How I Planned Your Wedding

by Susan Wiggs

  Elizabeth was the first grandchild, awaited by my mother with the kind of anticipation most people reserve for Halley’s Comet. My daughter and my mother are as thick as thieves. I have pictures of them doing everything together, from lying in bed and taking one bite from every chocolate in the box to see what’s inside, to doing each other’s hair in cornrows, to knitting rugs for Barbie’s dream house.

  The pair of them are inseparable—and the honeymoon was no exception.

  There’s only one problem. Even the most evolved, easygoing and original couples are going to have a hard time bringing their grandparents along on the honeymoon.

  The good news is, my mother is living proof that it can be done. And done well.

  She heard through the grapevine (okay, it was me) that the wedding budget was spent, and there was little or nothing left over for a honeymoon. The bride and groom were looking into borrowing the neighbors’ VW Westfalia camper, grabbing a can of mosquito repellent and heading to the Starlite Motor Court for a couple of nights. It was better than heading back to the office or lecture hall two days after the wedding, but just barely.

  Grammy and Pa to the rescue! Wishing to give the happy couple a memorable gift, they decided to lavish them with a dream honeymoon. And, boy, did they.

  They found a resort amid the majestic vermilion canyons of southern Utah. The Inn at Entrada has private little casitas with kitchenettes and views of the red-rock buttes and the wide western sky. It has fountains and pools, a golf course and a day spa. It has high-speed internet, endless hikes in the wilder ness and HBO on Demand.

  Oh, and one other thing. The dream resort, the perfect spot for the happy couple to adjust to married life just happens to be seven miles from her grandparents’ house. Imagine that!

  So Elizabeth got to have her honeymoon and her grandparents, too. Kudos to Dave for being a good sport about it all, and to the grandparents for arranging everything and for giving the newlyweds plenty of space. The bride and her grandmother did manage to organize a couple of double dates, of course.

  Seriously, this is in keeping with what we all believe—that spending money on an extravagant honeymoon is one thing, but spending time with your grandparents is priceless.

  ELIZABETH

  Days later, Grammy called and proposed giving us a honeymoon at the resort in her town. And, Dear Readers, it was awesome. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that honeymooning with your grandparents isn’t fun. Dave and I had an amazing time hiking the canyons of southern Utah during the day and going out to fancy meals with Grammy and Pa each evening. Pa would order Dave a tawny port at the end of each dinner and the four of us would watch the sun go down. During these long days after my wedding, my grandparents opened up to me about their own fifty-five-year marriage, sharing the secret to staying in love forever: “Everything is fifty-fifty,” Grammy told me. “No matter what.”

  “Yeah,” said Pa, giving Dave a look that spoke volumes about another secret to a happy marriage: the wife is always right.

  Sure, we didn’t go to an over-water glass-floored hut in Tahiti, spending our days getting couples massages and sipping piña coladas. But—and I mean this in the mushiest way possible—I cherish the memory of our honeymoon as a time spent learning from our elders, enveloped in the love of multiple-family generations, with a little bit of prune juice thrown in to keep us regular. I wouldn’t trade that for the world.

  * * *

  CHEAT SHEET

  TOO BUSY LEARNING HOW TO SAY “MASSAGE OIL”

  IN FIJIAN? HERE’S YOUR CHEAT SHEET:

  Think long and hard about how you’re going to feel at the end of your wedding. I knew I would be exhausted, so I made sure my honeymoon was as undemanding as possible. If you think you’ll be energized by your new-wife status, by all means, plan a backpacking trip through Iceland. But be honest with yourself.

  Sure, the honeymoon is about you and your new spouse, but it’s not the end of the world if you bump into some of your near and dear ones. If you know someone who lives near your honeymoon location, don’t feel funny about visiting.

  Honeymooning with your grandparents (or similar elders) is totally awesome. But if you don’t go that far, at least sit them down sometime and bask in their wisdom.

  * * *

  17

  THE BEGINNING

  Final thoughts from the bride and her mother

  ELIZABETH

  There 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.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  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.

  HARLEQUIN®

  HOW I PLANNED your WEDDING

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-8444-3

  © 2010 by Elizabeth Wiggs Maas and Susan Wiggs

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