Sophie’s eyes squeeze shut in pain as Liv inserts the syringe into her backside. She breathes deeply. The hormones should trigger her body to produce multiple eggs this month instead of just one. If she does, then she’ll be scheduled for an egg retrieval procedure, at which point, the eggs will be combined with samples from their sperm donor. They chose a guy who could pass for Liv’s cousin, if not her brother, half for his looks and half because his application noted that he’s a jazz musician. They liked the idea of passing along creative genes.

“You’re good, you’re done,” Liv says, rubbing her back.

“I know,” Sophie says, hitching up her pants with a heavy sigh.

I had come by for brunch at the new Israeli place that opened in their neighborhood. This is just the sideshow beforehand. Over shakshuka and coffee, Liv grills me on wedding details. She’s no-nonsense in that way; having gotten past the initial shock of my plan to lure Blake into holy matrimony, she’s only concerned with logistics now. She wants to know exactly how many Instagram photos I need to post in order to get each vendor to comp their services and if I can get a photographer that way, too. I’ve always liked how straightforward and unsentimental she is. In some ways, she’s easier to talk to than Sophie, who gets emotional over everything. And not just because of the hormones.

My phone lights up with incoming texts from Blake. My heart leaps when I realize what he’s sending me: photos from our engagement.

“Let me see, let me see!” Sophie crows.

She grabs the phone and unlocks it from memory—she knows the passcode is the date we officially launched Brooklyn Jewels—and thumbs through the photos. I peer over her shoulder. I didn’t even realize the photographer had caught the first few, when Blake and I were talking on the bow of the ship. The crashing waves must have covered the sound of the photographer’s footsteps. Blake and I both look tense, our shoulders creeping toward our ears. An outsider might not be able to tell, but I certainly can—I look nervous. Then there’s a series of shots that capture Blake gallantly sinking onto one knee. His face is upturned and hopeful. My eyes widen and my posture hardens. One hand flies to my mouth while the other holds my stomach. I look miserable. But then there’s a shot where I’m caught mid-word—that must be when I said yes. In the following shots, Blake kisses me passionately. And then, of course, there’s a shot of me projectile vomiting over the guardrail while Blake leaps toward me in horror.

“Now, there’s a photo for Instagram,” Liv jokes.

“I can’t believe he caught that on camera,” Sophie says, shaking her head in amusement.