“Ms. Ogden!” said Edgar, leaping to his feet and shaking my mother’s hand. “What a pleasure. I’ve assumed that from his personality and fine manners, Carter must have an extraordinary mother.”

“He does. And it’s wonderful to meet you . . .”

“Edgar.”

“Edgar. I like that. Look at you two. How did this happen?”

“Mom!”

“What, I’m not allowed to ask a question?”

“I imagine that Carter’s been discreet,” said Edgar. “But we met at the United Nations, and I begged him to allow me to be here today and meet as many Ogdens as possible.”

“Then we need to talk—about so many things. And I have photos.”

“Excuse me, but I’m sitting right here,” I insisted.

“It’s always about Carter, isn’t it?” said my mom, shaking her head.

“Tell me about it,” agreed Edgar as they hugged.

My mother often scolds me about only identifying her as my mother, since she’s a full, multifaceted person with a successful career as a personal shopper at high-end retail throughout New Jersey and online, where her website is called SarahStyle. My mom has fabulous taste, as she’s currently enlightening Edgar, and she’s given me a lifelong interest in books, movies, theater and compassionately judging other people. (“Maybe that woman is wearing those hideously creased white pants because they were a gift from a beloved relative with Alzheimer’s; you never know.”) My friends revere my mom, and her desire to guide every aspect of my life is mostly a blessing and only sometimes a reason I wish she’d never learned how to text. She’s Dr. Frankenstein, if he’d known over five hundred ways to tie a scarf, and I’m her creature.

“So, Edgar, may I sit down, oh look, I’m already sitting, I’ve always been a huge fan of your grandmother’s wardrobe, she really makes bold color her friend, and I hope you’re enjoying my daughter’s wedding, which let’s just say is pure Abby. I’m so proud of both of my children, and you don’t have to tell me if you’re having sex with my son, unless you’d like to.”

As Edgar and my mom leaned their heads together and I overheard the words “IHOP,” “Citi Bike” and “skin care,” I wondered if, just maybe, Edgar having grown up without a mother made him take such an immediate and fierce interest in mine.

“So you bought Carter his first Tom Ford suit from a resale shop but you could tell it was brand-new because of the tag under the lapel—that’s so wise. I’m hopeless about fashion, James brings me to our tailor and makes all the decisions.”

“And he’s doing a marvelous job, but if you’d like a second opinion, I’ll give you my card.”

“I would love that!”