How I Planned Your Wedding (19 page)

T
here was a moment toward the end of my wedding when time seemed to slow down. I looked around and saw my life’s whole cast of characters: people who had watched me grow up, who had grown with me, who had stumbled their way through high school by my side, who had shaped and colored my experiences as a young woman ?nding her way in the world…friends and relatives, new and old, all were there because Dave and I loved each other so much we decided to throw a party about it.

I re?ected on loved ones who weren’t there: the college roommate who had to take her medical exams that weekend; the aunt who doesn’t travel; my feisty, auburn-haired grandmother who passed away; the childhood friend who died in a car accident when we were sixteen. I could feel them there, too, boogying down in spirit to “Walk This Way” and sending me all their love and respect.

And then there was Mommy.

See, here’s the thing about your mom: she’s your guardian angel. I know, sometimes it feels like she’s your nemesis, like when she’s disdainfully regarding the menu you’ve decided upon, or populating your guest list with ?fty extra people two weeks before the wedding, or cutting you down mid-argument using the one tone of voice she knows you can’t bear…but at the end of the day, no matter how scrappy your ?ghts were, she’s your mom.

She’s the one who held your hand through life’s biggest moments, from your first steps to your first day at school. She’s the one who tried (unsuccessfully) to act like she wasn’t devastated the day she dropped you off at college. She’s the one—probably the only one—who knows every moment of your life better than you do, who has been guiding you since before you took your first breath, who has been your cheerleader during your triumphs and your soft place to fall during your defeats.

Looking at my mom, dancing wildly with her sister at my wedding, I realized how hard this must have been for her. After today, someone else would be holding my hand and mapping my life. After today, I wasn’t just her daughter. I was someone’s wife.

Holy crap.

I wasn’t kidding about the day she dropped me off at college—she was a train wreck. I know you probably think of my mom as this glamorous, poised novelist, but that day she was a sobbing, mascara-streaked mess. (Let’s not sugarcoat this: so was I.)

I wanted to reach out to my mom right there on the dance floor and tell her I would always be her little girl. Sure, she had to share her pedestal with Dave, but there were bonds between my mother and me unlike any others. I felt like I should say something to acknowledge how wonderful, scary, exciting, difficult and enormous this day was.

At that moment, she came over and told me she was going to head home. The last ferry would be leaving soon and she needed to make sure her house-guests made it back that evening. I froze, the sappy speech I was planning stuck in my throat.

She pulled me into a fierce hug, then held me at arm’s length. “I’m so proud of you, baby,” she said.

“I love you, Mommy,” I replied. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. (Good thing I got to write a book about it so now she knows.)

And then she pointed me toward my new husband. He scooped me into his arms, twirled me around and pulled me into a mass of dancing friends. When I glanced at the door of the ballroom, my mom was
gone.

So here I am, nearly a year later, trying to decide what to leave you with. I can already sense that the little details are fading from memory, only coming alive through Yvonne’s photos or Mitch’s video. Here’s what will last, though: on my wedding day, I married my best friend and soul mate. Our road to the altar was giddy, joyous and, okay, sometimes a little bumpy. But through it all, guiding, judging, encouraging, snarking and cheering us on, was my mom.

Sometimes I wanted to kill her; sometimes I wanted to run to her and force her to rub my back and tell me everything would be okay. None of it mattered in the end. Mommy’s love for me never faltered. She has always been and will always be my anchor.

Plus she bought me really, really,
really
great wedding shoes.

SUSAN

You did it! You made it to the end zone, over the line and you get to spike the ball. Deep, blissful sigh.

In a few weeks, the photos and video will be ready, but your part is done. Looking back you’ll realize that there’s no way to declare the wedding a perfect event. It did not come off like a twelve-page spread in a bridal magazine.

There will be little things. You forgot to pull on your Spanx (an oversight I heartily applaud). You forgot your earrings. And can it be…why, yes, it can. You forgot to hem your mother-of-the-bride dress. Seriously. It’s there in the ultra-large-format, high-resolution photos of you dancing as if you’re a legend in your own mind. The wavy-edged hem tape is hanging right there for all the world to see.

And there are other things. They’ll come to you in the middle of the night, like stealthy moths, snapping you to full wakefulness: Did
your last-minute heartfelt mother-daughter talk come off the way you meant it? No, it didn’t. Because you didn’t have The Talk with her. And that toast you gave? Lame. You cried through the whole thing. And you’re supposed to be the wordsmith of the family. Oh, and you forgot to pose for pictures with relatives who traveled thousands of miles to be with you. The videographer got stuck in traffic and missed some key shots. One of the nephews sat through the entire ceremony, texting with his friends. You couldn’t find your sister when R.E.M.’s “Stand” started playing. The word
hymen
was uttered over the PA system during the ceremony. It’s easy to come up with a laundry list of oversights, slights and maybe even outright disasters.

News flash. The world didn’t see the hem tape, or the un-spandexed hip bulge, or the lack of earrings. People loved your toast. And the mother-daughter talk? You’ve been doing that all her life. She knows everything you need to tell her.

Don’t look back at the gaffes and regret a single moment. Take joy in what you’ve done. You’ve borne witness to one of life’s greatest miracles—the start of a magnificent new love. In the words of the immortal Dr. Seuss, don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.

Bad moments make for good stories. And a good story, like a good marriage, lasts forever.

Like a kick-ass wedding celebration, this book was a collaborative effort that never would have happened without the vision, creativity and support of a whole host of good-hearted folks.

The authors would like to thank the people at MIRA Books who conceived of the idea and made it happen—Margaret O’Neill Marbury, Deborah Brody, Adam Wilson, Donna Hayes and Loriana Sacilotto.

We are grateful to our literary agents—Meg Ruley, Annelise Robey and their colleagues at the Jane Rotrosen Agency—who offered their expertise and advice every step of the way.

The energy behind the stories we tell comes from the many thoughtful and hilarious readers of our blogs www.iamthebeholder.com and www.susanwiggs.wordpress.com.

We’d also like to extend our deepest gratitude, love and affection to our families—the in-laws, out-laws, rogues and rapscallions who made the whole journey a blast.

Last but hardly least, love and thanks to our ever-patient, good-humored and freakishly tall main character, Dave.