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50.

Willy and Kate invited us for tea. To clear the air.

June 2018.

We walked over one late afternoon. I saw Meg’s eyes widen as we entered their front door,

walked past their front sitting room, down their hallway, into their study.

Wow, Meg said several times.

The wallpaper, the crown molding, the walnut bookshelves lined with color- coordinated

volumes, the priceless art. Gorgeous. Like a museum. And we both told them so. We

complimented them lavishly on their renovation, though we also thought sheepishly of our IKEA

lamps, our discount sofa recently bought on sale, with Meg’s credit card, from sofa.com.

In the study, Meg and I sat on a love seat at one end of the room, Kate opposite us on a

leather-clad fender before the fireplace. Willy was to her left, in an armchair. There was a tray of

tea and biscuits. For ten minutes we did the classic small talk. How are the kids? How was your

honeymoon?

Meg then acknowledged the tension among the four of us and ventured that it might go back to

those early days when she’d first joined the family—a misunderstanding that had almost passed

without notice. Kate thought Meg had wanted her fashion contacts. But Meg had her own. They’d

got off on the wrong foot perhaps? And then, Meg added, everything got magnified by the

wedding, and those infernal bridesmaids’ dresses.

But it turned out there were other things…about which we’d been unaware.

Willy and Kate were apparently upset that we hadn’t given them Easter presents.

Easter presents? Was that a thing? Willy and I had never exchanged Easter presents. Pa always

made a big deal about Easter, sure, but that was Pa.

Still, if Willy and Kate were upset, we apologized.

For our part, we chipped in that we weren’t too pleased when Willy and Kate switched place

cards and changed seats at our wedding. We’d followed the American tradition, placing couples

next to each other, but Willy and Kate didn’t like that tradition, so their table was the only one

where spouses were apart.

They insisted it wasn’t them, it was someone else.

And they said we’d done the same thing at Pippa’s wedding.

We hadn’t. Much as we’d wanted to. We’d been separated by a huge flower arrangement

between us, and though we’d desperately wanted to sit together, we hadn’t done a thing about it.

None of this airing of grievances was doing us any good, I felt. We weren’t getting anywhere.

Kate looked out into the garden, gripping the edges of the leather so tightly that her fingers

were white, and said she was owed an apology.

Meg asked: For what?

You hurt my feelings, Meghan.

When? Please tell me.

I told you I couldn’t remember something and you said it was my hormones.

What are you talking about?

Kate mentioned a phone call in which they’d discussed the timing of wedding rehearsals.

Meg said: Oh, yes! I remember: You couldn’t remember something, and I said it’s not a big

deal, it’s baby brain. Because you’d just had a baby. It’s hormones.

Kate’s eyes widened: Yes. You talked about my hormones. We’re not close enough for you to

talk about my hormones!

Meg’s eyes got wide too. She looked genuinely confused. I’m sorry I talked about your

hormones. That’s just how I talk with my girlfriends.

Willy pointed at Meg. It’s rude, Meghan. It’s not what’s done here in Britain.

Kindly take your finger out of my face.

Was this really happening? Had it actually come to this? Shouting at each other about place

cards and hormones?

Meg said she’d never intentionally do anything to hurt Kate, and if she ever did, she asked

Kate to please just let her know so it wouldn’t happen again.

We all hugged. Kind of.

And then I said we’d better be going.