on the phone.
“Jessica, you said the weekend of my birthday. Today is Saturday the 16th.”
“No, Mom, it’s Saturday the 9th. I literally have my calendar right here.”
I pulled the phone away, looked at the date. March 16.
“Jessica.”
“Oh my god.”
Her voice changed.
“Oh my god. I got the dates mixed up. I thought… I swear I thought… you’re in Napa.”
Pause.
“I… Yeah, but this was planned months ago before we talked about your party. I didn’t realize… When are you back?”
“Uh, Monday. Late Monday.”
“And Brad? He’s home with the kids?”
“But Mom, this is just a misunderstanding. You can stay at the house. Brad’s there. The kids would love to see you.”
I felt something inside me, something I’d been carrying for years, shift.
“Did you tell Brad I was coming?”
Longer pause.
“I… I thought I did.”
“Jessica.”
“Okay, no. I forgot. But it’s fine. I’ll call him right now. He’ll pick you up.”
“You forgot to tell your husband that your mother was flying across two states for a party you promised to throw?”
“Mom, I’m sorry. I messed up, but it’s fixable. Just wait there. I’ll call Brad.”
I looked down at my suitcase. At the dress inside it, carefully folded. At the Chanel perfume I couldn’t afford. At the hope I’d packed like it was something that could survive baggage handling.
“Don’t,” I said.
“What?”
“Don’t call Brad. Don’t fix it. I’m not coming to your house.”
“Mom, don’t be like this. It was an honest mistake.”
“Was it?”
“Yes. God, you’re being so dramatic.”
I laughed then. Not a happy sound.
“I’m being dramatic? Look, I have to go. We’re at a tasting. Just go to the house. I’ll call Brad, he’ll figure it out.”
“Enjoy your wine, Jessica.”
I hung up before she could respond. For a moment I just stood there. Then I turned off my phone. Not airplane mode, off.
