I told him no. Calmly. Clearly. I said, "Dad. I love you. I love that you have a happy marriage. I am so glad you have Tanya. But Mom is not here, and I am being walked down the aisle by you, as my father, and only you, because I would rather be walked by a ghost than by the woman who sold my mother's piano. I am not trying to hurt Tanya. I am not trying to make a statement. I am saying no because my mother should have been the person at the front of the aisle watching me walk toward Nathan, and she is not, and I am not going to pretend a substitute mother has been provided. I love you. Please tell Tanya I'm

sorry." My father was quiet for about eight seconds. And then he said — and I have to write this exactly as he said it, because I want you to understand the specific shape of what he gave me — he said, "Honey. I understand. But if you can't find it in your heart to include Tanya in this way, I don't think I can walk you down the aisle either. We are a unit. If you're excluding her, you're excluding me." I sat down on my kitchen floor. Nathan came into the kitchen. I put the phone on mute. I told Nathan what my father had said. Nathan said, "Is he serious?" I said, "I think he is." Nathan said, "Tell him if he can't come alone, neither of them comes." I did not, at that moment, agree with Nathan. I needed forty-eight hours.