Okay, I told myself. It’s only one-fifty per paycheck. If I start bringing my lunch to work a few days a week, I can save pretty close to that.
To make my life easier, I opened an online savings account and scheduled automatic payments to begin with my next paycheck. I could do this.
The scheduling of the actual weddings, however, meant that the following spring would be gruesome. Caryn’s wedding was the first weekend in June, Megan’s the final, and Sharon’s mother had booked the second weekend, leaving me worried about what I would do if either of my siblings selected one of those three dates.
Thankfully, I was spared having to make such a Sophie’s choice, as Amy （or, if we’re being honest here, my mother） opted for the last open June weekend. Jake and Madison announced that theirs would be in the middle of May in Mexico. I confirmed to Jake that yes, I had a valid passport, and asked if Madison had gotten the flowers I sent, as I had gotten an arrival confirmation email but hadn’t heard from her.
“I think so,” he said. “Mads—are any of those flowers we got from Lily?” I scrunched up my nose. If she hadn’t even mentioned them to him, that wasn’t a good sign about my apology being accepted. “Yup. She did. Sorry, this place is starting to look like a flower shop.”
I rolled my eyes. “Is Madison mad at me?”
“I don’t know,” he said, and then yelled away from the phone, “Hey Mads, are you mad at Lily?”
“Jake! What the hell? Stop!”
“What? She said she’s not.”
“Great. Thanks.” Note to self: anything you say to your brother from now on will be repeated to Madison. But I could either stress myself out about my slipup or let it go. I chose the latter. I had made a peace offering. If she was lying to Jake about being mad at me, that was his problem, not mine.
And now I had to factor the expense of Mexico into my wedding budget, which I guessed would run me about fifteen hundred dollars for airfare and hotel. And that was in May, so I only had eight months to prepare.
Suddenly, I was at two-fifty a paycheck, five hundred a month, which, even if I prepared all my meals at home, was going to be an issue.
I buckled down for the month of September and lived a simple, puritanical life of sacrifice for my friends and family. I opted to pre-drink at home before I went out, downgraded to drugstore mascara, splurged on Starbucks only three days a week, packed my lunch every night before work, and made a goal of putting away five hundred dollars that first month.
Granted, my wine budget increased a bit as the brother/sister wedding whammy was taking an emotional toll in the form of phone calls and texts between my mother, myself, and Amy.
“In my day, your sister was your maid of honor. What are people going to think?”
I sighed, having had this conversation with my mother multiple times already. “It’s not that weird, Mom. Especially with the age difference and all.”
“I just don’t understand why you won’t tell her that you want to be her maid of honor.”
“It’s not my wedding or my place to tell her that. And if I’m being honest, I don’t want to be.”
“Of course you do.”
“Mom, I’m in four other weddings. I don’t need that kind of responsibility.”
“You don’t mind being Megan’s maid of honor.”
I rubbed my forehead in frustration. “If Amy wanted me to be, I would say yes. But she already asked Ashlee, and I promise that’s fine.”
“She may still change her mind.”
“Please don’t nag her about it, Mom. It’s really not worth it.”
She huffed, but didn’t argue. “I’m just grateful that you have all of these weddings coming up.”
Had I been giving her my full attention, I would have known better than to ask why, but despite frequent requests to not call me with nonemergencies at work, I was still fielding at least four calls a week from her while trying to do my job. This was her first year of retirement and she hadn’t quite found her niche yet. But I was proofreading a proposal and therefore asked the question.
“It’s just such a wonderful opportunity. I’m sure you’ll meet someone at one of them.”
And there went all attention to the proposal. For a split second, I wished I could be honest with my mother and tell her about the mystery groomsman. But while the intent would be to horrify her into stopping the constant pressure, I knew full well it would have the opposite effect; she would insist I find out who it was in order to date and/or marry him.