Then Jenna told Margot she thought the real problem with Autumn was money. She was, after all, waiting tables.

Margot wondered why Autumn was waiting tables. She had a degree from the College of William and Mary, where she had majored in political science. She could have done anything with that-grad school, law school, think tanks. She could have taught like Jenna or gone into business, an Internet start-up, anything. Margot was impatient with people who didn’t live up to their potential. This, she supposed, was the result of having been married to Drum Sr. Drum Sr. was so unambitious, it was like he was moving backward.

Margot ignored Autumn’s dissatisfaction with their table. She asked the waiter (who was a woman, but one of the things Margot had learned over the years from Autumn was that the term “waitress,” like the term “actress,” was outdated) for a wine list. The wine list appeared, and Margot asked Jenna, “White or red?”

Jenna waved a hand. “I don’t care. Either.”

Margot didn’t ask Finn or Autumn for input, even though she could feel Autumn staring at her. Probably Autumn wanted the wine list. Well, too bad, Margot was going to exercise her sovereign right as maid of honor and pick the wine.

One white, one red. Margot preferred Sancerres and Malbecs. Sancerres reminded her of Drum Sr. (he had wooed her the first summer they dated by taking her to a restaurant called the Blue Bistro-which had since closed-and plying her with Sancerre), and Malbecs reminded her of Edge (that night at Picholine, which she could not allow herself to dwell on). Margot wished she could look at a wine list and not think of men at all. She wished she could look at a wine list and think about herself.

She handed the list to Autumn. “Would you mind picking the wine?”

Autumn looked so happy that Margot immediately felt petty for denying her this tiny pleasure in the first place. “I’d love to!”

Margot leaned back in her chair and tried to relax. Jenna and Finn were talking between themselves sotto voce, which Margot found rude, if completely predictable. Finn seemed to still be in foul humor. She had always been petulant and spoiled. When Finn was seventeen, she had landed a job on Nantucket, nannying for the Worthington family, who were friends of Beth and Doug Carmichael. Finn had lasted thirty-six hours before she quit. She missed Connecticut, she claimed, and she missed her parents. What Finn really wanted was to return to Darien in order to have sex with her boyfriend, Charlie Beaudette, while her parents-the ones she purportedly missed-were on vacation for two weeks in the south of France. Beth and Doug had tried to talk Finn into staying-she would outgrow her homesickness, she would have a wonderful summer-but Finn was determined to go, and the Carmichaels were powerless to make her stay. Margot had been on Nantucket that same week and had a front-row seat for the drama. Back then, Drum Jr. was less than a year old, and Margot was working as an associate principal at Miller-Sawtooth. As a new mother and a placement professional, Margot had determined that Finn lacked character, had no sense of responsibility, and no hustle. Margot could not abide people without hustle. Finn’s inner core, Margot suspected, was as soft as a rotten banana.

Thankfully, the wine arrived, and they ordered their meals. Jenna turned to include Autumn and Margot in the conversation, although Margot couldn’t keep track of what they were talking about from one minute to the next. Her mind was on other things. She had ordered the crab cake to start, Autumn had the chowder, Jenna and Finn had both gotten the foie gras. Margot thought, in no particular order: It was funny the way Jenna and Finn always ordered the same thing, and they had dressed alike. Had they ever had a fight? If so, Margot didn’t know about it. They had been friends for more than twenty-five years, and it had always been harmony. The summer of the nanny job, Jenna had supported Finn’s decision to go home. She was the one who had confided to Margot that the real reason Finn wanted to go home was to screw Charlie Beaudette. Jenna had found it romantic-instead of stupid, immature, and shortsighted.

Margot allowed that her bitterness regarding Finn might have been born of jealousy. Margot herself had never had a friend the way Jenna had Finn. She had had friends, of course, some casual, some closer, but Margot and her friends had bickered and switched alliances; this had been true in high school, and then again in college. As an adult, Margot and Drum Sr. had become friends with the people whose children went to school with their children, and did the same sports and activities as their children-which was, Margot realized, an insufficient litmus test for friendship. Few of those friendships had survived her divorce. None of the couples she and Drum used to hang out with called her for dinner parties anymore. Now, when Margot saw those people, they scheduled the children’s playdates like business transactions.

