“Isn’t this the same pink we wore at your wedding?” Bernadette asked Abigail, holding up her glass of rosé and not even bothering to introduce herself to Alexa. She was confident that Alexa had been read in on the guest list by her daughter, so the tone she took with her was conspiratorial, as if they’d been friends for ages. “I was a bridesmaid at Abigail and George’s wedding. Pink and green color scheme. Those were the days!” Ironically, Bernadette, a midsize woman with aggressively dyed black hair, impeccable makeup, and skin almost as well aged as Alexa’s, thanks to her Italian heritage, was wearing a well-cut kelly green linen dress and chunky gold and pink jewelry. Yes, Alexa thought, Bernadette was still repping pink and green.

On the car ride out from the city, Penny had explained several times who Aunt B was and what it would mean for Penny and Chase’s wedding to be featured on her site. Penny used the phrase “jump-start our coupledom,” and that concerned her mother. Did they need a wedding site to validate the partnership?

Alexa took in this potential ally with a quick scan. Bernadette reminded her of many of the women from Seven Sisters alumnae groups she’d taken on tour to Mycenae or Oxford: sharp, engaged, and aware of their place in the hierarchy as highly educated white women. The interesting but not quite pretty looks of their youth replaced by the expensive hair maintenance and good tailoring of middle age. Alexa knew how to communicate with the Bernadettes of the world by adopting a warm but informed tone and speaking to them as an equal. Her daughter instructed her be “accommodating,” as if Alexa was normally standoffish and her attitude needed work. She turned on her professional charm. “You still look lovely in those colors. I’m Alexa, and you, of course, are Aunt B. I’ve heard so much about your work. I’m happy to make your acquaintance.”

Bernadette nodded in faux humility, accepting homage from her fan.

Thankfully, Sarah stepped in on the conversation. “Mom was trying on her wedding dress yesterday, Bernadette. She can still rock it,” she said, much to her mother’s chagrin. Abigail was mortified, as if her own daughter had revealed her Valium usage or her shoplifting record from 1981. Trying on the dress had only been a bit of fun, nothing more. “I think she wants Penny to wear it!”

“Oh, no—” Abigail started to object.