Fed up

very young, and she had no grandparents or other family members with the money or the desire to help finance her wedding.
    So, a few months earlier, when it had become clear that Owen and Ade were stuck, I’d secretly approached my parents, who not only had offered to host both events at their house but were paying for practically everything. One reason for their generosity was that they knew and liked Owen and Ade. Another was that they understood how important my friends and their unborn baby were to me. A third was what felt like moral outrage at Adrianna’s mother’s nasty, stingy attitude. “We can afford to do it,” my father had assured me, “and so we will! The wedding will be beautiful. And,” he’d added, “if Adrianna’s mother doesn’t like it, she can sit in the back row and glower.”
    Once the plan was in place, I invited the bride and groom to dinner at my parents’ house in Newton, where my mom and dad surprised Adrianna and Owen with their offer. Ade and Owen were completely overwhelmed at my parents’ generosity, and each had thanked my parents so frequently and profusely that my dad eventually started joking about rescinding the offer if the two wouldn’t shut up. Fortunately for my parents’ bank balance, Adrianna and Owen wanted a fairly small, simple wedding rather than one of those over-the-top affairs with a full band, a bridal party of twenty, an expensive photographer, and an exorbitantly priced reception hall. My friends would never have asked my parents to pay for a gigantic, pricey wedding, which wouldn’t have been Ade and Owen’s style, anyway.
    Ade’s mother was flying in from Arizona on Friday, the day before the shower, and would be staying for over a week—in other words, until after the wedding. Although my parents were footing the bill for the shower and the wedding, Kitty had done nothing but complain about how much everything was costing her. Adrianna and Owen had had a hard time convincing Kitty that there was no room for her in their tiny apartment, which barely had room for the two of them—the nursery was a converted closet—and they’d suggested that Kitty skip the shower and just come to the wedding. Eventually, Kitty had decided to stay at a hotel for the week, but not without asking, “Do you have any idea what that’s going to cost me?”
    Thank God that Ade had my dad and mom, Jack and Bethany Carter, to act as substitute parents!
    “So,” my mother said, “Josh still can’t cater the shower, right?”
    “No. He got Gavin to give him the day of the wedding off so he can cater it, but Gavin wouldn’t give him another Saturday, too.” To maintain the illusion of illness, I pretended to blow my nose.
    “Well, darn it, Josh works so hard at that restaurant! You’d think that this Gavin would have the sense to keep his executive chef happy. Anyhow, we can handle the food. The shower won’t be that big. Is Adrianna excited?”
    “Very. Mom, she is so overwhelmed by everything you and Dad are doing for her. Thanks again.” My parents’ help meant as much to me as it did to Ade and Owen.
    “Of course. We’d do anything for them. With the baby coming in a few weeks, the last thing they need to worry about is trying to pay for a wedding. And I can’t stand the idea a tiny civil ceremony with no real celebration to go along with it. We wouldn’t have it any other way. So let’s talk food!”
    We finalized the menu for Saturday’s shower. I hung up feeling guilty for feigning a cold, but if I’d told my mother about Francie’s death, we’d’ve had a whole long conversation that I didn’t feel like having right now. And all this wedding talk was so fun! While making all these plans over the past few months, I’d spent my fair share of time fantasizing that I was planning my own wedding to Josh. Not that I was expecting an engagement anytime soon, but it seemed like marriage could be a possibility for the two of us.
    As soon as I’d put down the phone, it rang again. I looked at the caller ID window and saw the dreaded words Private Call. Answering the phone when caller ID had picked up no information about the incoming call was risky: for all I knew, I’d be stuck talking to someone who’d coerce me into responding to a long survey about tile cleaning products or about my infomercial-watching preferences.
    “Hello?” I said tentatively.
    “Hi. Why aren’t you selling rain barrels? Do you want to come over?” Phew. It was