“Of course you’d invite her,” said Fee. “I was already planning on it.” How observant Matthew was, thought Emma, watching her mother with a tangential burst of quiet pride in her fiancé: Fee’s eyes did change when Caroline was mentioned. Fee squinted appraisingly now down the long, narrow dining table, its surface comfortably nicked and worn with circles. “Ten at the table’s no stretch,” she remarked. “Remember all those birthday parties when you were little? And it’ll be a full family affair, then, Emma, because your father talked to Andrew yesterday and invited him, too.”

“He hasn’t.” Emma stared at her mother in horror. “But we’ll have seen plenty of him by then—he’ll have been here all week, he’s coming to brunch on Sunday, he’s taking Matthew and me to dinner on Monday, we’re all going to the theater on Wednesday, and those are just the plans we’ve already made.”

“Well, I didn’t know we’d set a limit on how much time we spent with him,” said Fee. “I thought you liked Andrew, Emma. David and I think he’s terrific.”

“I love Andrew,” said Emma. “He’s lovely. I could spend as much time with him as I could. It’s just, well, Caroline.”

“What about Caroline?” said Fee. Yes, her eyes did definitely change, thought Emma; she wondered now how she had not noticed that before.

“Well, she really hates him,” she said. “It was a really bitter divorce, and she’s still angry about it.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Fee. “That was years ago now, and it’s their son’s wedding. Surely we’re all grown-up enough that they can put their differences aside for just one weekend.”

There were times, thought Emma, when she wondered just what her mother chose to hear when she was counseling clients in Sophie’s old bedroom.

“She hates him,” she said. “She’ll go ballistic if he’s here. She can hardly bear to be in the same hemisphere as him.”

“She’ll be fine,” said Fee. “There’ll be lots of other people there; she’ll hardly notice him.”

“She will,” said Lulu, looking up from the crossword puzzle she was sharing with Sophie, “when he and Dad start shouting at each other about Protocol Harem.”

“Procol Harum,” Fee corrected her. Then, less certainly, “Maybe Caroline liked them, too, when she was young.”

“I’ve seen photographs, Mom,” said Emma. “She wasn’t a Procul Harum sort of person.” She set down her coffee mug and groaned, her heart sinking. “This is going to be terrible,” she said. “She really hates him, you know, and she’ll be furious to find herself at the same dinner as him. Can’t we find a way to uninvite him?”

“Of course we can’t,” said Fee. “Caroline can deal with it, Emma, she’s a grown woman. What’s she going to do, lie on the floor screaming and drumming her heels?”

“She’ll do worse,” said Emma. “She’ll get pinched and nasty and lurk at the table with a face like a thundercloud, not enjoying herself and making sure no one else does, either. I’ve seen her do it—she can be awful.”