Mama’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently. When I look at her, there are tears in her eyes. “I never thought I’d get to do this,” she whispers. “Shopping for my baby’s wedding dress. With both my girls.”
“Mama, don’t,” I warn, feeling my own eyes start to well up. “If you cry, I’ll cry, and then my makeup will run, and then—”
“And then you’ll look exactly like you did that evening in the Met bathroom,” Gina interrupts cheerfully. “Which, by the way, is where this whole beautiful love story started. So maybe some running mascara would be appropriate.”
“That is not where the story started,” I protest, but I’m laughing too hard to elaborate.
The car hits another pothole and the twins kick in protest. I rub my belly, trying to soothe them. “Sorry, babies. Aunt Gina thinks she’s in Fast and
