The man had patted her shoulder like a she was a puppy and asked, "What is a young little thing like you doing in the air force?" CC had treated the question rhetorically, thanked him and driven away, face hot with embarrassment.

Understandably, her already harried nerves jumped at the insistent sound of her ringing phone.

"Hang on! I'm coming!" she yelled and rushed into the kitchen, plopping the bags unceremoniously onto the spotless counter and lunging for the phone.

"Hello," she panted into the dead sound of a dial tone that was broken only by the rhythmic bleat of her answering machine. "Well, at least they left a message." CC sighed and carried the phone with her back to the kitchen, punching in her message retrieval code. With one hand she held the phone to her ear, and with the other, she extracted twin bottles of champagne from one of the bags.

"You have two new messages," the mechanical voice proclaimed. "First new message, sent at five-thirty p.m."

CC listened attentively as she picked at the metallic casing that covered the wire-imprisoned champagne cork.

"Hello, Christine, it's your parents!” Her mom's recorded voice, sounding a little unnatural and tinny, chirped through the phone.

"Hi there, Christine!” More distant, but similarly cheerful, Dad's voice echoed from an extension.

CC smiled indulgently. Of course it was her parents—they were the only two people on this earth who still insisted on calling her by her given name.

"Just wanted to say we didn't actually forget your big day."