“Penny has been with me every step of the way. She was part of the discussion vis-à-vis our futures. This has nothing to do with Queens or the campaign, both of which she suggested and supported from the start. It’s the wedding industrial complex that’s causing her concerns, Mom. Not me. She’s been to all those giant, over-the-top weddings with fourteen bridesmaids and white doves and branded matchbooks or cocktail napkins or whatever the hell else they can put their initials on. She feels the pressure to keep up even though that’s not our style. She’s getting sucked in. That’s a better phrase. Sucked in. Anyway, Mom, this is a short detour. I’m sure it will all work out. At least, I hope it does.”

“You hope? That’s not very encouraging.” Despite what her son had just said about the business of weddings, she was thinking of the personalized wine labels that Frannie had promised and the mothers’ tea that Ming thought would be a lovely event to add to the weekend. And Mitsy’s description of the arch of gathered roses and rosemary over the ceremony space that would echo some temple in Greece. Maybe Penny didn’t think she wanted all that, but now Abigail did. She wanted it all and her grilled-lobster tacos. “How are you going to make this right?”

Chase didn’t spare a second for his mother’s fantasies. “I’m in the middle of a planning session. I’ll call you next week. You’re flying Monday, so I’ll call you Tuesday.”

“What are we supposed to do in Montecito?” she asked in an artificially mopey voice to convey heartache.

“Sit by the pool and drink some wine,” he responded without hesitation.

How did he know? Abigail thought. Had Sarah said something? Or Lloyd? “I don’t know what you’re referring to,” she said.

“I’ve gotta go. Don’t worry, Mom. This will all be fine.” And Chase hung up before Abigail could even sign off.

How will this be fine? she thought before silently correcting herself. How can I make this fine?

She knew the answer: by doing what she did best.