When my sister sent me her wedding invitation, I expected the usual details about dress codes and venue directions. What I got instead was a color-coded price list that made me question everything I thought I knew about family.
I’ve always had a complicated relationship with my younger sister, Emily.
Growing up, she was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong in our parents’ eyes. When she wanted a car for her 16th birthday, she got it. When I asked for help with college tuition, I got a lecture about responsibility and working hard.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my sister. But loving someone and liking their behavior are two very different things.
Emily is 25 now, and I’m 32. Over the years, I watched her float through life while I ground myself down working 60-hour weeks to build my career. I’m a senior manager at a marketing firm now, and I’ve finally reached a place where I’m financially comfortable. I worked for every single dollar I have.
That’s when Emily’s “requests” started.
First, it was small stuff. Could I loan her $300 for a girls’ trip to Miami? Of course, I said yes. She’s my sister.
Then it was $500 for a designer handbag she absolutely needed for a party. Then $1,000 to help with rent when her roommate flaked. Each time, she promised to pay me back. Each time, the money vanished.
I should have seen the wedding disaster coming from a mile away.
When Emily got engaged to Robert last year, I was genuinely happy for her. I thought maybe marriage would mature her.
Two weeks ago, the wedding invitation arrived in my mailbox. I opened it at my kitchen counter with a cup of coffee, expecting the usual wedding fare.
As I pulled the invitation out, another piece of paper fluttered onto my counter.
I picked it up, assuming it was a card about hotels or the rehearsal dinner. Then I started reading, and my coffee went cold in my hand.
It was a price list. An actual, itemized price list for attending my sister’s wedding.
At first, I thought it had to be a joke. But as I read through the bullet points, each one more absurd than the last, I realized she was dead serious.
The list was organized by tiers, complete with little emojis next to each “package.”
Here’s what her “wedding price list” looked like:
$100: Sister’s Selfie with the couple 📸
$200: Seat in the front row near the bride 💐
$250: Dinner with the couple after the reception 🍽️
$500: Name engraved on the guestbook table 🖋️
$1,000: Honorary bridesmaid sash for the day 👗
$2,500: Right to toss the bouquet with the bride 🌸
$5,000: Sponsor a champagne toast and have your name announced 🥂
At the bottom of the page, in Emily’s looping handwriting, was a note that read, “Can’t wait to celebrate with you, sis! Choose your packages and bring cash or Venmo the day of! XOXO.”
My hands were shaking as I pulled out my phone and called her.
She answered on the second ring. “Hey! Did you get the invitation? Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“Emily.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “What is this price list?”
“Oh, that!” She laughed. “I know it’s a little unconventional, but Robert and I are creating an experience. Weddings are so expensive, and we figured why not let people invest in the moments they want to be part of? It’s actually really empowering when you think about it.”
“Empowering,” I repeated flatly.
“Exactly! You know, you’ve always had kind of a scarcity mindset, Liv. You need to think bigger. Weddings are about abundance and generosity. This is an opportunity to celebrate love at the highest level.”
I was so stunned I couldn’t even form words.
“So you’re serious about this,” I finally said.
“Totally serious. I mean, you don’t have to do all the packages, obviously. But I really hope you’ll participate. It would mean so much to me.”
The audacity was breathtaking.
I hung up and immediately called my parents.
“Dad, did you see Emily’s wedding invitation?” I asked when he picked up.
“Oh, yes! Beautiful, isn’t it? Your mother and I are so excited.”
“Did you see the price list?”
There was a pause. “Well, yes. Emily explained it to us. It’s a bit unusual, but you know how creative she is.”
“Creative?” My voice rose. “Dad, she’s charging family members to attend her own wedding. She wants five thousand dollars for a champagne toast announcement.”
“Sweetheart, it’s her special day. It only happens once. And you’re doing well at your job. You can afford to help her out a little, can’t you?”
I couldn’t believe it. “Help her out? This isn’t helping, Dad. This extortion.”
My mother’s voice came through. “Olivia, don’t be dramatic. Your sister has always dreamed of a beautiful wedding. Why do you always have to make everything so difficult?”
“I’m making things difficult? Mom, this is completely—”
“Just pay it and be supportive,” Dad interrupted. “We don’t want any drama at the wedding. Be the bigger person here.”
Of course. Be the bigger person.
That had been their solution to every conflict between Emily and me since we were kids.
I hung up, feeling defeated. Then, something inside me shifted. I came up with a plan.
If Emily wanted to treat her wedding like a business transaction, fine. I could play that game too.
I texted her back, saying, “Count me in. I’ll bring cash for the packages.”
“OMG YAY!!!” she replied. “Knew I could count on my big sis! This is going to be amazing!”
What she didn’t know was that my cash would be coming in one-dollar bills. Every single one of them.
I spent the next week carefully preparing. I went to the bank and withdrew $100 in singles. I stacked them neatly, practiced my counting, and even recruited my coworker, Tina, as my plus-one. Tina had heard the whole story and was absolutely living for the drama.
The wedding day arrived.
