Molly came on strong this morning when Cheryl and I arrived for our meeting, which I only somewhat appreciated. Less is always more with the Walkers. I thought I had mentioned that on one of our preliminary phone calls: Veronica is fake gluten-free; can we have a dairy-free option at the dessert buffet; the Walkers aren’t impressed by anyone, but want you to always be trying. Yes, I definitely mentioned it.

Molly is incredibly confident, that’s her problem. No shaky hands, no nerves when presenting her outside-the-box, Instagram-worthy creations. She knew we were getting what we asked for—a picture-perfect event created by someone who specializes in picture-perfect. She had nothing to be nervous about.

The problem: Cheryl is intimidated by confident women. They make her feel weak. That’s why Veronica and I are always acting so overly pleasant around her, smiling gracefully, standing behind our Walker men, letting ourselves be wrong in friendly arguments even though we know we’re right. We bow down to her, our matriarch. Or, at least, she needs to think we do. After all, without her, this family would cease to exist as we know it.

I’d been planting the seed to use Molly for our caterer since the first time I met Cheryl, when we were drinking cocktails in the sitting room, and I first introduced her to the concept of specially designed charcuterie. Molly’s company was a household Hamptons name by then and Cheryl’s friends would be positively offended if Cheryl didn’t know her personally in some way. “You know everyone,” I’d said, “I’m shocked she’s not a friend of a friend!” I knew Molly wasn’t, but I liked playing this game with Cheryl. Molly started out too low-brow to be the daughter of a Walker acquaintance. She was self-made. Another thing the Walkers feared.

I feigned surprise when Cheryl called two weeks after my engagement to Graham to say she had hired Molly as the caterer. My light suggestion had worked. “We should count ourselves lucky,” she began. “She only does a select handful of weddings a year, so she squeezed us in.” It was the presumptuous so that made me laugh out loud, nearly spitting out the LaCroix that had been bubbling in my mouth while she spoke. As if Molly had been anticipating our engagement, holding a special slot open for the fateful day Cheryl Walker would ring and ask for her services.

“Everyone recommends her,” Cheryl continued. “Carol at the club tried to get her for their anniversary party last summer but she was booked solid all year.”

“Well, I guess we are very lucky, then,” I responded.