She handed Kelly a typed list of wedding guests and a pair of scissors. “Here,” she said. Kelly looked at the scissors in her hand. “What are we doing?” Her mother explained. “I’m figuring out who should sit where at the dinner.” She pointed. “Each of the cups represents a table.” Thirty tables with ten guests each, meant 300 dinner guests, at fifty dollars a plate. What a lot of time and money her mother had spent to ensure that her wedding day was perfect. Kelly sat down next to her. “Can’t we just open the doors and let our guests choose their own seats?” “And have a stampede? No, thank you. Besides, you remember what happened when your Uncle John got married again. Cousin Louise and Carla ended up at the same table. I was afraid we’d have to call the Homicide Unit.” Kelly watched her mother rearrange several slips of paper. She gathered her courage. “Mom,” she said gently. “We need to talk.” “Go ahead, dear. I’m listening. I can cut and listen at the same time.”
