Alexa caught the sudden flash of rage on Abigail Blakeman’s soft, lined face. Her simple ash-blond bob was still in place. Her soft pink lipstick had been reapplied somewhere between the artichoke carpaccio and two bites of the cacio e pepe she allowed herself. But her décolletage was streaked an angry red, visible thanks to the split neckline of her sheath dress, a tasteful, if uninspired, choice that Alexa had seen on dozens of women at home. Alexa didn’t know exactly what Chase’s mother was angry about, but she knew repressed fury when she saw it. Alexa was holding her tongue out of pride and good manners. Abigail was stuffing her feelings out of habit. That was something to remember, Alexa thought.

There was a slight nod from Abigail. “Of course we will. Our pleasure.”

Just then the servers swept in and cleared the table. The head server, using quite possibly a fake Italian accent, announced, “It’s now time for your entrées. And then, we celebrate the beautiful couple with cake. Enjoy.”

Alexa didn’t know how she was going to make it through two more courses.

*  *  *

They parted on the sidewalk outside the restaurant on Seventy-Eighth Street and Second Avenue. The Blakemans hustled into a cab and headed to Grand Central to catch the ten forty train home. Alexa wanted to walk a bit but didn’t want the young couple to feel beholden to walk her back the ten or so blocks to the Lowell Hotel, where she was staying thanks to a professional courtesy rate. She pretended to order a rideshare and assured them that she would wait near the valet for safety. “You’re tired. No need to wait with me.”

As soon as they were out of sight on the way back to Penny’s place nearby, she’d make her way back to the hotel on her own. She needed to walk off her emotions.

But Penny had more surprises. “So, now that Abigail is gone, I wanted to tell you that Kalliope Moon is in town doing a trunk show in SoHo. As soon as I saw it posted, I called Sofia at the boutique in Athens. You know, the saleswoman who helped us last when we did that trip with Westmont alumnae. Those women bought the boutique out. She told me there will be four wedding dresses at the trunk show. She wouldn’t send me photos because she said I had to see them in person. They agreed to hold them for me in exchange for some social media posts on my personal accounts. But only until noon. It could be chaos at the sale. I thought we could start the day at your hotel for coffee and be at the shop by eleven. Can you imagine, a Kalliope Moon wedding dress? I didn’t think I’d even have the option on such a short timeline. It would be my dream.”