If Margot needed to talk to someone, she called Jenna, or her sister-in-law, Beanie, or her father. She sometimes talked to Edge. At the start of their relationship, he had been sweet and attentive, but lately the sweet attentiveness had dwindled. For the past four or five months, he had sounded like a man of fifty-nine who had been married and divorced three times, who had seen it all, survived it all, and could barely conceal his impatience that Margot was still in the life stage where she cared what other people thought.

Margot eyed Jenna and Finn with envy. Then she worried that the fact that she had never had a best friend was another indicator-like the fact that she didn’t garden-that there was something wrong with her. And her marriage had failed! Was that due to some inability to connect in a meaningful and permanent way with others? Was she a coldhearted bitch? Jenna would, no doubt, be just as devoted to Stuart as she was to Finn. Margot wondered if all family wedding weekends were doomed to be exercises in painful self-examination.

She turned her attention to Autumn.

Autumn had ordered the chowder, which was the least expensive thing on the menu, and Margot wondered if that was why she had ordered it. Maybe Autumn really was financially strapped. Of course, she wasn’t rich; she was waiting tables and living in a rented bungalow. At that moment, Margot decided that she would pay for dinner. She had a great job, she could afford it, she was the maid of honor: she would pay.

She took a bite of her crab cake. It was drizzled with a lemony sauce. More wine. She was starting to feel a little drunk, but this came as no surprise. Anytime she had thought about the wedding in the past twelve months, she had thought, When I don’t know what else to do, I’ll get drunk. I’ll just stay drunk all weekend, if need be. And here she was.

Finn got up to use the bathroom. She hadn’t even touched her foie gras, and Margot eyed it covetously. Margot loved foie gras, but she hadn’t ordered it because it was bad for you, and it was a travesty the way they force-fed the poor French geese. But it looked so yummy-plump and seared golden brown, topped with ruby red pomegranate seeds.

Margot noticed Jenna watching her with a concerned expression on her face. She realized that she had to tell Jenna about Alfie’s tree branch; she had to tell Jenna that the second tent wasn’t coming tomorrow. The second tent wasn’t coming at all.

Forty percent chance of showers.

Margot lifted the bottle of white wine out of the ice and found it empty. She flagged the waiter.

“Another?” she said.

Jenna bit her bottom lip, and Margot didn’t like the way that looked. She wanted to ask Jenna if she was having fun. She wanted to ask Jenna if this night was memorable. It was too early to tell, they had barely started, but Margot feared it wasn’t memorable enough. What could she do? Should she suggest a game? Some kind of bachelorette game? In general, Margot found bachelorette parties distasteful-the penis lollipops, the ludicrous sashes the bride-to-be was forced to wear, the hot pink T-shirts with lewd sayings. And at that moment, Margot realized she had forgotten to bring the hideous bow-and-paper-plate “hat” that Jenna was supposed to wear. Jenna would most definitely be thrilled that Margot had forgotten the hat, but Margot still felt like she was failing at her maid-of-honor duties. Finn would have remembered to bring the hat.

Forty percent chance of showers. Griffin Wheatley, Homecoming King. He had taken the job at Blankstar; he was happy there. Margot could relax. No harm, no foul.

The restaurant was loud. The other tables were talking and laughing, and under all that, Bobby Darin sang “Beyond the Sea,” and champagne corks popped, and knives and forks scraped plates. Margot thought of her mother, wearing the blue paisley patio dress. She had seemed like the most beautiful woman in all the world, and Jenna looked just like her.

Margot said, “Is it me, or has Finn been gone a long time?”

Jenna said, “I’m sure she’s texting Scott.”

“Oh,” Margot said, collapsing back in her seat. She wondered if she should take her phone to the ladies’ room and check her texts. She knew the answer was no. She was determined to be present. She would eat her crab cake. She wouldn’t worry about Alfie’s tree branch or about what Edge was doing, or about whether or not Carson needed to repeat fourth grade or about whether it had been rude to pick such an expensive restaurant for this dinner. She wouldn’t feel the weight of her age, even though it had been difficult to see Emma Wilton all grown up. A blink of an eye ago, Emma had been six, and Margot had been twenty-one. Forty was too old to be a maid of honor, Margot thought. And yet that was what their mother had wanted.