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.

There was a tap on Margot’s shoulder. She thought it was Finn returning from the ladies’ room, or the waiter with their wine, but when she pivoted in her seat, she saw Rhonda. Rhonda Tonelli.

Oh, shit, she thought.

Margot struggled to push her chair away from the table and stand. She thought, What do I do? What do I say? She’d had too much to drink to handle this graciously, but at least she was sober enough to realize it.

She said, “Hey, Rhonda!” She moved in to give Rhonda a hug and a peck on the cheek, and Rhonda bobbed away to avoid this gesture, so Margot ended up with her hand on the side of Rhonda’s neck, and her lips landed on Rhonda’s bare shoulder. It all happened quickly, but the embarrassing fact resonated through Margot’s mind like a gong. She had kissed Rhonda’s shoulder.

Oh, God, awkward.

Rhonda said, “I didn’t know the address of the house, so I called my mother, but she wasn’t answering her phone, so then I called you, like, fifty times, and you didn’t answer. So then the cabdriver had pity on me-I mean, here I am, just landed on this island and there’s no one to meet me and I don’t know where the hell I’m going. So we pulled out the phone book and looked up Carmichael, but there were two Carmichaels so I picked one and I was wrong-the other Carmichaels were at home, I interrupted their dinner-and then finally I found the right house. The babysitter was there with your kids, she had no idea which room was mine, so I put my stuff in the blue room with the twin beds…”

Kevin’s room, Margot thought.

“And thank God the babysitter knew where you guys were eating because I lost the e-mail you sent me with the name of the restaurant. It was like, ‘Welcome to Nantucket, Rhonda!’ ”

Margot laughed. She said, “Welcome to Nantucket, Rhonda!” She stood with her back to the table, hoping to disguise the fact that there was no chair for Rhonda. Margot had completely forgotten Rhonda was coming. Margot had made a reservation for five people, but when they’d arrived, the hostess had said, “Four?” and Margot had said, “Yes, please,” and they were seated at a table for four.

Now Autumn was up out of her chair, using her professional skills, informing the waiter that there would be one more joining them and they needed a chair. But then Finn returned to the table, her face streaked with tears, and Jenna hopped up to see what the matter was. In the process, she upended her wineglass, and Margot’s white silk sheath dress was splattered with burgundy, and Margot’s gut reaction, which she was not quick enough to suppress, was to shriek. The dress was ruined.

Jenna said, “Oh, Margot, I’m sorry!”

Rhonda said, “White wine will get that out. Use white wine.”

Autumn said, “That’s a myth.”

Rhonda said, “I’ve seen it done.”

Margot watched Finn and Jenna, who were now hugging. Jenna rubbed Finn between the shoulder blades. “What happened?” she said. “What’s wrong?”

The waiter came back with the fifth chair, and then there was the big production of squeezing it in and moving the plates, all of them still filled with very expensive uneaten food. Then the waiter noticed the spilled wine and Margot’s dress, and she ran to get fresh linens and a dish towel and seltzer for the stains. The wine looked like blood, and Finn was crying with gusto now. It probably seemed like there had been a murder at their table. Margot thought it would be best if they all sat down, and she said so.

Finn said, “I have to go home.”

Margot said, “What? Why? What happened?”

Finn shook her head and pressed a streamer of toilet paper to her nose.

Jenna said, “I’ll go with you.”

“No!” Margot said. “You can’t. This is your party!”

“Your sister’s right,” Finn said. “You stay. It’s your party.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Jenna said. “If you’re going home, I’m going with you.”

Finn cast her eyes to the ceiling in a look of mock surrender that Margot had seen a thousand times in the past twenty-five years. Margot thought, You can’t ask Jenna to leave her own party! Pathetic! Finn was upset because Scott was in Las Vegas having fun. Why wasn’t Finn willing to just have fun herself, here? But Margot knew there was nothing she would be able to say, no guilt trip she would be able to lay, that would make either of them change their minds.

Jenna wrapped herself in her pashmina. “I’m going to take the car,” she said to Margot. “You guys can get a cab, right?”

“Right,” Margot said. She smiled at Jenna, willing herself to pretend like this was all okay for the next sixty seconds, until they were out of the restaurant. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Jenna returned Margot’s smile, and Margot saw her gratitude and relief. She kissed Margot on the cheek and said, “Thank you for understanding. I’m not feeling very fun, either. I just want Stuart to get here.”

“Okay,” Margot said. Jenna and Finn left, and a second later the waiter approached with the seltzer and a rag, and Margot blotted the stains on her dress until she looked like a watercolor canvas. It was not okay, of course, not okay that the evening she had planned for months had been sabotaged by Scott Walker, of all people. In fact, if Margot looked back on the last six hours, nothing had been okay. If Margot let herself think about it another second, she might break down in tears and go home.

But no, she wouldn’t capitulate. She was the maid of honor, and that word, honor, meant something. She wasn’t sure just what, but she knew it didn’t mean going home. She had an evening to salvage.

She turned to Autumn and Rhonda. “So,” she said.

They decided to move to the bar. This was Autumn’s idea, and it was brilliant. Instead of the three of them sitting forlornly at a table set for five, they had their wine and food moved to three stools at the zinc bar. It was a fresh start. Margot sat in the middle, with Rhonda to her right and Autumn to her left. Rhonda ordered dinner, and Autumn finished her chowder, and Margot managed to eat her crab cake, then she and Autumn split Finn’s untouched foie gras. Margot began to feel a little more like a human being. She was hosting a bachelorette party without a bachelorette, but that wasn’t true because both Autumn and Rhonda were bachelorettes, and for that matter, so was Margot.