"You can come and baby-sit for Adam. He's a disaster, and I don't want him to be mine," Julia said, deliberately loud enough for her brother to hear.

He sent her a bright smile, then plucked from the tray a melba round topped with a dab of cream cheese and a sliver of smoked salmon. "Mmm, delicious," he said, still chewing. He wore a pair of bright red Cornell athletic shorts and a T-shirt that featured a tear along one shoulder seam, frayed ribbing at the neckline and a silkscreen of a sequoia along with the words All we are saying is give trees a chance printed up one side of the trunk and down the other. His hair was uncombed, his cheeks unshaven, his unshod feet clean but ugly. Had he always had such knobby toes? Maybe he hadn't consumed enough vitamin C as a child.

"Do you want me to come?" Susie asked.

Julia closed her eyes to block out her view of her brother's feet. "No, I don't want you to come. I love you too much to subject you to this. But this is the worst possible time in the world for us to talk-"

Her mother flew into the kitchen, clad in black slacks and a beaded green sweater, an ensemble that downplayed her middle-aged droops and bulges in a flattering way. She'd brushed her brown pageboy back behind her ears and made up her face with a light touch. "How do I look?" she asked breathlessly.

"Fabulous," Julia, Howard and Lyndon all said at once.

"I think I'll wear a different top," Sondra said, darting out of the kitchen.

"What's fabulous?" Susie asked into the phone.

"The way Mom looks. Looked. She's changing into another top, so who knows how she'll look in five minutes. Listen to me, Susie. Whatever you do, don't get married. It's not worth having to go through a night like this."

"I'm not getting married," Susie said firmly.

"Good."

"I'm leaving town."

Lyndon chose that moment to turn on the food processor. It issued a deafening buzz, drowning out Susie's words. Julia stepped out into the hall, pressed her free hand against her unoccupied ear and shouted, "What?"

"It's not important. You can't talk now," Susie said, her voice wavering around a sob.

"You're leaving town?"

"I'm going to make a movie with Rick. We'll be gone a while."

"What movie? Rick's making a movie?" Her heart thumped. Why did her cousin have to choose tonight of all nights to make a movie?

"It's about Bloom's," Susie said. "I'm helping him. I'll do the Bloom's Bulletin long-distance."

"A movie?" Her heartbeat accelerated. She felt as if she had a hyperactive gerbil trapped inside her rib cage. "Rick's supposed to be making an infomercial for the store."

"Yeah, whatever. Same thing. I've just got to get out of town for a while, Julia. I can't stay here."

"What about Casey?"

"That's why I can't stay. But you don't want to talk right now."

"I do want to talk," Julia assured her, even if it wasn't entirely true. Susie sounded dreadful. She needed her sister. And Julia felt like shit for not being able to drop everything and hop on a downtown train to Susie's apartment this very instant. But with the estranged Joffes about to invade her mother's apartment, and her wedding at stake, she couldn't. "I'm stuck with this ghastly dinner party-"

"It's all right. Anna and I are going to check out a Jet Li flick that's playing a couple of blocks away. Unless you want me to baby-sit Adam..."

The doorbell rang. Please, let it be Ron, Julia prayed, moving down the hall to the entry. "Someone's here," she told Susie. "Don't leave town. I'll call you back later." She disconnected before Susie could say anything, and wondered how much later "later" would be. What if she couldn't get back to her sister until tomorrow? Susie might be gone by then.

Gone where? Making what kind of Bloom's movie? She'd given Rick the go-ahead for a low-budget thirty-minute sales pitch disguised as a television show, appropriate for local-access cable. The way he and Uncle Jay had described the project, it would feature a cook talking about all the wonderful foods Bloom's sold. No one had to leave town to produce such a show.

The doorbell rang again. She jammed her cell phone into the pocket of her slacks and opened the door. Her smile was intended for Ron, and it melted at the sight of his mother.

Julia had met Esther Joffe twice before. Neither meeting had gone well. At the first, Julia had splashed a droplet of coffee on Esther's tablecloth, which Ron assured Julia was a Kmart special, but Esther had fussed over the small stain as if Julia had destroyed a priceless family heirloom. Esther had spent most of the hour they'd sat around the table blotting at the spot with a wad of paper towels, muttering, "Don't worry about it" through gritted teeth.

The second meeting had been at Julia's apartment, when she'd invited Esther for dinner. She'd served Heat'n'Eat pot roast from Bloom's-transferred onto her own plates, of course-and Esther had gotten a strand of beef caught between her teeth. "It's very stringy, this meat," she'd complained. "You should talk to your butcher. Meat this stringy, it's not right." Ron had laughed off the incident, but Julia had been humiliated. At least she'd had the foresight not to tell Esther the meat had come from Bloom's. If Esther believed the store sold stringy meat-which they didn't; Julia had found the pot roast tender and tasty, and she had no idea why Esther had made such a big deal about borrowing a few inches of dental floss and clearing the shred of beef from between her molars-she would never agree to let Bloom's cater the wedding reception.

