Authors' Note: Happy Cinco de Mayo to everyone who celebrates from us here in the Botosphere!

I settled into the diner's booth seat, feeling in my bones how tired I was. Sam noticed my yawn and half-smiled. "That was an impressive one, Mikaela."

I shook my head and sat up a little straighter. "Sorry. Just had an unsettled night and then the long drive here to Mission City."

"You're not losing sleep over the wedding already, are you?"

"No. It wasn't wedding-related at all, actually…"

Our server came and I asked for an iced coffee along with my usual ice water, hoping it'd wake me up a little more. We both needed time to figure out our lunch orders, though.

"So," Sam said, playing the part of the serious and attentive boyfriend, um, fiance once we were alone again. "Bad dream?"

I fidgeted with the ring on my finger. "It wasn't bad exactly, just…frustrating. There was this door I was trying to get through because there was something important I needed to do on the other side, but I just couldn't get it open. I spent the whole night using every trick I thought I'd forgotten about breaking and entering to get the slagging thing open and it never budged."

He was smirking now. "You sure it wasn't like a door to a wedding chapel?"

This wasn't the first time I'd had a dream about needing to get through that door, but this was the first time I had the impression the door was on Cybertron. Come to think of it, though, there wasn't any particular detail that would indicate that. Maybe it was just a subconscious wedding-frustration thing. "Maybe," I allowed, picking up my menu.

"As long as it's not a red door you want painted black," he quipped.

"Not as far as I can tell," I smirked, catching the Rolling Stones reference. Changing the subject, I asked, "Do you mind if I abduct your mom?"

Sam arched an eyebrow over his diner menu. "Depends. What are the terms of the ransom? I will want her back eventually."

"RaFly indicated you're busy with 'bottery Saturday morning and if that's true, I bet your mom and I could have some quality time and productive sessions," I pointed out. "Pre-in-law bonding time that also has the bonus of using The Binder in healthy ways. I'm not even going to keep her out late."

Sam perked up at the idea of cracking The Binder without him having to render an opinion on its contents. I had even made it sound like something his mom and I would both enjoy.

"Then I don't mind at all," he said, "but you have my number in case of emergencies."

We had code words for "hostile takeover," but I didn't think I'd need to call for an extraction when having girl talk with Judy Witwicky. "You're very sweet to offer."

I didn't pull out my phone then and there; I put Judy on the back burner so I could enjoy a veggieburger, fries, and my half of dessert. But as soon as RaFly and I had dropped Sam off at work again, I dialed Judy's number. Predictably, she picked up pretty quickly after the first ring.

"Hi, Mikaela," she greeted cheerfully.

"Judy, hi," I matched her tone. "What are you up to?"

"Hammering out final details for catering our 'family bonding time' on Sunday," she said. "I'm thinking we won't need anything more than the punch and a lemon-water dispenser." After a second, she added, "Sound good to you?" as though suddenly remembering I was the bride.

"It sounds great," I said. "I know this engagement party is for Sam's side, so I really am fine following your lead on this one. Just let me know if you need my opinion on desserts or something."

She didn't usually ask us to contribute, but it couldn't hurt to keep that door open. "Do you have a second to talk?"

Her next answer sounded like she'd put me on speaker phone, given the slight echo and her obvious enunciation of every syllable. "What can I do you for?" she called in the direction of her phone.

"I need some family bonding time this weekend," I echoed her. "Do you have any free time on Saturday?"

She went very quiet for a moment, but I couldn't tell if she was checking her schedule or contemplating that I had called our outing family bonding without including someone she was already related to. "Well, Sam's schedule is blacked out for a while and Ron's gotta take the RV in for some new tires."

"And what's your schedule?"

This time, she got the emphasis and that understanding made her sound even more perky. "I'm all yours, Mikaela. Just give me a time and a place."

"Sam and I found a classy little place called Cafe Madaleine. Would you like to take brunch there?"

Ambience-wise, the cafe was about halfway between Starbucks and a fancy hotel restaurant, so she'd feel treated, but not underdressed, and that was bound to be good for the both of us.

