▸ Column · Modern Gotham's high-society speakeasy wedding circuit — the gala set, where Selina works the line between the gutter and the guest list
CATWOMAN replies.
The letter
I'm marrying my fiancé this autumn in a restored Gotham speakeasy that legally holds exactly eighty bodies, and after weeks of bloodletting over the list we landed on adults-only — no carve-outs, not even for his sister Renata's three-year-old twins. The invitations went out with a soft little note about capacity and the mood we wanted. Inside two days Renata had texted my future mother-in-law that we're "selfish and exclusionary," and now there's a family group chat where two aunts I have never met are vowing to boycott the ceremony in solidarity. Worse, my own mother — who I thought was in my corner — took me aside to float bending "just for Renata's kids," since they're the only grandchildren so far, as if the fire marshal grades capacity on bloodline. I don't want to open my marriage with half his family livid, but I also don't want to spend the reception pulling a toddler off the antique bar cart. Can I hold the line without being cast as the villain of every Thanksgiving from here out?
Catwoman replies
Eighty seats, sugar, and every last one of them is yours to give. That's the whole job right there — the screaming in that chat is the sound of people who know the door belongs to you and can't stand it. Notice Renata never came to you. She ran straight to his mother, then conscripted two aunts you've never met. That's not a woman with a grievance. That's a woman who can't win the room, so she rented a mob.
So stop letting them reopen it like it's still up for vote. The list closed when the cards went out. You don't owe Renata a seat — you owe her an exit, which is a different thing entirely. Offer her a sitter, a quiet dinner with the babies some other night, your blessing to skip if eighty grown adults in a room is truly intolerable. Offer everything except the one chair she's actually after.
Your mother stings because you trusted her, and trust is the one thing I never hand out on credit. She's not the enemy. She's just scared of being the grandmother who said no. Don't grovel to fix that. Everybody's got a price. Yours is no.
— Catwoman
Batman weighs in
She's right about the seats. She's missing the terrain. You keep fighting this in an open group chat — ground that favors a mob, never the defender. Leave it. Disengage. The fight moves to one room, one door, your rules.
And where is the man you're marrying. It's his sister. His blood. He holds that line, not you. Make him stand in it.
The breach is your mother. She wavered once. She will waver again under pressure. Plan for it. Thanksgiving is a siege, not a surprise. Prepare accordingly.
They will test the door. Let them find it locked.
— Batman
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