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One attempt to FaceTime using a ring light and filters that made her nose disappear

One visit to your apartment in the North End, where subject was recorded speaking into the intercom about how different you've been lately in your texts

One voice memo described by analyst as “a manic TED Talk about linen napkin folds and their historical significance”

Wedding Protectors' response team replied to all texts using AI:

“Hi Mom! Super busy tasting frosting samples. I’m in a cupcake coma. Love you!”

“ Hi Mom! Currently knee-deep in heart-shaped confetti and can’t find my phone. If this is urgent, send a carrier pigeon. Love you!”

“ Hi Mom! In the middle of a red velvet emergency. The fondant is sentient. Will call when it stops screaming. Love you!”

“ Hi Mom! Can’t come to the phone right now—in a frosting tasting duel with Hamish. Winner gets the wedding playlist. Love you!”

“ Hi Mom! In a deep, meditative state over lace doily options. The spirit of Martha Stewart is guiding me. Love you!”

“ Hi Mom! Can’t talk—Hamish is stuck in his knee brace and I’m googling how to dislodge a Scottish man with butter and tongs. Love you!”

“ Hi Mom! Currently being held hostage by a bridal bouquet that thinks it’s a centerpiece. Please respect our privacy during this difficult time. Love you!”

“ Hi Mom! Trapped in a tulle tornado. There was glitter. There was screaming. There was cake. Love you!”

“ Hi Mom! In a state of rhinestone overload. Send sunglasses and prayers. Love you!”

“ Hi Mom! Can’t come to the phone. In a mandatory seminar called ‘His and Hers Embroidered Towels: The Sequel.’ Love you!”

“ Hi Mom! Having a moment of silence for all the monogrammed soap we’ll never use. Love you!”

“ Hi Mom! Currently evaluating whether the swan-shaped butter is gluten-free. Will respond once we've consulted the ceremonial cheese sommelier. Love you!”

Amy grimaces. "That's... not how I talk. At all. Not even close. You have poorly programmed AI."

Wrong words. Archie's jaw tightens, nostrils flaring. "Ma'am, I'll let Katie know, and we'll have the tech team adjust. Our prompt engineers are the finest."

"Maybe for tech, but not so much on the social side. Tell them to tweak the program and get some liberal arts majors in there for wording."

"Will do. Anything else I can get for you? So far, no physical incursions. Our surveillance shows Fiona in Dublin, Ireland, this morning, while Marie is in Mendon, receiving three pallets of goods in her driveway."

Amy frowns at him. "Dublin? You mean Glasgow?

"No. Fiona's in Dublin," he confirms.

"Aye," I explain. "That's where her favorite priest lives. Mum has friends all over, and two of them are priests from her childhood."

"Really?" Amy says curiously. "You’ve never talked about her childhood."

I shrug. "Dinna ken much about it. Mum says what's past is past and no one needs to make a fuss over her."

"What's this about three pallets being delivered to my parents? Pallets of what?"

Archie looks at his phone. "Says they're from an auction. Mixed household goods from a warehouse." Amy just closes her eyes, as if in pain.

"Not my problem. Not my problem. I live on my own now. Not my problem," she murmurs as we keep reading:

Fiona McCormick:

One text message received (to Hamish): “Are you dead?”

Amy chokes on a laugh. “Wow. One text. That’s restraint.”

I nod solemnly. “That’s love. In McCormick terms, anyway.” But at the same time, ouch. Gut punch. Mum tries to cancel our wedding, then ghosts me, and now she’s making it sound like I'm the one not communicating?

Amy keeps reading.

Sibling Updates:

Darren: “Tell Mum she can’t forbid me to ever shag an American girl. What the hell have you and Amy done? She's banned me from an entire continent of pussy, mate!”

Cora: “Can I borrow five grand? It’s for a business plan.”

Pookie: “Mum’s pacing and muttering about stolen valor. Can I use your Netflix account? Need the password. Mine got hacked by a priest.”

Amy’s shoulders shake as she reads aloud, then hands the sheet to me. I snort.

"Stolen valor?" I mutter. "We're not even wearin' camouflage."

“Netflix Priest,” Amy adds. “There’s a band name.”

Bzzz

Another message lights up my screen. Brandi.

You better be doing those quad sets and glute bridges or I will find you, McCormick.

“Even her emojis look like death threats. Mebbe I should block her, too.” I swallow and say a silent prayer.

Amy giggles. “A flexing bicep and a knife emoji–that’s motivating.”

Archie clears his throat. “I’ll leave you two to your breakfast.” His eyes flick to the red velvet carnage on the table, then down to my knee brace. “And PT.”

“Tell the tech team they’re killin’ it,” I call as he leaves. “Five stars for the fake frosting coma replies.”

"NO!" Amy protests. "Tell them they need to humanize their AI! More emotion, less bizarre robot!"

He gives me a curt nod, already lifting his earpiece to answer someone else in crisis.

The door closes. Amy flops onto the bed beside me and points to the mirror overhead.

“We have to do PT in front of that?”

“If I thrust hard enough, it’s exercise,” I say, waggling my eyebrows as I move my hips to make sure there’s no misunderstanding here.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I’m lucky yer mine.”

And maybe, if we survive this stealth wedding, she always will be.

My phone buzzes again.

Amy screams into the pillow. “If that’s my mother, I swear to God?—”

“It’s Nessa.” I squint at the screen. “She’s askin’ if we need a rehearsal for our vows. Says the license is ready, so we can tie the knot late afternoon tomorrow if we want. Or wait another day.”

Amy stretches, one bare leg sliding across mine under the silky red sheets like she’s got no bones.

“I don’t know,” she says, voice muffled. “Do you have a preference?”

“Aye,” I say, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My knee cracks like a bag of microwave popcorn. “My preference is a walk and a plunge. Knee could use a wee soak in those hot springs. Let's go fer the wedding tomorrow.”

She lifts her head, hair a golden halo of bedhead chaos. “You want to get married tomorrow?”

“Unless yer holdin’ out for an eclipse or some astrological nonsense, aye. Let’s do it.”

Her eyes soften, and there it is. Her smile. That smile could end wars.

“Okay. Tomorrow.”

I pick up my phone and start typing. “I hope Nessa and Matt still fancy a drink at Bilbee’s tonight. Would be nice ta get out and mingle wi’ actual humans. If that’s an option in a town where moose commit acts of public indecency.”

Amy’s still smiling as she rolls over and grabs her own phone. “Texting now. I want to know what she’s going to wear.”

“I’ll wear whatever gets me a beer and doesna burst into flame under the neon.”

My knee cracks again as I stand. Time for a long, hot shower. A joint-restoring, stress-melting, pre-wedding-pub-trip kind of shower.

Amy’s already halfway to the bathroom, robe sliding off her shoulders. “Coming?”

“Pet,” I murmur, “I’d follow that arse anywhere.”

She looks back over her shoulder. “Even to a vibrating bed?”

"Especially to a vibrating bed.”

And together, we disappear into the steam.