"I'd love to get some coffee and chat," I clarified. "Would you be up for that?"

"Would I?" Judy asked. "Ohh, I just pulled up their menu – I'll have to save some room for their pear tart and, maybe, a blueberry scone."

She left a lot unsaid about the non-digestible component of my plan, so when she didn't go any further with the commentary, I decided to take it on myself. "Since our guys will be busy, I'd really appreciate it if you and I could plan some things just between us girls."

I didn't specifically invoke The Binder, but I knew she would get the hint. We got off the phone a few minutes later with plans penciled in and I had a moment to consider the wisdom of putting Judy within reach of caffeine during a serious conversation. But Judy was a bit like Sam's old roommate Fassbinder. As long as there wasn't too much caffeine involved, energy meant hyperfocus and that power could be used for good.

…

Judy brought the Binder, picking up on my not-so-subtle hint. I had arrived a few minutes early and I'd ordered pear tarts for both of us, following up on her much-more-obvious hint. The Binder was visible, but served as a pedestal of sorts for her purse. It wasn't a conversation piece…yet, but I had the option to invite it into our discussion.

It had been years since I was nervous around Judy, but this was one of a handful of times where it'd been just the two of us, and it was our first solo conversation since Sam (correctly) popped the question. The sundress she was wearing was also the most shoulder I'd seen her display in public, and it made me smile behind my sip of chai. She was clearly trying to meet me where I was at.

"So," Judy said, pulling a blank page from a pocket of the Binder. "For this strategy session, I want to make sure we stay on track. A little too much espresso doesn't affect me as much as it does Sam," she said with a twinkle in her eye, "but we don't want to take any chances."

"What is the story behind that?" I asked.

She shook her head, but she couldn't hide a smile that bordered on a "you-HAD-to-be-there" smirk. "Nope, you don't hear that one until we've got some kind of legally-binding document that says you won't run away into the night after hearing it."

"Legally-binding, like a marriage certificate?"

"Exactly," she said with a wink. "Now…how can I help?"

I idly stirred my chai while putting together the best formal call for help that my brain could produce. "The other day you said you were stepping back. That was your choice, and if you really want to stick to your guns on it, I'm okay with that. But my choice is to have you involved. All of this is overwhelming until we take it one step at a time and your binder has broken it down into steps. We could really use your input and the Binder. And Sam agrees with that, too."

She swallowed like maybe she was getting a little choked up. Reaching across the table, she put her hand over mine. "Thank you, Mikaela. That means a lot. I don't know if you've noticed, but sometimes I can be a bit…pushy? So I'm happy to help, but I'll try to remember it's your day, and feel free to remind me if I ever forget."

I nodded, a little choked up myself. "Deal. So…what's on the agenda?"

Pulling her hand away, she said, "Now, I know we're just three weeks into your engagement, but your wedding date is less than seven months away. So we might want to prioritize what's most important to you, just in case some traditions need to fall by the wayside."

I picked at the tart with my fork, feeling playful enough to tease her just a bit. "That's easy. Me, Sam, someone legally allowed to marry us, and In-n-Out afterward. Oh, and you and Ron, of course. Optimus and Bumblebee will be there, too, I'm sure. One's the best man, one's the get-away car. And I can't imagine doing this without them there."

"In-n-Out isn't festive," Judy protested immediately. I was glad that she didn't object to anything else.

"Spring for a chocolate shake and it is. Double-double if we want to get really fancy."

"Okay…" she said, adorably trying to not start getting pushy, "but do they cater?"

"That depends on the venue, the security level, and how desperate we are for some greasy fries."

Looking surprised that I'd thought that answer through at all–at least in one dream wedding scenario–she made a quick note like a therapist recording feedback during a diagnostic session.

Relenting a little, I explained, "It's non-negotiable that Bee is the DJ. but the things that are most important to us come pretty easy. We want the people we love and the people who have loved us there. That isn't to say," I continued, tapping the Binder affectionately, "that we want to leave it at that. We want this to be about celebrating our love and that'll happen no matter how many people we have on the guest list. Everything in this binder helps us express that love better."

