A suffocating silence has set over the room as every single syllable leaves my lips. My mom's once bright, happy face has just turned to a whiter shade of pale. By her hesitation and stuttering words, I just know it is a question she was hoping I would not ask in the first place. After several moments and a couple of poor attempts, she finally finds the courage to speak.
"I am afraid he is not coming, Clay."
"What do you mean he is not coming, mom?"
"You know how your father is; if he does not approve of something, he makes it known."
"He does not approve of something like my wedding?"
"He still thinks you are making a mistake."
