“Could you please grab one of the pillows from the back, James?” she asked. He could put on NPR, that always sent her off. Holly could even stretch out on the third row under a blanket, the way some of her friends had to do when they went for lipo or met with their surrogates. But then Holly saw Zanne striding across the driveway like some sort of punk sheriff, and her hopes fell. That’s right, they had to go over the details for the Bump to Pump party tonight.

Zanne was one of Ted’s, you could see it from outer space. Not so much the way she dressed (Bikini Kill T-shirt, black jeans, motorcycle boots, leather cuffs stacked up her wrist) or the way she styled her hair (short, spiky, jet black). If she never opened her mouth, you might even think Zanne was pretty, with those liquid blue eyes of hers. No, it was the giant chip on her shoulder that marked her as his, the permanent, scrutinizing scowl that screamed I have something to prove and Don’t you dare underestimate me. Holly found it exhausting, being surrounded every day by all these type As running around the estate in a hot panic. There was some kind of trauma in Zanne’s past, Holly was sure of it. There usually was with Ted’s, some damage that drove a young swing or researcher to succeed, until one day it broke them and someone found them curled up in a ball under their desk. But Zanne seemed to be quite competent, and she hadn’t broken yet. If it was up to Ted, she’d be running the place soon.

Zanne climbed into the way back, foiling Holly’s dreams of sleep. James appeared with the pillow, but she shook her head and he took it away. Holly buckled herself into one of the two captain’s chairs, her mood soured. James tapped a button and the door dropped down from above, enfolding her inside the egg of the car, a hatched chick in reverse.

As James backed out of the garage, Erin cleared her throat the way she did before any new agenda item she was uncertain of, the cue that they were about to begin.

Zanne dove right in. “We’re up to one hundred fifty RSVPs—with the VIP favors list, close to two hundred. Another two hundred on the backup list.”

“Four hundred people!” Holly said. “I don’t want four hundred people in my home. Last year there were fifty of us at Kathy Jahan’s, tops.”