Eyes dancing, Judy nodded. "Because it was crafted with love. So…by seven months out, we need you to decide on a date – we can check that off now – the venue, and the wedding party."

"That's a conversation Sam will need to be involved in," I said. "My cousin Rachel and I pinky-swore to be Maids of Honor for each other in 9th grade, but I'll need to think about the rest of my bridesmaids."

"Okay," Judy said, nodding, "How about we talk about some of the people providing services? We know Bumblebee is the DJ, so do you have any other services or roles already picked out?"

We ran into quite a few roadblocks still, though. I had no idea who we might want to actually officiate. I mean, Optimus was a Prime, but I doubted that the Bear Republic would recognize his authority. Then again, he'd learned English from Google. He could probably arrange a ministry license from the Universal Life Church or whatever was available these days.

As for hair and nails, Gran had a stylist she liked, and every now and then when I was growing up, she'd spring for me to have a "spa day," but I wasn't sure what Judy would think of a beauty shop that also provided tattoos.

I didn't even know where to start with a florist. Judy was the one who helped me with Sam's boutonniere for high school proms, and that place had gone out of business three years ago.

Next on the list was caterer. "Who are you using to cater the announcement dinner?" I asked. "I'm not sure what kind of security clearance our person will need, but could they at least give us some referrals?"

"Well, that depends on the venue," Judy pointed out. "If it's more of a civilian setting and in the county, then we could probably use them or at least ask for good recommendations. I think we really need you and Sam to decide on a venue before we'll get much further on this part of the list. Let's jump ahead and talk about something a little more… portable. Like dresses."

"Deal," I said, gesturing toward the Binder. If she'd used it to brainstorm prom, I was sure she had an entire section about my wedding dress. (And seriously, how was I lucky enough to be marrying into a mother-in-law who was pulling for me and Sam like this?)

It was the perfect time for me to reach for the Binder, but Judy unexpectedly pulled it towards her. "Hold on. There's one stipulation."

"I promise not to wear a Princess Diana replica," I said, seriously.

"I didn't peg you for the puffy sleeve type." she said, matching my tone "But there's something else that I want us on the same page for."

I didn't answer, but folded my hands obediently several inches from the nearest office supply and pulled a straight face since she was being almost legal about whatever this condition was.

"Before you look at a single one of these and before we set foot in any bridal salon, I want you to cut this out of your mental budget."

"It's not going to be a major part of–"

"Cut it out completely," Judy clarified, sounding even more firm on the subject. "The dress is my treat and the price is my secret."

My mind went blank, but my eyes did not stay dry. It was a welcome shock that overrode every logical or emotional response and struck me in the part of my mind that was used to cutting corners and making ends meet.

"Judy," I finally managed. I didn't exactly dissolve into tears, but I could tell I wasn't composed anymore. "That's the kindest thing–"

When I couldn't find any other words, she reached over and covered my hands with hers. "I know that…in some cultures, they have godparents who take care of some things for the wedding. The cake, the flowers. And there's sometimes someone who shows their love by being the godmother for the dress. I'm not your mom," she added and started getting a little misty-eyed herself, "but I'd really like it if you would let me be your fairy godmother. Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo." This last was said with a wave of her hands.

All I could do for a moment was nod, struggling for composure so I didn't sound like a blubbering idiot. I dabbed at my eyes with a napkin and took a sip of water, still not able to move beyond the sheer generosity of Judy's offer. Like Sam on Hoover Dam, she was opening an entire new future for me, one where I wasn't on my own, where I had a family, one I could actually rely on. One more sip, and I was finally composed enough to quietly say, "Thank you."

…

Sam was snoring in the RV's passenger seat, since The Binder had taken over the dinette and table. We still had another hour to Tranquility, and I'd already narrowed down the cake to my top four choices. (When Sam woke up, I'd have him pick our cake from that selection.) The bridal party – or at least, who we wanted to invite – was decided on before Sam conked out. Basically, we were trying to figure out everything we could that didn't need a hard-and-fast venue since we were still stuck on that little detail.

