The side entrance was a small covered area near the service entrance, away from the main event. There were no chairs. I stood there, one hand on my aching back, watching staff members rush past with floral arrangements and champagne flutes. 20 minutes passed, then 30. My feet were swelling in my shoes. The baby was pressing down on my bladder, and I desperately needed a bathroom. I waddled toward the main tent, thinking I could at least grab a chair, but Patricia materialized like a designer-dressed guardian blocking my path.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.

“Mom, I really need to sit down. Can I just—”

Hannah isn’t here yet? Patricia cut me off, her voice sharp. We’re not starting anything until she arrives. Go back and wait where your father told you.

But I’m pregnant, I said, hating how my voice cracked. I’ve been standing for half an hour. Can’t I just sit somewhere while we wait?

Patricia’s expression hardened into something I’d seen a thousand times before. That particular look that said my needs were inconvenient. My presence was tolerated at best. No, we are still waiting for your sister. This is her day, Lauren. For once, try not to make everything about yourself.