“Look at you! Is that what you’re wearing to the wedding? I’m sure Penny would love that,” Sarah said as she flopped down on her mother’s chaise in the dressing room of the master bedroom. It was the most luxurious part of the Blakeman house, a proper dressing room with ample closet space for two, a makeup table, and an obstructed water view. Sarah had spent hours playing dress-up in here when she was little, watching her mother get ready for a work event or a fundraiser or the theater. She even had her own box of discarded gowns and dresses to use, so she didn’t ruin her mother’s. Now it was her mother playing dress-up, squeezing herself into her Priscilla of Boston wedding gown, a white lace number complete with capelet. It still fit, sort of. Her weight was about the same, but her body had changed over three decades. She pretended that the zipper was broken, not that her waist had disappeared.

“I wouldn’t even joke about that to Penny. I don’t think brides have much of a sense of humor. Especially about their wedding,” Abigail answered, posing in the mirror for fun. “I still love this dress. Maybe you’ll wear it one day.”

“As long as you don’t mind if I turn it into a field hockey skort.”

“Oh, Sarah. That’s not funny.”

“Apparently nobody has a sense of humor about their wedding, even if it was years ago.” Sarah put the veil on, then removed it quickly, noting, “So not me.”

“You’re right about that.” Abigail shook her head and continued, “We didn’t take ourselves too seriously back then. Brides today, they want everything to be so special, so unique. Not my generation. We did what our mothers told us to do. We were perfectly happy with the same wedding that everyone else had. The white Tiffany invitations. The Priscilla of Boston dress. Our sisters or prep school friends as bridesmaids in Laura Ashley. We all did our own hair and makeup. Rehearsal dinners were for the wedding party, not everyone we ever knew. The basic country club wedding with a decent band, forgettable food, and lots of booze was fine. And we left for our honeymoon right after the wedding, no Sunday brunch.”

“Did you take a covered wagon?” Sarah mocked gently.