From the texts of Carrie Haverford

and Emma Haverford Hunter

Carrie: Just a heads up—I slept somewhere else last night, but I’ll head back to the house to check on Mercy later today. I won’t let Mom starve your baby while you’re on your honeymoon, I promise. Hope you guys landed safe and are having a great time soaking up sun on the beach!

Emma: You slept somewhere else last night, huh?

I hope it was with a handsome devil who took your mind off your problems.

Carrie: Nah, just a cheap hotel.

I couldn’t deal with Mom yesterday.

Needed a good night’s sleep first.

Emma: I hear you. She doesn’t handle public mortification very well, does she? Hers or anyone else’s.

Carrie: That’s the understatement of the century.

Emma: Ugh. I know. I’m sorry.

And I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk before I left.

Carrie: Don’t worry about it, Em. And don’t apologize.

I’m the one who ghosted on your wedding breakfast.

Emma: It’s okay. I spent half of it cleaning syrup off the baby, anyway. Which reminds me—don’t worry about going home to check on Mercy if you would rather steer clear of Mom. I gave her a VERY stern talking to before we left. She’s going to stick to the usual feeding schedule, she and Mercy will have a lovely long weekend together, and Dylan and I will be back to serve as Mom buffers on Tuesday. And as soon as we get back, you and I will powwow until we figure out what to do about Jordan and getting your career back on track.

Carrie: Thank you, but I’m a big girl, Em. I can handle my problems on my own.

Emma: Of course you can, but you don’t have to handle them alone because you have family to help you. Dylan and I are both here for you, and if Mercy were old enough to understand the situation, I’m sure she would pour syrup all over Jordan’s stupid head for you.

Carrie: I think Mercy considers a syrup bath a special treat, not a punishment, but I agree. And I would absolutely place my bets on her. For a thirteen-month-old, she’s fierce.

Emma: She really is. And funny and sweet. I’m missing her a ridiculous amount already, and it’s barely been a day. You don’t think she’s worried about us, do you? Wondering where Mommy and Daddy are and when we’re coming back?

I want to call her, but Dylan keeps…distracting me.

Carrie: I bet he does. I think men are contractually obligated to distract their wives on their honeymoons. And I think you should stop worrying about Mercy and enjoy the distraction. She’ll be fine. Mom was a lame Mom, but she’s a great grandmother. I’m sure she’s spoiling Mercy rotten and playing trains and ponies with her all day long and reading her a dozen stories before bed.

Emma: You’re right, I’m

U

Wa

xoij

Carrie: Emma? You okay?

Five minutes later…

Carrie: Earth to Emma?

Six minutes later…

Carrie: Guess we got cut off. I’m pretty sure I only got part of your last message, so if it was something important shoot me an email or something. If it wasn’t, then enjoy your honeymoon and we’ll talk when you get home.

Have a blast, okay? Mercy is fine and so am I.

Three minutes later…

Emma: Sorry! Didn’t mean to worry you. I got…distracted again.

It momentarily impaired my texting skills.

Carrie: Fourteen minutes, huh?

So, is that a quickie for you guys? Or are you at that stage in your relationship where fourteen minutes is considered a solid effort? Never mind, I don’t want to know. Now that you’re married, your sex life is gross and no longer up for discussion.

Emma: It is not gross! Not even a little bit.

Carrie: But it is. Marriage makes things gross. No offense…

Emma: None taken. I know your opinions on marriage, but I promise it doesn’t have to be like Mom and Dad, Carrie. I’m so happy to be married to Dylan. Nothing has ever felt more right, and I know it’s only going to get better with…

Hold on…

Plk

Carrie: Ew. You’re getting “distracted” again, aren’t you? Gag. Talk to you when you get back. Enjoy your honeymoon. And don’t worry about anything here at home.

It’s under control.