“You mean you don’t come over while I’m gone and watch movies with Uncle Don?” she asks, taking a sip from a can of sparkling water.

I point at her. “I did come over here when he was doing his annual Lord of the Rings rewatch, but he and Tyler did not like it when I fell asleep and started snoring.”

After not being in a relationship for, oh, his whole life, Don surprised all of us by bringing Tyler home after a convention. She’s since moved to Columbus, and although she hasn’t moved into the house yet, she’s here pretty much all the time.

“So,” Annie says, setting her can down on the coffee table and wincing. “I hate to have to do this, but are you ready to talk . . . wedding stuff?”

I clap my hands together. “I’ve never been so excited for anything in my entire life.” Part of me is being hyperbolic, but also, I feel guilty for not telling Annie about Nick’s and my unplanned confessional hotel sleepover. It feels too private, and I don’t want to hear her thoughts on how it’s like a rom-com or how Meg Ryan was once in a similar situation or whatever. I’m happy to talk about something else.

“Okay.” Annie pulls a binder out from under the couch and smacks it onto the coffee table. “There’s one month left until the wedding, which means that a lot of stuff is done but there’s so much to do.”

She flips toward a tab marked pies. “So, what types of pie are you thinking?”

“Hold up.” I grab the binder from her and flip through it. There are tabs marked twinkle lights and vows and even one that says pom wall. “Did you make your own IRL version of Pinterest?”

Annie smiles a little guiltily. “Actually, um . . . Drew’s mom made this binder for me. She’s very crafty and organized.”

Not getting along with your mother-in-law is such a joke in popular culture that it even made its way into a rom-com, Monster-in-Law starring Jennifer Lopez and Jane Fonda. But Annie loves Drew’s mom, probably because she misses her own parents so much. She looks positively giddy to have this nerdy binder.

I nod. “Okay, well, bitch better not step on my pom wall. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Please don’t say stuff like that when she’s here,” Annie says, taking the binder away from me and flipping back to the pie tab. “Carol is one hundred percent not going to get our sense of humor.”

“So. Pie.” I start counting off on my fingers. “I’m thinking . . . an apple whiskey. I know that sounds like fall but people love it and I already baked three and stuck them in the freezer, so please don’t hate the idea. Lemon chess, chocolate silk, blueberry lavender, and bourbon pecan.”

Annie nods, writing all this down. “Very boozy. I love it.”

“Are you sure? Because I can think of five to ten alternative pies.”