The French were planning to take advantage of the wedding to spend two weeks in the U.S., traveling around the South and maybe taking in Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Texas, New York, and the Grand Canyon while they were at it. Over the months prior to their arrival, I tried many times to discuss with them the feasibility of this plan: “I’m going to name a length of time spent in a car per day. You tell me whether it’s a road trip or a daily commute to work.”

“Right, fine. You know, we do drive to work and when we go on vacation, Laura. We’re used to making long trips.”

“Half an hour.”

“A commute. If there’s no traffic.”

“Two hours,” I said.

“Trick question! It’s neither. That’s the time we might drive on a weekend to go see someone, like Titi and Bruno near Provins.”

“Umm,” I said. “Three hours.”

They laughed. “Definitely a road trip. These are too easy.”

“Six hours.”

A puzzled pause. “In one day?”

“Eight hours.”

“Why in the world would anyone drive eight hours in one day? When do you eat?”

“Ten hours.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Sébastien,” I said, “convince your family they need to focus on the South for their trip. When I say the South, I don’t mean New Orleans or Florida. They’ll be lucky if they get from Savannah to Tybee Island.”

They eventually yielded to my advice, although Bruno has never forgiven me for keeping him away from Las Vegas. Meanwhile, on our end, we arranged for rental cars and hotel rooms. These ten people—three siblings, their mother, and their significant others and children—had made a pact to spend every minute of two weeks together, sharing three hotel rooms and two cars.

“Wow,” I said to Sébastien. “That’s really impressive. Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“All ten people want to spend every waking and sleeping moment together while traveling in a strange country for two weeks? All ten people in the same family.” Twelve for a week of that, counting us. Oh, boy.

“Um-hmm.”

“And that doesn’t worry you? I mean, you don’t think they’ll kill each other?”

“Of course not! They’ll have a wonderful time!”

“Wow,” I said. “Don’t tell my mother, all right? She’ll start in again on how she failed as a parent.”