Judy flipped to the next page in the Reception section. "Now we don't need to do any of these, but I thought it might be fun to include some cultural flare."

I stared at the page full of Mexican traditions and felt my face go cold with shock. "I'm not Mexican," I said over her continued enthusing.

Judy paused and tilted her head. "What?"

Trying to cover the surprise and embarrassment and growing swell of anger, I turned to something more neutral and repeated, "I don't have any Mexican heritage."

"Oh." She stared for a moment, either doing some quick thinking or rethinking something she'd assumed for a while. She looked almost crestfallen as she lowered her eyes to the page of table linen swatches that were perfectly bland by comparison.

I hadn't meant to turn this into a moment of awful disappointment and as stunned as I was, I hated the recent change in atmosphere, so like I had a thousand times in high school, I pasted on a fake smile and said, "But some of these do look fun." I reached out and turned the page back. "Obviously, we're not getting married in a wedding Mass and I wouldn't be caught dead doing a money dance, but I could totally go for that wedding parade. Gran would get a kick out of it. And of course we'll want a version of the blessing."

But my mind was racing. She knew. She knew! How did she know? Did she hire someone to research my background? Did Sam tell her? If he told her, did he also tell Optimus? And who would he tell? If Sam felt like it was his secret to tell, who exactly was in on that?

After Judy had gone on a bit about the wedding parade, I asked, "How do you know all this stuff?"

Knowing Sam's tells for when he was lying, I could clearly see she wasn't going to be straight with me even before she opened her mouth. "I raised my kid in SoCal. No matter the neighborhood makeup you've got, you acquire knowledge of some Latino culture just by paying any attention to the people you know."

I didn't need to read her poker face to know a mention of mariachi was no coincidence, but now wasn't the time to disagree with her. "Yeah, I guess so," I agreed, and it was a plausible lie, at least.

…

For my side of the family, announcing our engagement meant a sundress and hot dogs. I knew Sam's family was a bit more high-brow, but I was honestly surprised by the lengths Judy went to.

If the backyard Ron had been so proud of had still existed, the announcement dinner might have been at home. Since "home" was an RV, though, the Witwicky side of the family was gathering at St. Ferdinand's Parish Center.

"I thought your involvement with the Church went only as far as movie nights," I said as Ron pulled the RV into the parking lot.

"Oh, we're not Catholic," Judy answered. "But Father Butaker… Well, after the thing with Sam and the espresso, he became a good friend of the family. He agreed to help us rent the Parish Center."

I snorted in amusement that she'd bring up the espresso again; it was starting to sound like a family tall tale that they were trying to embellish as much as possible before I guessed that they were trolling me. "Now I know you're pulling my leg."

…

For a plain old Parish Center, Judy's caterers had fancied the place up nicely. The red tablecloths went well with my short-sleeved red wrap dress, while Sam managed to not look like part of the staff by wearing a gray button-down. Judy had even talked Ron into khakis and a green dress shirt that matched her and let us visually be the center of attention. I felt surprisingly at home in a place that didn't fit the description.

And that was before I spotted Miles and Alison over by an enormous floral arrangement. There was our odd falling out during high school, but it hadn't been because Sam or I had anything against them. It was just one of those 'the Autobots got in the way' kind of things. When they linked arms, I was happy to see that they were still obviously together.

I nudged Sam with my elbow and then nodded Alison's way. His eyebrows rose in surprise when he saw her and then he worriedly met my gaze. "Are you okay with them here?"

"Of course," I answered. "Let's go say 'hi.'"

When he nodded in agreement, I hurried over, holding Sam's hand.

"Hey Alison," I greeted her.

Both she and Miles lit up with the slightly-exaggerated grins of people not sure of their standing when they saw us. Then Alison ducked her head a little and the overly-friendly grin turned into a more genuine smile. "Hey, Mikaela. Been a while, but when we heard from Miles' mom that you two were tying the knot, we couldn't stay away any longer."

Impulsively, I let go of Sam's hand and used both arms to catch her in a hug. "I'm glad you came."

