Back in the present, back in the quiet kitchen, Samantha set down her folder of invoices and sat across from me at the table where I had raised all six of them, and she was quiet for a moment, thinking.

“I can tell her no,” I offered.

“I mean it, Samantha.

This is your wedding day, and if you don’t want her there, I will handle it, and you will never have to think about it again.” Samantha shook her head, slowly and firmly.

“No,” she said.

“Tell her she’s welcome to come.” My stomach dropped.

“Samantha,” I said.

“Think about this.