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all his goddamned employees. We’ll be lucky to have less than eight hundred guests.”
    “Sounds like a circus,” I murmur. I wonder if Carlton and the supermodel Mormon had eight hundred people at their wedding. But I don’t ask.
    I look down at the table, and I can’t help but think of my parents. See, that’s the problem with drunk drivers. They really take the fun out of weddings. I mean, I wonder if the guy who slammed into my parents’ car realized that if their only daughter ever were to marry, the friends and relatives on the “bride” side would be slim pickin’s. My brother will walk me down the aisle, of course. When the time comes.
    But jeez. Eight hundred people? I’m lucky if I could score twenty people. The church would topple over to one side, it would be so uneven. I can hear the ushers now, “Bride or groom? No wait! Let me guess—Groom, right?”
    I pour more wine in my glass.
    Bottoms up.
    Carlton looks up and says, “Easy with the vino, Maddy,” but I ignore him.
    We eat for a few minutes in silence and then Carlton says, “Look, Maddy. We’ve just graduated and gotten our MBAs.” He scrapes his fork along his plate. “It’s time to do Something Big , Maddy. Start our own company. Not dick around with caterers.”
    “You’re absolutely right,” I say. “And on that note—”
    I stand up, excitedly, and hustle around the kitchen. I take Carlton’s plate away from him, clear the entire card table.
    “Hey! I wasn’t finished with that,” he says, playfully, but I ignore him.
    I’ve come up with a novel idea for a company. In fact, I’ve been working on it nonstop for a month. Tonight is the night to surprise Carlton.
    In between my day job as a marketing consultant for a top-notch firm, I’ve been sweating over my computer, working up spreadsheets and models for a new company concept I’ve developed.
    I grab my portfolio book and spread a few news articles in front of him.
    “What’s this?” he asks. I look at him and can tell he’s getting excited. This kind of stuff is totally Carlton’s thing. He lives for it.
    “See all these news articles. They’re talking about how unhealthy the school lunch programs are around the country. All these kids are eating really crappy food every day, right? And that’s what might be causing this child obesity epidemic,” I say, and I’m talking quickly now.
    “And now—look at this—” I spread more articles out across the table.
    “Whole Foods is the fastest growing organic foods grocery store in the country. They’ve got a sixty-thousand-square-foot store here in Austin, and are opening stores all around the country. Organic food is becoming more affordable and popular as people are concerned with their diets. So my idea is to combine this organic food craze with busy parents who don’t have time to pack their kids a lunch. These parents want their kids to eat something healthier than the awful slop that the school is doling out.”
    I’m in full presentation mode, now. I raise my hands in the air, like I’ve just shouted Boo!
    “My business idea, Carlton, is Organics for Kids. An organic lunch program for parents on the go.”
    Carlton is silent a moment. I pass him all the charts and spreadsheets I’ve been working on. I go over all of the numbers. It takes us a long time. When I’m finished, an hour has ticked past.
    “See, it can work,” I say. “All we need is a major infusion of cash, and it can really work.”
    I stare down at the table, cluttered with all my data.
    Carlton sifts through the papers, silently. He reads everything. And then he sits quietly a moment, closes his eyes. Like a sleeping Buddha.
    Suddenly, he jumps up, knocking his chair over on the floor. He grabs me and swings me in a circle.
    “Christ, you’ve done it, Maddy! This is it! No one—I mean no one—is doing this. I’ve gotta call my dad, pronto! He can get us the cash we need. He knows tons of investors. Oh my God, Maddy. He’s