“The fire department.”
Mavis stared at me.
“People always use that excuse.”
Ryan nearly choked on his coffee.
Then came the guest list.
That was where everything got worse.
Ryan and I had agreed early on that we wanted fewer than one hundred guests. We were paying for most of the wedding ourselves, and neither of us wanted to spend the evening greeting people we barely knew.
One night, Mavis arrived at our apartment carrying a handwritten list.
“Eighteen people,” she announced.
Ryan looked down at the paper.
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