She tightly returned the hug and said, "So am I."

When I stepped back, I saw that Sam and Miles were awkwardly trying to make small talk, both of them a mirror image of the other with hands in their pockets and shoulders hunched.

"Remember the year they showed The Omen in the parking lot here?" Miles said, apparently for want of something more wedding-ish to say.

"I remember The Exorcist a lot more vividly," Sam said. "A chubby-cheeked anti-Christ can't beat projectile-vomiting pea soup."

I chuckled, remembering how that movie inspired the April Fools' Day prank that Sam, Bumblebee, and I had pulled on his mom. Judy really had been a good sport.

"Good times," someone said behind me, and I turned to see a priest being escorted in our direction by Judy and Ron. "I'm Father Butaker," he said, shaking my hand. Apparently not remembering me. "Movie nights are always a favorite."

"I'll say," Sam muttered.

Miles stuck out his hand and cheerfully growled, "I'm the Devil. Now kindly undo these straps."

"Good to see you, too, Miles," our friendly neighborhood Catholic said amiably. "I hope you don't use that hello on everyone you meet."

"Just old friends."

Before anyone could start yelling something compelling about the power of Christ, I reclaimed the conversation. "Thanks for having us tonight," I said.

"Well I could hardly turn down Espresso Sam," he answered with a grin. "And I understand you kids are having trouble finding a venue for your nuptials?"

"Oh, um, yeah." I didn't want to explain that the ceilings here would be too short for the best man, even in the chapel. I also didn't want anyone accidentally taking a chunk out of the altar with some kind of cannon. "It's going to be a non-religious celebration of our love, kind of thing."

His expression fell just a smidge, but he quickly recovered. "Well, keep our humble parish in mind as a backup plan. And you're welcome to say hello any time you're in town, special event or not."

"Thanks, will do," Sam quickly said. "Hey, look, Mom's book club friends are here…" And he dragged me away from Father Butaker before I could circle back to his 'Espresso Sam' comment. Glancing back, I waved for Alison to come with us.

By the time Sam had introduced me around to his mom's friends, Alison and Miles both had glasses of punch in hand for themselves and for us.

"You're the star of the show," Alison said as she gave me my punch. "Better keep you hydrated."

"Let's get a plate and catch up," I suggested. "At least for a few minutes, people can come to me instead of Sam dragging me all over the room."

Over finger sandwiches (and a couple bags of Doritos from the selection of junk food Ron smuggled in), Miles talked about his own graduation from college a couple of months ago. He'd opted to stay local and had attended UCLA but was still in the market for a job and was living at home. Alison went to RISD and had graduated in graphic arts. She was also back at home while launching her career and was doing entry-level work for a graphic novel publisher.

"What's entry-level look like in graphic novels?" I wondered.

"Oh, just detail work for established artists," Alison said, like it was no big deal.

"She's being too modest," Miles bragged. "She's been doing a lot of work for IDW. So I get to see the comics as they're being made!"

"Sweet," Sam said with genuine enthusiasm. Considering he didn't own a single comic book or graphic novel, I assumed that enthusiasm was for his friend having the geeky success she always dreamed of.

"What about you, Sam?" Miles asked. "What are you doing with yourself these days?"

"I graduated this last spring, too, in International Relations. I've got a lobbying job lined up, but it won't start until early next year," he answered.

"Well, what about in the meantime, then?" Alison asked.

"He's working retail, just to fill the time," I smoothly said. "Keeps him out of trouble…mostly," I added with a wink for dramatic effect.

It worked and Alison asked, "And what about you, Mikaela? What have you been up to, besides planning a wedding, of course?"

"Oh, I'm still running that repair shop with my dad…"

…

Miles and Sam went to refill our punch glasses, and of course that's when Leo would decide to make his appearance.

I didn't even see him enter, but the moment a slightly-hairy arm got slung over my shoulders, I suspected it would be someone with a limited respect for boundaries. This feeling was only strengthened when the owner of the arm started conversing in Spanglish.

