Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
The sun was setting by the time we got back to our kitchen, casting long orange squares across our linoleum floor. I grabbed the white wedding planning binder from the counter and slammed it onto the table.
“She is stripping away everything, Mason,” I said, my voice shaking as I opened the metal rings. “She took Maribel off the head table, she cancelled the photos, and now I cannot even attend my own rehearsal because of the library schedule.”
“My mother is trying to control the damage, Clara,” Mason said, leaning against the refrigerator. “She thinks she is protecting everyone.”
“She is protecting her own idea of a perfect day,” I said. “I am not going to let my mother hide Maribel in the shadows of our wedding.”
“Maybe we should just postpone the whole thing,” Mason said.
I stopped flipping the pages of the binder. “Postpone it?”
“If it is going to cause this much pain to everyone, maybe we wait,” he said, his voice quiet and flat. “Maribel is sick, my mother is fighting us, and you are losing your mind over the details.”
