Ryan crossed his arms. “You telling me that your mommy likes my movie? This lady, right here? The one who told me that I was wrong for the part?”

Shannan gave Ryan a shoulder shove.

Ryan rolled with the punch, obviously loving this information way too much.

“Oh, yeah. Aunt Nancy and Aunt Stacy, they come over and watch it a lot. Aunt Nancy boos every time that girl, Gwen, comes on the TV, though.”

“Caden!” Shannan squealed.

“Mom, I’m hungry. When are the hot dogs going to be ready?” Caden asked.

“Mom, I want a hot dog, too. And can I go in the pool?” an adorable little blond girl asked, tugging on Shannan’s shorts.

The pool sounded like a good idea. July in Pittsburgh was hot.

“Soon, baby. Say hi to Ryan and Taryn.

They’re going to get married. This is my daughter, Lauren,” Shannan said proudly.

Just hearing that name made me flinch.

But this adorable child and the evil Lauren that I knew were polar opposites.

As I glanced around the yard and patio loaded with smiling people I was overwhelmed by how large Ryan’s immediate family was. His mother, Ellen, was one of five, all sisters, each of whom had several children and grandchildren. And on his father’s side, Bill Christensen was one of three.

Even Ryan’s eighty-two-year-old grandfath-er, Nels Christensen, was there, congratulating Ryan on his “beautiful choice.” I ended up at the long table on the patio after being introduced to more aunts, uncles, cousins, and kids. We’d already been asked several times as to when we were getting married and received numerous suggestions on everything from churches to caterers to what type of flowers are best. Thoughts alone from having to plan and decide on all of these details were enough to send me into a small panic.

I envisioned Ryan’s side of the church tilting over, filled to the rafters with his boister-ous family, while my side had maybe two dozen poor souls clinging to the pews and several rows of crickets. My mother only had one brother, Bobby, and a sister. I hadn’t heard from Aunt Joan since I had called her to tell her I knew about my birth parents.

Uncle Bobby was living in Texas—we never saw him. My dad had his brother, Al, and they had two kids. That was it.

Suddenly, I felt alone.

Ryan sat next to me in his wet swim trunks, his plate overflowing with food, a stacked hamburger I was sure was painted with ketchup and mayo balancing precariously on top of the pile. I drifted my fingers over the droplets of water that clung to his sun-kissed shoulder, loving the simplicity of our engagement party. His parents could have easily made this into an uncomfortable affair, hiring caterers and servers, but to my relief this was a good old-fashioned family barbecue. His dad and other random men worked the grill while all of the women clustered to make their famous macaroni salad or swap recipes for the forty different types of pies and cookies on display. Life was simply wonderful.

“Have you given any thought to when you’re going to get married?” his aunt Rita asked. She had a short silver hairdo and that healthy glow that comes from living a carefree flip-flops life in the Florida Keys.

She and her husband flew up here just for our party. Her cute little Yorkie pup named Katie was perched attentively on her lap.

Ryan was double-fisting his burger. I saw him glance in my direction.

“We’ve looked at some dates but we’ve been so busy that we haven’t really discussed it. Maybe next year. His schedule is quite hectic.” There. That ought to be good enough.

Aunt Rita pursed her lips, showing a hint of antipathy. “See, that’s the problem with being a celebrity. You all put your careers in front of your relationships. That’s why most of the marriages are a farce. She films, he films, and no one has time to tend to the marriage.”

I saw Ryan stiffen. I knew every fine nu-ance of his body language and could sense his shift into defense mode. He set his burger down and wiped his hands.

“Taryn’s not an actress,” Ryan corrected her, wiping his mouth.

Rita pegged him with that maternal familiarity that silently spoke volumes. “Yes, but you are.”

His forearms hit the edge of the table like a lawyer ready to argue. “So? What does that have to do with it?”

I glanced over at Shannan, who was doing her best to pretend that she wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, but the way she clutched the arms of her chair with clawed hands said that she wasn’t going anywhere. I watched the nonverbal communications going back and forth between her and her sister, Nancy, which said, Uh oh, Mom’s going to let him have it and rather him than me.

Aunt Rita pet little Katie with loving strokes. “My point, dear boy, is that you need to take the time to tend to what’s important here—” she patted over her heart—“or else all that glitz and glamour is going to turn you into a celebrity cliché.”

“A cliché?” Ryan said, offended.

“Yes. Honestly, the philandering behavior of actors is appalling. Don’t forget how you were raised.”

His fork hit his plate, rising to her challenge. “Have I ever?”

“No, but I want to remind you not to be like the rest of the celebrity riffraff out there and shame our family.”

“Well, you can all rest easy. I have no intentions now or ever to shame our family.” Aunt Rita seemed pleased by that. Still, she said, “You want to know why all of these high-profile relationships don’t last?”

“Oh, here we go,” Nancy groaned.

Shannan sat up. “Mom, maybe now is not the best time to be opinionated.”

“No really. Listen,” Rita continued, ignoring them. “You all think I don’t know what I’m talking about, but I read and watch the news all the time. What all you young kids fail to remember is that the excitement and freshness of that new relationship doesn’t last.

Everyone—every

relationship—hits

those rough patches when you argue and don’t get along so well and it’s so easy to be tempted to go for that freshness again to feel appreciated and desired. If not—bam, you’re miserable and getting your kicks elsewhere.

But if you keep that freshness alive in your relationship you’ll get through it. Mark my words.”

“Spoken like a true champion that divorced her first husband,” Ryan’s aunt Betty teased in passing.

Rita squirmed in her chair. “Jerry was an idiot. There are exceptions to the rules.”