This evening, Esther had on a yellow sweater set and a flowered skirt. It was a pretty ensemble, except that yellow wasn't her color. The top clashed with her copper-colored hair, and it gave her skin a jaundiced hue that emphasized her sunken cheeks. Esther's face was all sharp angles. Ron took after her, only on him those angles looked wonderfully masculine. On his mother, they looked not so wonderfully masculine.

"Esther," Julia said, infusing her voice with as much cheer as she could manage. "Come on in! The doorman didn't signal that you were on your way up."

"He was all tangled with a woman who had four...what are they called? Those little bratwurst-shaped dogs."

"Dachshunds?" Julia guessed.

"Yes, that's it. This woman had four of them, and she was like a spiderweb with all those leashes. So I just came up without being announced. You gave me the apartment number. Very smart of you." She kissed Julia's cheek, and Julia made a mental note to find a mirror and check for a lipstick smear. "You're a very smart girl, Julia. I'm glad my boy is marrying a smart girl."

Gazing past Julia, she fell silent. Julia spun around in time to see her ragamuffin brother entering the hallway, chomping on a cracker topped with pate. "Hey," he said cheerfully, padding down the marble floor in his bare feet. "You must be Joffe's mom."

"And you must be...I' m afraid to ask," she returned, inching behind Julia as if seeking protection.

"That's my brother, Adam," Julia said, aiming a fierce frown at Adam. "You have things to do, don't you?"

"Actually, I don't," he said, his smile gently mocking. Wonderful. Just what she needed: Adam teasing her. "This is great chopped liver," he added, lifting the uneaten half cracker toward Julia in a toast before he popped it into his mouth. "Nice finish of garlic."

"Go away," Julia said, figuring tact would be pointless. She turned to Esther and forced another smile. "Please come into the living room. I'll get you a drink."

"Is Ronny here?"

"Not yet."

"He's always late," Esther complained, following Julia into her mother's living room, a chilly expanse of leather, chrome and glass, the decor chosen because her parents had always believed that furniture with clean, simple lines required less dusting. "You'd think a get-together like this, he'd consider it important enough to arrive on time. Evidently, no."

"Actually, you're a little early," Julia said, more to defend Ron's honor than because it was true. "And he can't help being late sometimes. He gets held up at work."

"I work and I didn't get held up," Esther pointed out. "You work, too."

"I work downstairs in this building. It's easy for me to get here." Julia didn't add that she'd left her office an hour early so she could come upstairs and fret. But as Bloom's boss, she could leave her office whenever she wanted. Ron didn't have that freedom. He was a magazine journalist, which meant he had to deal with a demanding editor, elusive data and writer's block. Such obstacles didn't automatically disappear at 5:00 p.m. "Now, what can I get you to drink?"

"You got sherry? A little sherry," Esther answered. "Not too much, just a little. Say, an inch." She held her fingers up in illustration; they were easily more than two inches apart.

Julia's forced smile caused an ache in her cheeks. "I'll get you some," she said, turning to find her mother sweeping into the room. The top she'd changed into was a simple knit shell in an aqua shade, which she accessorized with a silk scarf in a floral pattern, tied like a Boy Scout neckerchief. The outfit looked no better than what she'd had on earlier, but it looked no worse, either.

If she'd been wearing striped pajamas Julia still would have considered her a welcome sight. She didn't want to deal with Esther alone. "Mom! I'd like you to meet Ron's mother, Esther Joffe. Esther, this is my mother, Sondra Bloom."

Sondra crossed the room to the couch where Esther sat. Her smile appeared much more natural than Julia's felt. She clasped Esther's hands, then plopped onto the sofa next to her. "What a pleasure! Isn't it wonderful, our two children getting married? I never thought I'd have such nachus."

"Why didn't you think you'd have such nachus?" Esther asked. "You thought your daughter wouldn't get married? You thought she wouldn't find a suitable husband?"

Sondra handled Esther's negativity more deftly than Julia could have. "I always knew she was worthy of a fine man, but your Ronny is obviously the creme de la creme." That seemed to mollify Esther.

"Mom, I'm getting Esther a drink. Can I get you something?"

"Tell Lyndon and Howard to serve the drinks, sweetie. You should sit and visit with us."

"No, I don't mind." Julia wanted to get the drinks. She wanted to go back to the kitchen, where the cooking food smelled so good and no mothers were present.

"I'll have a Manhattan. Have Lyndon fix it, Julia. He makes the best Manhattans. Esther, do you want a Manhattan?"

"I'm having just a little bit of sherry. Not much." Esther leaned past Sondra to remind Julia, "Just an inch." Again she held her fingers up several inches apart.

"Get a drink for yourself, too, Julia," Sondra said.

Julia wasn't much of a drinker, especially when it came to hard liquor. Tonight, however, the idea of drinking herself into oblivion held a certain appeal.

No. She was made of sterner stuff. She had a mission to accomplish-to convince her mother and her future in-laws that Bloom's was the perfect caterer for her wedding reception. A second mission might be to facilitate a friendship between her mother and Ron's parents. A third mission might be to keep Ron's parents from plunging butter knives into each other. She had to stop wringing her hands and act like mission control.

