“His eyes.” Leo zoomed in. “The eyes are pure Rand.”

“The eyes…” It was so obvious to Joey now. The eyes were pure Lily too. Everyone always said Bea, but their mother’s were almond, clear, without nuance. The wider shape, the murkier quality—that was all Rand. That they could look at this picture of Arthur and still skirt around it revolted her. She was glad it was all going to come out soon. Joey felt Bea watch her with trepidation.

“The hair is Maisy,” said Scott. “But much lighter even.”

“The hair is actually his mother’s,” said Leo. “His mother has very blond hair.”

It was a new fact about Grown Leo. Grown Leo liked women who had very blond hair.

Bea looked up from her planner open on her lap. “JoJo, we still have so much to do this week.”

“Do we? Because I don’t really have time. The painting for Edith is my top priority.”

“What Joey means is, her painting is her top priority, after getting married.” Grant propped a loafer on his knee.

“Of course, that’s what I meant.” Joey squeezed his hand. “I don’t care about the details. Give me a sunny day with no rain, and beyond that, Grant and I don’t care.”

“What Joey means is, she cares very much, but not about the minutiae. And by the way, babe, forecast says eighty-four and partly sunny with only a seventeen percent chance of rain.”

“I don’t like that seventeen percent. Do you—”

“Well, Joey, I don’t care that you don’t care about the minutiae,” said Bea. “I’d like you to care about it for five minutes.”

“Fine,” Joey said. “Just…fine.”

Bea sighed so heavily that her outfit fluttered around her, giving her the appearance of a peacock on the precipice of flight. “So, just to clarify,” said Bea, standing and stretching in such a way that her abs peeped out to say hello, which Joey was sure was the entire point, “you’ve made the Hot Tamale and Sour Patch Kid bags, and that is about the extent of your contribution to this wedding?”

“I wanted to elope, Mom,” said Joey. “You were the one who said you’d plan the whole thing.”

“Joey,” said Scott, “show a bit of gratitude to your mother. She’s running herself ragged.”

Joey appraised her mother. She did not look one iota of ragged. For all Joey knew, her mother was going to show up on Saturday in her own wedding gown. Her second coming. The viciousness of her thoughts swelled Joey to a height from which she swiftly plummeted. She wished she wasn’t so damn angry.

“Sorry, Dad,” she started to say, as her father stood up. Scott didn’t anger quickly. She hated to be the one hurting him.

“Everyone, please excuse me. I have to run a very quick errand,” Scott said.