Tread

September 9

"I'm getting married to Damien," my mother says casually over the phone as I rush into The Local Brew in search of Em and Kate. I'm ten minutes late due to an extremely boring professor considering his lecture notes passed down from God himself. Super great start to what is turning out to be the semester from Hell. Oh, and my mom's get married.

"What?" I'm pretty sure I yell, startling the hipster barista out of his counter cleaning. The glare he casts me is more mild annoyance than anger. At least that's what I hope. His beard covers most of his face, forcing me to hunt for his expressions.

"Yes," my mom murmurs. "We've been thinking about it for a while now. He practically lives at the house, and we do everything married couples do except wear rings and rub it in everyone's face."

I shake my head, a grin tugging at my lips as I make my way toward a booth tucked into a corner of the cafe. "Married people do not do that, Mama."

"I'll start the trend." She laughs, the sound infectious. "We want to head down to the courthouse on Halloween since it's on a Friday, and then spend the weekend at his lake house in Vermont."

"I think Leo's trying to come for Halloween with Helmi."

"I thought he was coming Labour Day weekend."

"He is. But his daughter's never done a haunted house and trick-or-treating."

There's a brief pause before she continues, "Well, I'll just add them to the guest list, habibti."

"There's a guest list?"

"Yes. I was thinking of having everything on the same day."

"Everything?"

"My engagement party, bridal shower, bachelorette party, and wedding."

"Uh-huh. You do realize that is crazy, right?" I confirm, needing to admit it out loud so she can hear herself.

"Which part?"

"All of it," I say as I scoot into the middle of a worn, leather booth, my ruched ankle skirt pulling up to my knees and twisting halfway around my waist. "Don't you want to space things out? Take a few months so you can have the big wedding with the white dress and the bridezilla mood changes?"

"Raiqah, I'll be happy if my reception isn't at a fast food restaurant. The money pit of a house you convinced me to buy needs a new roof."

"Oh yeah, I'm the one who told you to get it." I roll my eyes and snag a tall menu from between a raw sugar jar and sugar packet holder, searching for something light, sweet, and loaded with caffeine.

"You did!" she argues, "With those big, puppy dog eyes. I knew the minute you said, 'We're buying this,' it was the house for us."

"No, no, no. That was a question. A question followed by a scowl like, 'We're buying this piece of crap?'"

"Point is," she says, getting back on topic, "We're getting married, and I want you to be my maid of honor."

"But I'm already your daughter. Why not have one of your best friends do it?"

"Because you're my best friend, habibti."

"Mama, that is like the sweetest and saddest thing you've ever said." A waiter comes over with a sour expression, and I order a drink. He can't yell at me if I'm a paying customer. "And you never answered my question. Are you sure you don't want a big fancy wedding? You never had that with baba. Why not plan your dream day with Damian?"

The guy leaves to fill the order, looking less than pleased. "Because this is just one day in what I hope to be many years. What's important is that you're there and he's there and that we save as much money as possible. And aren't you discussing your own wedding? As I remember, you wanted a satin princess dress and for the groom to come out on a white horse."