We booked flights, a hotel, and a rental car with a car seat, thinking, “Who wouldn’t want children at their wedding?” Apparently, Jon and Jillian.
By the time we realized Archer had been added to the “Forbidden List”—probably due to his history of milk-drunk chaos—it was too late. At first, I was offended, because I thought I was supposed to be. But the more I sat with it, the more I thought: "Holy shit, I get a whole night with zero responsibility."
I could be the pre-parent version of me, the one who didn’t have to worry about an adorable little man who greets me like I’m his best friend and is always down for anything. And I mean anything, like:
“You want to dump all this Cinnamon Toast Crunch into the dog bowl, pour chicken broth over it, stack toys on the stairs, and then trigger the house alarm? I’m in, dude. Let’s ride.”
Archer is never not down.
Which is why it stung that he couldn’t go to this wedding—because he would have slain. But deep down (in that dark corner I don’t like to admit exists because it feels like bad parenting), I was psyched. I could be “me” at this wedding. No snacks to pack. No diaper negotiations. No debates over how many sticks can be brought into a restaurant.
There was just one thing to fix: I had forgotten my wedding ring. This is normal in our house—I take it off to work out or play video games. Caitlyn takes hers off too, possibly because she once launched it across an all-inclusive resort pool in Mexico and had to recruit the entire swim-up bar to help find kit. I forgot mine during a gym session in my basement and I knew exactly where it was, on my desk but my computer.
She never said anything about it but I felt weird. What did this look like?t looked like I knew I was going to be at this wedding alone so I pretended to “forget” my ring at home so I could be truly “free and clear” at this wedding. So at no invocation from Caitlyn, I insisted: “Let’s go to Walmart so I can buy a replacement ring for the weekend”. That sounds like such bullshit and I think no one is going to believe it went down that way but it really did. Caitlyn is awesome and I don’t even have any desire to try anything with anyone. Not wearing a ring as some kind of plot to be a shady person just sounds so exhausting and unrewarding to me.
So we went to Walmart for a temp wedding band. Walmart had a ring my size in a bling gold or a ring 1 size too big in a matte black... close to the real one, color-wise. I went with that and bought a $12 ring sizer kit. It wasn’t great but at least It would keep me from looking like a desparate old man.
On the big day, I put on my suit, kissed Caitlyn and Archer goodbye, and walked toward the venue feeling 2% guilty and 98% like I was about to star in a 2000s Will Ferrell/Vince Vaughn buddy comedy.
Caitlyn stayed behind at the Best Western with her Super Woman cape flapping in the wind , which sounded relaxing—until you remember that “relaxing” with a toddler means explaining 47 times why you can’t throw a water bottle across a restaurant. While I sipped cocktails and tried to remember how to speak fluent adult, she was engaged in an infinite loop of toddler logic.
The wedding was gorgeous. Jack and Jill got married on what may not have been Mount Olympus, but had the same vibe.
A song that played during the night—Jai Wolf’s remix of “Feels”—hit me.
Jill once told me it was one of her favorites when she first started seeing Jon. At the time, she was “all in” and Jon was “still figuring it out,” which is hilarious because now we were all here watching them seal the deal.
Jon’s the kind of guy everyone feels close to. He’s magnetic. Most people see the polished, 1000%-all-the-time Jon. I’ve also seen the crack in the armor—not worse, not better, just a slightly different angle. And being there, meeting people from every chapter of his life, reminded me of what I hope people felt at my own wedding: that they had a real place in my heart.
Even though Archer didn’t get an invite, I know he has a place in Jon and Jill’s hearts. He would’ve been the life of the party—probably on the dance floor, shirtless, and double-fisting juice boxes by 8 p.m. Instead he was the the after-party animal stomping raspberries into the hotel carpet at 8am the next morning before we went to brunch and the air and auto museum nearby.
