Sasha left for work after checking on her, Morgan just lay there crying, and she and Alex talked about it that night.

“Honestly, I don’t think she should have the baby,” she told Alex. “She’s completely traumatized. Anyone who doesn’t want kids that badly shouldn’t have them.”

“So why doesn’t she have the abortion?”

“She doesn’t want to lose Max, and she will if she does it. He offered to take sole custody if she’ll have it and give it to him, and she won’t.”

“This sounds crazy,” Alex said, sorry for both of them.

“It is crazy. For some people, having a baby is not an easy concept. For others, it’s an obsession. There are a lot of issues around pregnancy. It’s great when it’s nice and simple and straightforward, but that’s not always the case.” And this was one of the most complicated situations she’d seen. Morgan was so desperate, torn between the two options, that Sasha was afraid she’d become suicidal. She was terrified whichever way she turned. Sasha tried to convey that to Max when she stopped by the restaurant to have coffee with him earlier that week, and he didn’t want to hear it. For him, it was simple. Have their baby and stay together, or abort it and break up.

“It’s not that easy,” she told him.

“It is for me.” And with that, he ended the conversation.

The absolute deadline for an abortion was the following Monday, and that weekend Sasha and Alex were going to Atlanta, so her parents could meet him. She wasn’t looking forward to it, and would have preferred to stay home and keep Morgan company, but they couldn’t cancel. They weren’t going to have another weekend off for two months, and the wedding was in three, so they flew to Atlanta on Friday night. Her father had invited them to stay with him, but they wanted some time to themselves to decompress between warring parents, so they were staying at a hotel.

They had dinner that night at a restaurant her mother liked. Her mother examined Alex like a piece of property she was buying, and asked him a thousand questions about his parents, and particularly his mother’s law practice. She had checked her out on the Internet and was impressed, but didn’t admit it.

“You know that I don’t believe in marriage, don’t you?” she asked him, and he nodded. He was more than a little daunted by her, and he thought she was the toughest human being he’d ever met, male or female.

“Yes, I know that, Mrs. Hartman,” he said politely.

“Muriel. Sixty percent of marriages today end in divorce, and the statistics are going up. Why bother? You lose property, you lose income, you pay support. It’s a lousy investment. You’ll lose less money playing blackjack in Las Vegas. There, at least you have a decent chance if you get a good hand. Even if you get a good hand in marriage, it all blows up in your face sooner or later. One of you cheats, or you both do. They get fat, old, or boring. You can’t talk to them. You get to hate them. You stop having sex. It all looks sexy and romantic in the beginning, but it doesn’t last. And when it does, you wish it wouldn’t. Take my advice—live together, don’t commingle your money, and don’t waste it on a wedding, or throw your life out the window by getting married. Believe me, you’ll thank me one day for the best advice anyone ever gave you. I hear bad stories every day.”

“Maybe because the good stories don’t wind up in front of a divorce lawyer,” Alex said doggedly. “My parents have a good relationship, and they’ve been married for thirty-eight years.”

“That’s an accident. Like twins. It doesn’t happen often. And maybe you don’t know the real story. A lot of parents hide it.”

“No, I think they genuinely love each other.” And it was what he expected to have with Sasha. Muriel Hartman just shrugged and made it clear she didn’t believe it. She was a physically attractive woman in a hard way, but she had the meanest, angriest eyes he’d ever seen and harsh lines on her face.

Sasha tried to get them out of the restaurant as quickly as possible, and she suggested brunch on Sunday before their flight. Her mother said she was playing golf with two women friends who were judges, and couldn’t make it.

“I assume you’re seeing your father and his airhead wife tomorrow,” she said coldly.

“Yes, we are,” Sasha said through clenched teeth.

“Enjoy it,” she added sarcastically. “See you at the wedding,” she said to Alex, hugged her daughter awkwardly without an ounce of warmth, got in her Jaguar, and drove away. Alex looked like he was about to collapse on the sidewalk.

“She is one tough woman,” he said looking at Sasha. “How did you grow up with her?”

