In a burst of traditionalism, Lacey and Olly had decided to get married before the baby was born. Once Lacey’s twelve-week scan confirmed that everything was progressing well, Mom flew over for an extended stay, moving into a lovely bright three-room suite on the first floor of Apartment 1A that Nick and I had set aside for her specifically. It was a relief to have her within reach as we braced ourselves for the fearsome Bridezilla we’d always assumed Lacey would become.

“So,” Lacey told us as she kicked back in a chevron wing chair in Mom’s den and undid the top button of her jeans. “I’m not sure if you’re going to like what I have in mind for this.”

“I do think it might be a bit too chilly in November to do it on a yacht,” Mom said.

Lacey rolled her eyes. “I haven’t wanted to get married on a yacht since I was fifteen. I’m not asking Good Charlotte to play the reception anymore, either.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Mom said.

“Anyway, there are all these specific rules about where you can have a wedding in England if it’s not in a church,” Lacey continued. “But neither of us is religious, so a church definitely isn’t happening no matter what. Sorry, Mom.”

“That’s all right, sweetie,” Mom said. “It’s your wedding, after all.”

“And I technically had two church weddings, so it all evens out,” I piped up from my perch on the window seat. Outside in the courtyard, Nick was getting out of his car, elegant in a dark blue suit. It was delightful to realize that seeing him from afar still made my heart skip.

“We’re leaning toward a really basic civil ceremony at the registry office, and then a small party afterward,” Lacey said. “And that’s it. No fuss.”

“Say what now?” I said, turning away from ogling my husband. “I’m sorry, is this the same person who made a wedding guest list that had four hundred and fifty names on it when she was nine?”

“You went as a bride for Halloween three years in a row,” Mom said.

Lacey covered her face with her hands. “People change!” she said. “Bex always said that if she ever got married, she’d be barefoot in cutoffs in someone’s backyard, and that didn’t happen, either. All I want is to hug the people I love. And to not serve lamb because the smell of it makes me want to puke right now.”

“I don’t know,” I said, tapping my lip with my pointer finger. “You’re also wearing Birkenstocks today, which you have always hated, so it is possible that you have lost your mind.”

“You clearly have,” Lacey shot back. “Mascara and eyeliner? When you’re off the clock?”

“It makes my eyes look bigger!” I protested.