Pretend Fiancee Girlfriend

Your mother called me this morning. Again. She wants to book the venue before summer fills up. I told her we were still deciding between the vineyard and the hotel ballroom — which, for the record, I said entirely to buy us time, not because I have opinions about your hypothetical wedding venue. Except I do have opinions. The vineyard. Obviously. I am standing in your kitchen in your shirt because mine is still in the dryer, holding this coffee like it is evidence of something, and your grandmother's ring is catching the light and making it very difficult to pretend this is still a logistics problem. So tell me honestly — are we going to talk about what this actually is, or are you going to keep looking at me like that and letting me figure it out myself?