The venue was gorgeous and Emily had clearly spent a fortune on it. Other people’s fortune, apparently.
But as I walked in, I noticed something off. The usual warmth you feel at weddings wasn’t there. Nobody looked particularly happy.
I soon found out why. Emily hadn’t just sent the price list to me. She’d sent it to everyone. Aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, coworkers. Every guest had been asked to pay for basic wedding attendance privileges.
Even Robert’s family looked uncomfortable. His mother stood near the entrance, her smile so forced it looked painful.
The ceremony itself was beautiful. Emily looked stunning in her dress, and Robert seemed genuinely happy.
After the ceremony, we moved to the reception tent. That’s when I saw the gift table. Emily stood right next to it, greeting guests as they dropped off envelopes.
This was my moment.
I walked up with my envelope, which was notably thick. Emily’s eyes lit up when she saw it.
“Livvy! Oh my gosh, you look amazing!” She pulled me into a hug that felt more transactional than affectionate. “Is that your package contribution?”
“Sure is,” I said brightly. “I want to count it out though, make sure it’s all there.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
I was already opening the envelope. “No, no, I insist. I’m very detail-oriented. You know me.”
I pulled out the stack of ones and started counting. Loudly.
“One. Two. Three. Four. Five.”
Emily’s smile faltered. “Liv, what are you—”
“Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”
A few guests nearby turned to look. Tina appeared at my elbow, phone out, trying not to laugh.
“Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty.”
More people were watching now. The whispers started.
“Fifty. Fifty-five. Sixty.”
Emily’s face was turning red. “Olivia, stop. This isn’t funny.”
“Seventy. Seventy-five. Eighty.”
Someone in the crowd actually started clapping along. Others were openly laughing now.
“Ninety-five. Ninety-six. Ninety-seven. Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred.”
I slapped the final dollar bill down on the gift table with a flourish. “There you go. One hundred dollars for the Sister’s Selfie Package. Shall we take that photo now?”
The tent erupted in laughter and gasps. Emily looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor.
I smiled sweetly at my sister. “Come on, Em. I paid for the selfie. Let’s get our money’s worth.”
Robert appeared at Emily’s side, looking bewildered. “What’s going on?”
“Your bride is running a very interesting business model,” I said cheerfully. “I’m just making sure I get what I paid for.”
We took the most awkward selfie in the history of weddings. Emily’s smile looked like it was carved into her face with a knife. I, on the other hand, beamed like I was having the time of my life.
The rest of the reception was uncomfortable, to put it mildly. I sat at my assigned table and ate my chicken.
As the evening wore on, I decided I wasn’t quite finished. Emily had turned her wedding into a transaction. She’d treated her family and friends like walking ATMs. And if there’s one thing I learned from my years in corporate America, it’s that customers have rights.
During the toasts, I stood up. I tapped my fork against my wine glass until the room fell silent.
“Excuse me, everyone. I hate to interrupt, but I need to speak with the vendor.”
Confused murmurs rippled through the crowd. Emily’s eyes went wide with panic.
“You see, I purchased several packages today,” I continued, my voice clear and carrying. “The Sister’s Selfie Package, for which the bride barely smiled. The premium seating, which gave me a lovely view of a support beam. And I was promised my name would be engraved on a decorative mirror at the gift table. I’ve looked. I can’t find it anywhere.”
The room was dead silent now. Even the band had stopped playing.
“So, as a paying customer, I’d like to request a refund. I don’t feel I received the quality of service that was advertised.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Then someone in the back started laughing. Then another person. Within seconds, the entire tent was roaring with laughter.
“You’re ruining my wedding!” Emily stood up.
“No, Emily,” I said calmly. “You ruined your own wedding the moment you decided to charge admission. You wanted to treat family like customers. Well, here’s a lesson: customers expect value for their money. And customers can demand refunds when they don’t get what they paid for.”
“You’re just jealous!” Emily shrieked. “You’ve always been jealous that Mom and Dad love me more!”
“Emily, that’s enough,” Robert said quietly. It was the first time I’d heard him speak firmly to her all night.
I picked up my purse. “I’m going to leave now. Enjoy the rest of your transactional celebration.”
Tina followed me out, still filming on her phone. As we walked to the parking lot, I could hear the chaos continuing inside.
The next morning, I woke up to 17 missed calls from my parents and 43 text messages from various family members. My favorite was from Grandma June. It read, “About time someone gave that girl a dose of reality.”
The video Tina took went viral within three days. Apparently, several other guests had also been filming. The internet had a field day with “Wedding Price List Bride.”
My parents are still barely speaking to me. They think I humiliated Emily on purpose. They’re right, of course, but they’ll never admit Emily deserved it.
As for me? I don’t regret it for a second. I spent my whole life being taken advantage of, being told to be understanding, to be generous, and to be the bigger person. I gave and gave and gave, and Emily just kept taking.
I haven’t spoken to Emily since the wedding. I don’t know if I will. Maybe someday she’ll understand what she did wrong. Maybe she’ll apologize.