“Of course,” Avery agreed quickly, eagerly. “We’ll send you everything. You can review it all.” He paused. “You’re really saving us, Mom. We couldn’t do this without you.”
Over the next six months, my life revolved around Sophie’s wedding, though I saw precious little of Sophie herself. She was always busy with finals, then her summer internship, then thesis preparation. But Avery and Taylor came by my apartment twice a week, regular as clockwork, bringing contracts and vendor information. They’d sit on my velvet couch, drink the coffee I made, eat the cookies I baked, and we’d go over the details.
I signed for the venue: $35,000 from my savings account. I signed for the catering: $28,000. I signed for Sophie’s dress: $12,000. When I asked if I could come with her to the fitting, Taylor explained that Sophie had already been and they’d wanted to keep it as a mother-daughter moment, just the two of them. The words stung, but I smiled and said I understood.