“They’ll pump a bar up and down like a seesaw to make the car go. It’ll make sense when you see it,” Zanne said, as if she were stupid. Holly could hear the unspoken literally in the sentence.

“Well, I’d never heard of one before. And I think I’m a good barometer of what the average person is going to get or not.” It was the one lever she could pull with the staff. She didn’t go to an Ivy League school like they all did. She didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in her mouth either. Neither had Ted, exactly, but he had the trust fund from his father and Frances had been a literary agent at a time when it was possible to afford a two-bedroom prewar in a doorman building on that salary. Holly’s mother had been a teacher, her father a plumber. She went to public school and shopped at Marshalls once a year for back-to-school. She made sure the staff knew these things about her, and they were all liberal enough to be chastened whenever she played the Small Town, USA card.

“There was a pump car in Blazing Saddles, Holly,” Erin said in that comforting voice of hers. She could have had a secret life making ASMR recordings, and it wouldn’t have surprised Holly one bit. “And in one of the Coen brothers’ movies—the one with George Clooney.”

“Oh,” Holly said. She’d never watched Blazing Saddles, but George Clooney was good, everyone saw his movies.

“And Mad Max. And Buster Keaton,” Zanne said.

“Okay, I guess it’s fine. Maybe if we make a sign for it. Something old-timey—you know, Ride Ye Olde Pump Car. I’ll let you guys brain that out. What are we doing for music?”

“We know you didn’t want a band,” Erin said.

“You can’t talk when they’re playing, and unless it’s, like, Coldplay or John Legend, what’s the point?” Holly said.

“Right, so we put together a playlist of songs with the word baby in the title.”

“Cute. Make sure they’re upbeat, though. Food?”

“For the passed hors d’oeuvres, elevated takes on a kid’s menu—truffle grilled cheese bites, pigs in a blanket in puff pastry, mini lamb cheeseburgers, cake pops. And at the self-serve stations, we’ll have sticky buns in toy ovens, pickle platters, and an ice cream sundae bar.”

Holly nodded, good, good. “And what are the servers wearing?”

“There’ll be a ring master, a trapeze artist, human cannonballs, and—” Erin checked her notes.

“Mimes,” Zanne added.

“Ugh,” Holly said.

“Ugh?” Erin asked.

“Ugh,” Holly repeated. “It’s so...”

“Siegfried and Roy?” Zanne said.

“Yes.” She’d taken the words right out of her mouth. Holly hated it when Zanne of all people read her mind.

Erin pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and stared into the middistance. “Hmmm.”