“We Kappas stick together,” Madison declared, opening the passenger-side door of her Prius. “Even though she went to SMU and I went to UCSB, we’re sisters.”

That was a concept Alexa struggled to understand, but she smiled warmly as if she did. “Do you know how to get to Nottingham Forest?”

“Oh, yes. And Penny sent me the addressess, so sit back and relax.”

If there was anything less likely to make Alexa relax than someone telling her to relax, she couldn’t name it. “Thank you.”

*  *  *

“Where’s Sarah?” Alexa asked as the mother of the groom slid into the car, wearing a navy-blue cotton day dress, white sweater over her shoulders, and simple white sneakers. Abigail looked put together but tired. Alexa had learned long ago not to ask travelers how they slept. Of course they slept poorly. Dwelling on it would only make the issue linger for them and for the questioner. Nobody needed that. Plus, she assumed that Abigail had a bit of a wine headache. She was a little sloppy last night and was clearly not hydrating enough. But again, never something Alexa would acknowledge. After years of practice, she knew how to nudge the hungover traveler to get moving. “One iced coffee for you. It’s a special brew with cinnamon and just a touch of sugar. It’s magic.”

Abigail accepted the beverage with gratitude. She’d already had her hot coffee, but the icy-cold brew felt energizing in her hands, never mind going down her throat. It was cold, sweet, and spicy. “Sarah is out with Lloyd. They are scoping out a special spot for the rehearsal dinner. Some surf club that Lloyd belongs to which sounds . . . quirky.”

Abigail struggled to sound positive in front of the wedding planner and the MOB. Did Alexa somehow know that Sarah hadn’t come home last night after her tacos-at-sunset date? Abigail had been abandoned by her daughter in shameless fashion: a short text at midnight informing her mother that she was staying at Lloyd’s because “the sound of the ocean from his bedroom is awesome.” Had Sarah forgotten that she was her mother, not her college roommate? The truth was that she wanted her daughter to share details about her life with her in a way that she could never have shared with her own mother. That felt like a breakthrough in terms of mother-daughter relations. Like many young women of her generation and class, Abigail spent years deceiving her parents about her sex life, concocting bogus trips with girlfriends or work conferences when she was really with a boyfriend. Shacked up, they use to say. But now it was all out in the open, sometimes under the same roof, and occasionally, Abigail felt that some details were too much. She wasn’t nearly as open-minded as she pretended to be. Still, she texted her daughter back in a wine haze, “Please be here for venue search.”