“Carter?” said my dad, who’d extricated himself from a debate over Baltic politics at a nearby table. “Is this indeed His Royal Highness?”

“Edgar,” said my mom, “this is my husband, Peter, and yes, his muted paisley tie and coordinated houndstooth pocket square were my idea.”

“Mr. Ogden, first of all, you look superb, and beyond that, it’s so very good to meet you. Carter tells me you’re a professor at the state university.”

“Indeed,” said my dad, who I love because he’s kind and generous and deeply enjoys using words like “indeed,” “wherewithal” and “everlastingly.” “I teach world civilization, and if you’d like, I can provide some fascinating lore regarding your ancestor, the first King Edgar in 959, and his alliance with the thanes of Mercia and Northumbria—”

“Who helped him introduce Benedictine Rule to the monastic communities.”

“’Tis true!” said my dad, thrilled at discovering a fellow scholar. While I’m not a history buff, my dad and I have sought common ground by occupying our couch in stained sweats, guzzling microwave popcorn and binge-watching the most moronic sitcoms together, just to outrage my mom: “Why are you two laughing like idiots at those people wearing striped polo shirts and polyester windbreakers?”

“CARTER YOU FUCKING TRAITOR I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY BROTHER I GUESS FUCKING NOT,” said Abby, standing six feet away, with her hands on the hips of her gown and her glorious mountain of hair almost reaching out to choke me. Abby has naturally abundant hair and often forces strangers to yank on it to prove she never needs extensions. “We spent our lives figuring out this wedding and what do you do? You bring His Royal Fucking Highness Prince Fucking Edgar as your date! AND YOU DON’T GIVE ME A FUCKING HEADS-UP!”

“Edgar,” I said, “meet Dr. Abigail Ogden.”

“GET OVER HERE!” Abby commanded, and Edgar bravely stood as Abby cannonballed toward him, enveloping him in white satin and nearly lifting him off the ground.

“You are the loveliest bride I’ve ever seen,” gasped Edgar, still in captivity.

“And today I’m the only bride in the entire world with you at my ceremony and reception.” And then, addressing the room, while clutching Edgar’s hand: “I want everyone to remember that! I want you to tell your children and your grandchildren!”

“So it’s okay?” I asked, as Abby hugged me and Edgar simultaneously and decreed, “It’s way beyond fucking okay!”

She took Edgar’s hand and dragged him toward some available chairs in a more private corner, and I followed them, both excited by their collusion and checking around for steak knives to cut my throat at whatever Abby was going to say next.