That's Dan

Someone at our table said, “He’s here.”

I was tearing a piece of bread in half when she said it. It was warm, and better than the chicken. Butter soaked through the napkin when I set it down.

“Who,” a man asked.

“Maya’s ex,” she said, nodding toward the bar.

I turned. He stood near a tall cocktail table with a drink in his hand. The drink stayed low, near his hip. He didn't lift it. He kept scanning the room, looking away, scanning again. Like he needed to memorize something.

“He actually came,” the man said.

“He flew in this morning,” the woman replied. “My coworker knows him.”

“That’s brutal,” someone said.

“Only because he knows he messed up,” another voice said. “If you don’t think you messed up, you don’t come to this.”

The woman leaned closer. “I heard he talks about her all the time now.”

The man snorted. “That’s how it goes.”

Someone across the table said, “He lost a real treasure.”

No one argued.

The lights above us glowed warmly. The centerpieces were tall glass cylinders filled with floating candles and white flowers that looked almost fake up close. Everything was cream and gold. The room smelled like butter, wine, and something sweet from the flowers.

A loud laugh burst from the table behind us.

“I swear,” a man boomed, “when I got married, you could actually recognize the food.”

A woman hissed his name. “Please stop.”

“I’m just saying,” he replied. “This is rabbit food.”

A few people laughed politely. Most didn't. The planner walked past him with a tight smile and didn't slow down.

Someone at our table said, “Andrew’s ex is here too.”

We looked again.

She stood near a group that looked like coworkers. She smiled when someone spoke, but the smile did not last.

“She regrets it too. Too late my dear,” the man said.

“Of course she does,” the woman replied. “Look at them.”

I followed her gaze toward the front of the room.

Maya and Andrew sat at the head table with the wedding party. Maya’s makeup caught the light when she turned her head. Her skin looked smooth and bright. Andrew’s jacket fit perfectly, but he kept adjusting it anyway. They leaned toward people when they spoke. They looked calm. They looked like they belonged there.

“They always look like that,” someone said.

“Like what,” the man asked.

“Like they know where they’re going.”

The woman nodded. “That’s the worst part.”

The bread basket came back around. I took another piece. Someone poured more wine. The candles flickered when a server brushed past the table.

The woman across from me tilted her head. “So how do you know them.”

“Maya and Andrew,” she clarified.

“I’m close with them,” I said. “And Dan.”

A few eyebrows lifted.

“The Dan,” the man said.

I smiled. “He's the man!”

“So you’ve known them forever,” the woman said.

“No,” I said. “I met them after they were already together.”

The woman said, “I love the way they met.”

“So good,” the man agreed.

“They were both having a rough time and still went out to do something decent,” she said. “That part always gets me.”

“It feels like a sign,” someone said.

I nodded. “I know. I love it too.”

A few people nodded back. Someone murmured agreement. No one laughed.

The uncle behind us shouted again. “I need the real bar.”

His wife slapped his arm. “Sit down.”

He grinned and sat.

At the bar, Maya’s ex set his drink down. He didn't pick it back up.

The planner tapped her glass.

“If everyone can take their seats,” she said brightly, “we’re going to play a short video with messages from friends and family who couldn’t be here tonight.”

People clapped. Someone whistled once and stopped.

The lights dimmed a little more. The screen brightened.

Maya’s aunt appeared first. She cried right away and laughed at herself for crying. People smiled. Someone at our table dabbed their eyes with a napkin and pretended it was nothing.

Then an old roommate of Andrew’s told a story about burning pasta and setting off the smoke alarm. Andrew laughed and covered his mouth.

Then Dan came on.

People said his name out loud.

“Oh, Dan.”

“I love Dan.”

“Dan is the best.”

Dan sat at a desk with a bookshelf behind him. He looked tired. He smiled anyway.

“Maya and Andrew,” he said. “I hate that I can’t be there.”

He waved.

He told stories people laughed at. Maya refusing to admit she was lost. Andrew helping strangers and complaining later. Dan smiled like he could see them laughing back.

“I’ve watched you two show up for people for a long time,” he said.

Maya smiled at the screen. Andrew nodded.

Dan leaned forward.

“I still remember the moment I knew this was serious,” he said.

The room quieted. Forks paused. Glasses hovered.

“That party after finals,” Dan said. “At Mark’s place.”

A few people laughed. Finals were familiar. Parties were familiar.

“You both showed up late,” he continued. “You were already drunk.”

The laughter was smaller this time.

“You disappeared for a while,” Dan said.

The woman next to me stopped chewing.

“When you came back,” Dan said, still smiling, “we all knew.”

No one laughed.

“You were still dating other people then,” Dan said. “But it was obvious something had already started.”

The planner moved fast. The video paused.

Dan froze on the screen, smiling.

For a second, nobody at our table moved. It felt like we all forgot what we were holding.

Then a fork hit a plate near the front. The sound cut through the room.

Someone whispered, “Did he just say they were seeing other people.”

Another person said, “I thought they met at church.”

I looked toward the head table. It was far, but I could see enough.

Neither of them stood. No one leaned toward a microphone. No hand lifted. No laugh came to soften it.

I waited for Maya to shake her head. I waited for Andrew to turn toward her. I waited for something small that said no.

Nothing happened.

The room started buzzing in pieces. People leaned toward each other. Heads turned toward the bar.

I said, a little too quickly, “That’s Dan. He always tells stories like that.”

A few people laughed. One laugh was loud and then stopped. Most people didn't laugh at all.

Even as I said it, I felt wrong. Dan didn't usually get things wrong.

At the bar, Maya’s ex stood very still, staring at the screen. Andrew’s ex angled herself toward the exit but didn't move.

At the front table, Maya sat with her hands folded in her lap. Andrew stared ahead. His smile stayed on his face.

The video stayed paused.

No one pressed play.