“She wasn’t as bad then, before the divorce. They were unhappy for a long time, but they kept it quiet. Then he left her, and she turned into the witch in The Wizard of Oz, with the green face. I was out of the house by then, thank God. She badmouthed my father constantly once he left her. I guess her ego was bruised. But when he met Charlotte, the woman he’s married to now, she went insane. She never forgave him for starting a new life and being happy with another woman. And it’s worse because Charlotte is so much younger, and beautiful. And she’s furious they had more kids. Now she hates everyone. I don’t know how her clients stand her. You have to really hate the man you’re divorcing to hire her. She kills them. My sister insists she used to be human once upon a time. I sure don’t remember it. She gets along better with Valentina. My mother and I just don’t make it anymore.” Sasha looked exhausted, and he put an arm around her. “It sure is different than your parents, huh? They’re like a family TV show compared to mine, who are like some kind of horror movie. I try not to come home anymore. It’s just too hard. And Valentina hates my father. She thinks he turned my mother into this by leaving her, and she says his wife is a ditz. She is, but she loves him, and it’s what he wants, and she’s really kind of sweet. We’re not best friends, but I like her. My father has tried to bury the hatchet with my mother, but she won’t let him.” Muriel Hartman was angry at the world.

“She makes it very difficult,” Alex said as they walked back to their hotel. Atlanta seemed like a nice city, but they hadn’t had time to explore it, and all Sasha wanted, whenever she went back to Atlanta now, was to leave town again as soon as she could. She never even called her old friends. Her mother had ruined it for her.

They met her father at his country club for lunch the next day. Steve Hartman was a handsome man, and it was hard to imagine him with Muriel for a day, let alone the twenty-six years they’d been married before he left her. He wasn’t an intellectual or an academic, but he was an intelligent businessman who had done extremely well. He wasn’t as sharp or astute as Sasha’s mother, but he was a kind, warm person, and Alex liked him.

And after lunch they followed him to Buckhead, the very expensive residential part of Atlanta where they lived. They had an enormous house that was more like an estate, with a tennis court and an Olympic-size pool, and beautiful old trees lining the driveway. It was very Southern, and there was a lovely young woman barefoot on the lawn, smiling and waving at them as they drove up, and two beautiful little girls. Steve looked ecstatic as he got out of his car, tossed them in the air, and kissed his wife. As soon as Alex and Sasha got out of their rented car, Sasha saw a problem on the horizon, a big one. Charlotte was pregnant again, which her father hadn’t mentioned, and Muriel was going to split a gut at the wedding when she found out. It would be further proof of his happy marriage to someone else. Her mother had never wanted more children after the twins, and her father had always wanted more. Now he had them. And she could never forgive him for moving on without her, and being happy.

“Congratulations,” Sasha said after hugging Charlotte, and indicated her round belly in the pretty sundress. “That’s exciting.”

“Yes, it is,” her father acknowledged, beaming at his wife. She was thirty years old, as she had told Alex before, two years younger than Sasha, which hadn’t sat well with any of them when he married her at twenty-three, but it no longer mattered to Sasha. Valentina thought it was disgusting, and now she was doing the same thing herself with Bert, who was younger than she was, though not by as many years. Her father and Charlotte were nearly thirty years apart. But so what, if it worked for them?

“When is it due?” Sasha asked, praying it would be before the wedding.

“August,” Charlotte said in her Southern drawl that always annoyed Valentina. An August due date meant that she would be seven months pregnant at the wedding—the picture of maternal splendor on her father’s arm. Sasha nearly groaned when she said it.

“Will you be up to coming to New York for the wedding?” Sasha asked with a false smile.

“My doctor says I can travel till eight months. Both of the girls were late.” Sasha nodded, with a sinking heart. It was one more thing to worry about at the wedding. Elvis Chapel, here we come, she thought.

They sat by the pool while a maid in uniform served lemonade and iced tea and lemon cookies, and her dad offered Alex a mint julep or Pimm’s Cup, which he declined and stuck with lemonade. It was delicious, and the little girls swam while they chatted, and a nanny came out to dry them off. Their mother had had help for her and Valentina too, while she practiced law, but it was always more haphazard and less formal—local young women, college age babysitters, or foreign au pairs. Steve and Charlotte’s nanny was English and formally trained, and extremely polite, as were the children who climbed all over Sasha and called her their big sister, while she teased them and chased them around the lawn. They were cute, and had a wonderful life. Their mother didn’t work and hadn’t since she gave up modeling to marry Steve, and never looked back. Her days consisted of shopping, manicures, a little charity work, and lunch with her friends.