The Accidental Wedding Planner Group Chat

I’m three weeks into the Donaldson-Pruitt wedding planner group chat, and I’m feeling like part of the family by now. Nobody has discovered that an invitation was emailed to me by mistake, so technically I’m still a guest of “Marcy’s cousin Dave,” whoever that is. I’ve decided not to bring it up. You don’t walk away from a seat at the table just because somebody offered it to you by mistake.

The bride, Kayla, 27, does social media for a regional HVAC company in Pottstown. She texted the group at 11:40 p.m. last night asking if round tables or long tables “say more about us as a couple.”

I replied, “Round tables say, ‘We’re approachable,’ long tables say, ‘We have a seating chart and we’re not afraid to use it.'”

Kayla sent back four crying-laughing emojis and a heart. We’re basically best friends now.

The groom, Trey, 29, installs above-ground pools out of a shop in Coatesville. He has mostly stayed out of the chat except to occasionally type “lol” or “fine by me,” which I’ve come to recognize as his two moods.

Last week I learned via a later message that Trey once installed a pool for a man who insisted on swimming in it before the water was treated, and now has a permanent rash story that Trey tells at parties. I respect a man with a signature anecdote.

The real crisis has been Uncle Roscoe, 64, recently retired from the county roads department. He has been the subject of a four-day group text war over whether he can be trusted at an open bar.

Kayla’s mother wants him uninvited. Kayla’s aunt Donna, 58, who runs a nail salon out of her garage in Downingtown, argued that disinviting a blood relative “sets a precedent” and brought up something that happened at a different wedding in 2019 that nobody would explain further.

I stayed neutral but privately drafted a seating chart that puts Roscoe at a table near the exit, close to the hors d’oeuvres, far from the toast microphone. I haven’t sent it. Yet.

Speaking of hors d’oeuvres — the caterer, who I gather is named Gail and runs something out of Exton, sent over a menu and the group has now spent two full days debating bacon-wrapped scallops versus a “build your own bruschetta bar,” which Donna keeps calling “interactive,” like it’s a feature and not a liability.

Although I have never met Kayla or Trey, I have developed strong opinions about their centerpieces, and I think that is its own kind of intimacy. When the wedding happens, I plan to watch the livestream — assuming there is one, which I will be suggesting tomorrow — and cry a little, the way you do for people you’ve never met but have grown to love through 1,400  notifications.

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