"Oye, mamacita," he drawled. "I was promised hot single chicas. Feel like making the introductions?"

"Hello to you, too." I had shrugged off his arm as soon as he called me a mamacita, but I turned to place myself between him and the nearest chica. "Did anyone get you food or are you just spiking the punch with Red Bull?"

He pulled back his jacket to show off a hip flask, which told me all I needed to know about his caffeine pre-gaming. "Food can wait. Hotties can't."

The man had a degree and a steady job and still knew how to cause offense in two sentences or less. It didn't help that Alison, who wouldn't like to be identified as anyone's promised hottie, was somewhere behind me.

"I thought you had gotten yourself a girlfriend," I challenged.

"Nothing serious yet." Leo took a swig of Red Bull and his eyes lit up with the glint that meant he'd finally spotted a person of interest. "Hell-o, what have we here? Leo Ponce de Leon Spitz, CEO of…"

"No," I interrupted.

"I'm Alison and I'm not available," she said, reaching under my arm to give him a very formal handshake. "How do you know each other?"

"I was Sam's college roommate, love guru, and spiritual guide," he said smoothly, stepping around me.

"He was Sam's meat shield," I retorted, adding, "It's complicated."

"It's true," Leo said, feigning modesty while still holding on to Alison's hand. "I am a bit of a hero."

This time, I stepped between them with enough force to break the handshake. "And she said no."

It was at this moment that Sam arrived with perfect timing and drinks refills. "This is why we can't take you anywhere," he informed Leo. "Alison, I wasn't in on whatever just happened, but let me apologize for anything and everything that gets through his complete lack of filter and butchered Spanish."

"And flawless Klingon," Leo protested. "We were just getting to know each other."

"Great," Miles said. "She's Alison, she's awesome, and I think I heard her say she's not interested. If you have to hit on someone, I'm wide open."

That was too far, even for Leo. He stared morosely at the cup of punch and backed away, hands in the air. "All right, chamacos, I heard there's food. Get me something to put in my mouth other than my foot."

I couldn't tell if he was sincerely repentant or just anticipating that he could be bribed into good behavior, but as long as he stepped back and shut up, it was all good.

"Judy has been talking about chicken salad like it's the food of the gods," I suggested "Let's go see if she's right."

…

I was in the middle of meeting Sam's Aunt Shelly (on his dad's side) and her husband Lance when someone handed Judy a microphone. From the front of the room, she called out, "Sammy? Sam? Mikaela?"

He waved, and she gestured that we should join her. "So that's where you've been hiding! Come on up here, you two."

Hand-in-hand, Sam and I walked up, and he nervously took the microphone. I noticed goblets of something golden and bubbly being distributed to all the guests. "Thanks, everyone for coming," he said.

My gaze fell on Alison and Miles and I genuinely felt his words.

"I bet a lot of you have guessed what the occasion is…" He flashed me a grin that made me feel like we were completely alone in the room. "After all, Mikaela's been the most important person in my life from the day we met. But we wanted you to be among the first to know that we've set a date for making it official and you're the first to know. Mikaela and I will be getting married this coming Valentine's Day."

A cheer went up and he leaned over to steal a kiss, as though he was flying high just from being able to say that.

Clearing his throat, he added, "We're still hammering out a lot of details, of course, but we just wanted to say thanks and that, even if not everyone here can attend the wedding, it means a lot that you all gathered here tonight to celebrate our love."

And then he shoved the microphone into my hand. A little owlishly, I looked around the room. "Um…hi. Most of you know us through Sam's family, and I recognize a lot of you already. Those who I don't…Hopefully I'll get to know you, too. Like Sam said, thank you for coming tonight and celebrating our love with us." I handed the microphone back to Judy like a hot potato.

She passed it along to someone dressed one step above a caterer's uniform. Then Judy reached for a couple of full glasses and handed one to each of us.

The woman with the microphone said, "In honor of our lovely couple, I'd like to present Sam and Mikeala with this pair of champagne flutes – part of a larger set – for their use tonight and during the wedding itself." She also offered to Sam a beribboned bottle. "We'd also like you to have one of our better bottles of bubbly for you to enjoy at your leisure."

