Margaret liked order.
She liked Christmas cards mailed before December.
She liked family photographs with coordinated clothing.
Once, before Thanksgiving dinner, she made Daniel change his navy sweater because, in her words, it was “arguing with the table runner.”
So when she invited us over to discuss the wedding, I expected questions about flowers, seating arrangements, or the reception menu.
Dinner was almost finished when Margaret placed her fork carefully beside her plate.
“I wanted to ask about the processional.”
Daniel looked up.
“What about it?”
She glanced at me.
“Is Nathan still walking Sarah down the aisle?”
“Yes,” I answered.
Her smile was controlled.
Too controlled.
“He can attend, obviously,” she said. “Nobody is suggesting otherwise.”
Daniel’s shoulders tightened.
“Mom…”
“I’m only saying that perhaps he doesn’t have to be part of the ceremony.”
I stared at her.
Margaret continued before either of us could interrupt.
