How I Planned Your Wedding Read Free

entered the front hall and, still listening to my mom’s ideas on wringing a proposal out of Dave, reached for the handle of the door that led to my hall.
    There was another heart sticker just above the knob. “Aw, someone must be having an anniversary,” I thought.
    “…then we’ll get your dad to take Dave golfing and talk to him about how he proposed to me, and there might be some kind of ominous mishap involving a fairway wood and Dave’s thick head. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll ‘accidentally’ send him an email about a Seattle-area wedding photographer, and then you’ll start whispering things about diamond rings to him while he’s sleeping each night…” my mom continued, spinning plans as elaborate as the plot of a romance novel.
    I turned the corner and saw the front door to my apartment. Dave had told me he would be working late, so I wasn’t surprised to find it still locked.
    But then I saw yet another little red heart sticker above the knob.
    “Uh…Mommy?” (Bear with me; I still call her “Mommy”) I said as I unlocked the door. I felt a whooshing sensation in my stomach.
    “…do you think I should email his mother? I’m sure she wants you guys to get engaged, too. I can’t wait to shop for a mother-of-the-bride dress…”
    I opened my door. In front of me, every visible surface was covered with flowers. The floor was carpeted in a thick layer of rose petals,tulips drooped from the walls (I later learned that these were held up by the manliest of substances: duct tape), and bright bouquets bloomed from every table in our living room. Crepe paper streamers swagged the perimeter of the room and “Everything” by Michael Bublé, our song, played softly on our stereo.
    Standing in the center of it all was Dave, looking more nervous and happy than I had ever seen him.
    My mother was still talking: “…you know, your father and I love Dave like a son, so maybe I could just be frank with him and tell him that it’s time to seal the deal…”
    “Mommy? MOMMY. I have to go. I have to go!”
    “What’s wrong? Did your washing machine overflow?” I could hear her launch into a litany of tips on cleaning up soapsuds as I hung up on her.
    Half an hour later, I was perched on Dave’s lap, staring dewy-eyed at the beautiful emerald-cut solitaire he had given me when he asked me, on bended knee, to be his wife.
    “I can’t wait to tell my mom!” I gushed. “She and I were just talking about how we didn’t think you’d propose anytime soon!”
    “Actually, I was thinking that we could wait until tomorrow to start telling people,” Dave said. “I want tonight just for us, so we can enjoy the moment.”
    Yeah, my mom was gonna love that idea.
     
    Thus began my sixteen-month wedding planning journey, an experience that would be defined by my constant attempt to balance my own desires with those of my future husband…and my romance-writing mother. Looking back, the experience was pretty awesome in general, but I’m not going to sugarcoat the fact that there were a few moments of eating-icing-straight-from-the-can stress and Lizzie- Borden-took-an-axe rage.
    So this book is my gift to you, who (I’m assuming) are about to embark on a wedding-planning journey of your own. I’m not going togive you any itemized checklists or detailed instructions. I’ll leave that to the experts. I’m just going to share my own story with you—the story of a real gal planning a real wedding with a real budget. I didn’t have peacocks flown in from Spain for some million-dollar reception and I also didn’t hand-make two hundred candles for my guests to take home with them after pulling off a magical wedding for five bucks.
    What I did was end up happily ever after with the man of my dreams. I won’t tell you it’s easy. Nothing worth having ever is.
    My mom and I have a mostly normal mother-daughter relationship. There were times that we fought like wet cats over the wedding, and other moments