"As long as it's not espresso," Father Butaker called out, to a chorus of laughs and groans.

Blushing red to the ears, Sam accepted the bottle, and Judy reclaimed the microphone. Lifting her own glass, she declared, "To Sam and Mikaela!" and then clinked her glass with first Sam and then me. The room was filled with shouts of "To Sam and Mikaela!" and I felt my own face flush a little.

This was really happening. We were actually getting married. And instead of feeling overwhelmed or terrified, I was flying high, too.

…

Eventually the crush of well-wishers thinned and I managed to step aside long enough to catch Father Butaker by the elbow and ask, "What's with Sam and espresso?"

He gave me a surprised look. "They never told you?"

"No." I deliberately left out the part about Judy wanting me legally bound to Sam before letting me in on the secret.

"Oh. Well, he got into some espresso during a book club meeting when his mom wasn't looking. He stripped naked, streaked the neighborhood like a real-life Calvin minus the Hobbes, and then started playing in the fountain in front of the church."

"He what?" I stammered. "Did anyone call the cops?"

Father Butaker chuckled, "On a first-grader? Naw, I found him, wrapped him up in a blanket, and, since he wouldn't tell me his name for fear of getting in trouble, I figured it would be a good trial-run of the parish emergency calling-tree. I sent out the word and Ron and Judy showed up not ten minutes later, embarrassed to death. It was the first time I met the Witwickys, since it was my first week in the parish, but we've had some enjoyable visits over the years over a good pot of decaf. Sam himself got around to developing a sense of shame about the whole incident a while later, but I layed off teasing him about it long before that. Unless it's a special occasion, of course."

Despite myself, I started sniggering.

"He's a good man," Father Butaker said, "as long as he knows his limits when it comes to coffee."

…

I was able to have fun during the evening – catching up with Alison was actually quite enjoyable, especially given where we left things so awkwardly back in high school. She filled me in on some of the gossip about other old classmates. We both politely skirted the scandal of Trent (my-ex) getting Lenore (my former best friend) pregnant during Spring Break (while Sam and I had been literally fighting for our lives in Mission City). I even made some more polite conversation with Miles, who senior year had been quite the ass to both Sam and I.

Eventually Judy pulled me and Sam away again, this time to show us the pile of presents that people had brought in after the toast. Aunt Shelly smiled up from where she was making a list of who had given us what on the back of an envelope. "Remember to come find me before you two head out for the night," she said. "I'm sure everyone will appreciate thank you notes!"

Thank you notes. I hadn't needed to write those since high school graduation, and I'd only gotten a dozen or so gifts. Thinking of writing hundreds of them made me a little glassy-eyed, and I once again mentally thanked Judy for putting The Binder together. She'd probably already thought of this and had three pages of suggestions.

Sam played chaperone to Leo more than he should have had to during his own wedding announcement party, but I figured I could drop some hints to Leo about how-not-to-act-like-a-frat-bro and creep out all the women at some other time.

I shook lots of hands and got introduced to many friends and family of the Witwicky's that I knew I would forget; Sam had a lot more family than I did. People drifted in and out of the Parish Center, so I didn't actually get an official count, but they easily had quadruple the number of people that had been at the Baines 4th of July celebration. I mentally added more wedding invitations to the groom's side of the list and decided whatever the venue, we would not be splitting between groom's side and bride's side on the seating.

But I still felt an undercurrent of tension after the conversation I'd had with Judy during the drive to Tranquility. As best I could, I kept a discreet eye on her the entire evening. I couldn't overhear everything she said, but the snippets of conversation I did catch never had anything to do with Mexico, Guatemala, Latinas, or Chicanas. There's no way she would have brought up Mexican traditions unless she knew there was something Hispanic in my background, but for now, at least, she was content to keep my secret.

A part of me was still uneasy that she knew about it at all.

Authors' Endnote: For more about the April Fools Day prank that was inspired by The Exorcist, please see our fic "Satan's Camaro."