Natalie knew that if she went over eighty miles per hour on the George Washington Memorial Parkway, she risked getting slapped with a misdemeanor reckless driving charge. On the other hand, arriving late for Noreen’s wedding guaranteed her a lifetime of weaponized guilt, so she floored it. She’d have to make the remaining fifty-minute drive in forty if she was going to get to her mom’s in time to change before the ceremony started. It could be done. Just barely.

“I’m so happy for you,” Natalie said aloud as she cruised down the parkway. “I’m so happy for you,” she repeated, trying out different intonations. She’d found having a line ready to use on her mother made their conversations easier because she didn’t have to think about what to say, which meant she didn’t have to think about what her mother had said. Their communication went much more smoothly when neither of them paid close attention.

Natalie pushed her speed to ninety miles an hour when her phone buzzed.

“Siri, please read me my texts,” she said to her phone.

“Looking up hexes,” the polite British male voice she’d assigned to Siri answered. “There are two million two hundred sixty thousand entries for—”

“No. Read me my texts,” she tried again, more slowly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get that. Do you want a history of vests?”

Third time was the charm.

British male Siri started reciting. “Sarah writes—are you en route? I told Mom you’re almost here. I currently reek of something called Wild Woman Luna Drops and am not washing it off till you arrive.

“Sarah writes—I mean it. You better be on your way. I think I’m losing my sense of smell.

“Sarah writes—this is for your sake more than mine. If you are late, you’d better plan to make a new life for yourself somewhere far from Bridezilla.”

Natalie laughed. She liked the way British Man Siri said Bridezilla.

“Siri, please reply, tell Mom I’m there but I’ve gotten so thin she can’t see me without her glasses. Mom will be thrilled.”

“Sarah writes—pro. Bowly. Mom keeps asking if I’ve gained weight since my fitting. Apparently my ankles are particularly offensive.”

“Siri, please reply, I’m on my way. Be there by eleven forty-five. How is the new McMansion? Is it McDecorated in a McTheme?”

“Sarah writes—are you dictating your texts? I am not sure what a macman sin is but I think I want one. Sounds both tasty and naughty. But if you were talking about the decoration, I promise you will be astonished.”

“Siri, reply, say more about that please.”

“Sarah writes—let’s just say I’m calling it Aztec Barbie Dream House.”

“Siri, reply, I am trying to picture that but sort of in the way that you watch horror movies through your fingers.”