Squaring her shoulders, she marched into the kitchen. "Lyndon, can you fix my mother a Manhattan? She says you make the best."

"She's right," Lyndon said without a hint of boasting. "Howard, keep an eye on the wild rice."

"What do I have to keep an eye on?" Howard retorted. "It's steaming. The pot's just sitting there."

"Keep an eye on the pot." Lyndon glanced at the assortment of liquor bottles arrayed on one of the counters, then checked the contents of the silver ice bucket. "Where does your mother keep her glasses?" he asked.

Julia provided him with one stemware glass and poured two and a half inches of sherry into another.

"You want a drink?" Lyndon asked her.

"Water. I'm on a mission," she said with grim determination. "Three missions, actually."

"Uh-oh." He grinned. "Watch out, Howard. She's on three missions."

"Maybe she should keep an eye on the pot," Howard suggested. "If she can handle three missions with such panache, she can certainly handle a fourth."

The doorbell rang. "What's with the doorman?" Julia muttered, wondering whether the poor guy was trapped in a web of dachshund leashes. She put down the glass of sherry and exited into the hall.

She needn't have rushed. Adam was at the door, swinging it wide. Please, please, please, let it be Ron, she whispered.

"I'm overdressed," Norman Joffe said.

Julia had met Ron's father only once. She and Ron had traveled to New Jersey to visit his brother and his father had been there. Tall and thin, with a mix of silver and slate-gray hair as wavy as his son's, he'd said little, explaining that he'd had a root canal that day. He'd exerted himself to move his jaw only when the conversation settled on one of three topics: the Yankees, tax loopholes and the risk of bee stings causing anaphylactic shock. He was an accountant, so she could understand his interest in tax loopholes, and as a native New Yorker he'd probably been born afflicted by Yankee fever. But his obsession with bad reactions to bee stings had mystified her. According to Ron, he didn't suffer from allergies.

"Norman!" Julia smiled and hurried down the hall to nudge Adam out of the way. Ron's father stood in the doorway, holding a massive bouquet of flowers wrapped in green tissue paper. He wore a sport coat and khakis, and his complexion was the sort of tan she expected to see in mid-August, not the last week of May. She wondered if he used a sunlamp. She'd advise Ron to discuss skin cancer with him. "Come on in," she welcomed him. "This bum is my brother. He doesn't know how to dress properly."

"They didn't teach that at college," Adam confessed with a sheepish smile.

"Why don't you go call Tash or something," Julia suggested. Turning back to Norman, she saw that he still hadn't entered the apartment. She cupped her hand around his elbow and pulled him inside. "These flowers are lovely."

"They're for your mother," Norman said.

"How sweet. Come, you can give them to her yourself." Her hand still at his elbow, she swiveled him away from Adam and into the living room.

"Oh, my!" Sondra gasped when she saw the flowers. "What's this?"

"For you," Norman said, extending the bouquet. His gaze collided with Esther's and his courtly smile vanished.

"You never brought me flowers," Esther complained.

"You told me you didn't like flowers."

"I had to save face." She addressed Sondra as if they were old friends. "A husband never brings his wife flowers, she has to save face, right?"

Julia's mother was too busy inhaling the delicate perfume of the blossoms to respond. "Would you like me to put them in a vase?" Julia asked her.

"Yes, and then bring them in here so we can all enjoy them."

Julia glimpsed Esther's scowl. She would definitely not enjoy them.

She carried the flowers into the kitchen. "Wow," Howard said. He'd abandoned his vigil over the rice pot to complete arranging the platter of canapes.

"Did Joffe bring you those?" Lyndon asked, a drink in each hand. "He's a good man. Marry him."

"He's a late man," Julia muttered as she rummaged in her mother's cabinets for a vase large enough to hold the bouquet. "His father brought these."

"Maybe you should marry him, instead."

The doorbell rang. Julia refrained from dropping the flowers and racing down the hall to answer the door. Ron could damn well wait-or else he could deal with Adam.

Adam's voice drifted down the hall, and then he appeared in the doorway. "Grandma Ida's here," he announced.

"I knew she wouldn't like Ferris Beuller." Lyndon issued a grim sigh.

Julia clutched the flowers so tightly she snapped the stem of a lily. "What am I going to do?" she whispered to Lyndon.

"Set another place at the table. There's enough food."

"I don't want her here!"

"She's your grandmother," Lyndon reminded her.

"I'm bringing the hors d'oeuvres into the living room," Howard announced, lifting the magnificently arranged platter and leaving Julia and Lyndon alone to strategize.

"If the dinner is cooked and just needs to be served, I can take care of it," she whispered. "Howard can help me. You can take Grandma Ida back upstairs to her apartment, and-"

"Julia." Lyndon clamped his warm brown hands onto her shoulders and stared directly into her eyes. "Be gracious. You're the first of her grandchildren to get married."

"I've already got my mother driving me nuts. And Joffe's parents."