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for your gown,” Tiffany said.
    “Yes, Mother,” Tara said. As she passed Brenna, she leaned down and gave her a fierce hug. “Thank you so much.”
    “You’re welcome,” Brenna said and squeezed her back. She was getting used to Tara’s exuberance; in fact, to her surprise, she was becoming fond of it.
    Tara then turned and gave Tenley a hug, too.
    “I think we three are just going to be the best of friends,” Tara said. “Oh, that gives me an idea!”
    “What’s that?” Brenna asked.
    “I think you two should really come out with me and my bridesmaids tonight,” Tara said.
    Tenley and Brenna exchanged a look. Bachelorette parties were right up there with standing in line at the DMV and annual gynecological exams for Brenna, and she was pretty sure Tenley felt the same way.
    “Oh, I’m dog sitting . . .” Brenna began.
    “Oh, please,” Tara begged. “My maid of honor, Britney, just flew in from Paris and she won’t be back until the wedding. Please say you’ll join us.”
    Tiffany reappeared behind her daughter.
    “Join who?” she asked.
    “Tara just invited us to her bachelorette party,” Tenley said. “And we’d like to, but . . .”
    “But what?” Tiffany interrupted. One perfectly waxed eyebrow lifted slightly higher than the other while she waited for their answer.
    “But, of course, we’d love to,” Tenley said.
    Brenna gaped at her as if she’d recently sustained a head injury.
    “Excellent,” Tiffany said and turned back to the door.
    “Yay!” Tara said with a small jump and a clap. “We’ll meet in the bar at the Fife and Drum at eight o’clock.”
    “See you then,” Tenley said with a wave.
    “Are you kidding me? Why did you say yes?” Brenna asked as soon as the door shut behind them. “I hate those things.”
    “I’m sorry,” Tenley said. “But Tiffany reminded me so much of my mother, I cracked under the eyebrow of displeasure.”
    “It is a powerful eyebrow,” Brenna acknowledged. “But still, that’s no excuse. You and I are veterans in the ‘making your mother unhappy’ wars. We need to get out of this.”
    “Think of it as a deed for the greater good,” Tenley reasoned.
    “How do you figure?”
    “Being seen with us will give Tara some credibility in the town,” Tenley explained. “You heard how the Porter sisters talked about her. Someone needs to show acceptance of this union if Tara is going to stand a chance of getting her happy ever after.”
    “That would be you,” Brenna said. “You’re Morse Point’s favorite native daughter. I’m still a stranger in these parts.”
    “Not anymore you’re not,” Tenley said. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
    “Fun? Do you remember Donna Smithfield’s bachelorette party?”
    Tenley cringed, but Brenna was merciless.
    “Her maid of honor paraded her all over Boston, wearing a veil with tiny penises all over it. It was bizarre and weird. Not to mention I had a hangover for three days.”
    Tenley burst out laughing. “That was seven years ago. Get over it already.”
    “I’m not wearing anything with man junk on it,” Brenna said.
    “I think you’re safe,” Tenley said. “As far as I can tell, Tara is as pure as the driven snow. I’m sure it will be a very mellow evening.”
    “Yeah, right,” Brenna said. She stared at the paper scraps in front of her, wondering how she got into these things and, more importantly, how could she get out.
    Turned out, there was no getting out of it. And so, at eight o’clock sharp, Brenna strolled into the bar of the Fife and Drum, wearing an olive green, wool jersey sheath by Donna Karan that was sleeveless and gathered at the waist with a flattering V cut neckline.
    She accessorized with peep toe, brown leather Alexander McQueen pumps and a matching clutch and had stacked several gold bangles on her right wrist. These were more of her clothes from her bygone days at the art gallery in Boston. Some of the outfits, like this dress, she just wasn’t ready