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want to get married, it was that I didn’t want to get married to any of the guys I dated before Will. But Mom, I need to get your advice. I’m thinking I don’t want to have a wedding. What do you think?”

    “Why not!?”

    “You know how stressed out I get about stuff. I think a wedding might just put me over the edge.”

    “Honey, your father and I eloped and it just never felt right. It felt like something shameful that we sneaked off to do. You can have just a very small wedding with your family in Bermuda or something, but if you don’t have some kind of ceremony, I really think you’ll regret it.”

    “I don’t know, Mom. I don’t want you guys to have to spend a lot of money on a plane ticket to the tropics. Maybe we’ll just elope and have a really casual party. A barbeque or something.”

    “Why don’t you let me plan the wedding?”

    “What? Mom, don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have time to plan a wedding that’ll take place a thousand miles away from where you live.”

    “Sure I do. It’ll be fun.”

    “Did you suddenly stop working fourteen-hour days?”

    “Well, no…but it would be fun. Come on, let me plan it. I’ll take care of everything.”

    Ha-ha, ha-ha. That’s a good one. Mom and I have completely different taste in everything. I like ethnic food; she lives off meat and potatoes. I like silver jewelry; she likes gold. I’m a voracious reader; she doesn’t have the attention span to read a greeting card. And while her wedding to Frank six years ago was a beautiful one, let me tell you a little story about it that I think illustrates why I don’t want to hire her as my wedding planner. After Sienna followed me to Colorado, my mother moved out here from Chicago as well, taking her boyfriend, Frank, with her. They had only been in Colorado a few months when they got hitched, and they wanted a symbolic gesture that brought together their Chicago roots with their new life in the west. So Mom came up with this idea to force her wedding party to dance the first dance to the Blues Brothers’ “Rawhide” while galloping on stick ponies. (The Blues Brothers are from Chicago, and “Rawhide” has a western theme, get it?) Mind you, we bridesmaids were wearing floor-length gowns and high heels and were cavorting on stick ponies in front of all of our friends and family. Also, you never really realize just how long the song “Rawhide” is until you have to get up in front of all your friends and family while astride a stick pony while you’re wearing a ball gown. It’s four and a half minutes long. It was the longest four and a half minutes of my life, and I was plenty liquored up at the time, so that’s saying something. But she was the bride, so we had to do what she said. Brides have all the power. You can just imagine their evil bwah-ha-ha laughs as they contrive ways to humiliate the people they love.

    So did I want my mother planning my wedding? Not so much. Somehow I imagined that if she planned it, Will and I would end up in get-ups involving sombreros and tutus.

    “Okay, Will and I will have a small wedding. I’ll plan it, though. And it’s going to be very nontraditional.”

    “That’s fine.” I can hear the smirk in her voice. She’s won. But not really, because like I said, I do love weddings and there is a part of me that wants to proclaim from the rooftops that I’ve found this wonderful man and for whatever reason he seems to want to spend his life with me. I want to vow to be with him forever and ever in front of all the people I care about.

    “So…” I say. “How are things with you?”

    “I’m ready to kill my husband, that’s how things are with me.”

    “What did Frank do this time?”

    My mom married a younger man. Frank is a fun guy, and after the divorce, Mom was ready for some fun. She felt like she’d gotten married too young so she never got to do the fun things young people do. With Frank, she went water-skiing on his