An invitation for every kind of gathering.

Black tie, a jazz trio until twelve, then the 1998 bottle we have been saving.

The mulled wine goes on at noon, and we keep refilling the pot until someone finds the bottom.

The table arrives in May. Until then we eat off the box marked KITCHEN.

Brunch is for the grown-ups. The cake is his, and he has opinions.

Her grandchildren are giving the toasts. Dessert is her own recipe.

Cocktail attire. One short toast at eight, then sparklers.

Gaspard built the little chair himself. Come see it before it's sat in.

Abuela is making the mole. Our first college graduate gets the head of the table.

Bar prep starts Monday. Tonight we toast the lawyer three hard years made.

Come between parties. There’s lasagna.

Party jollof and carols, words optional.

Ninety coupes, poured at twelve. Stand back.

Come early to help with the rolls. Stay late for pie.

Benedict grates every potato by hand. Bring your menorah; we light together.

Sworn in on June 2. Cake at four.

A seated dinner among the stacks, then a live auction.

Supper is set out between the rows of Honeycrisps.

No overhead lights tonight. Just tapers, figs and a very long dinner.

Gin fizzes on arrival. The gramophone plays until the band starts at nine.

Fifty years and the same record player. Mom has already edited Dad’s toast.

The band will play their first dance.

Rafi has promised a short speech.

A first trip around the sun, and a cake to match.