I was out in the kitchen, loading lukewarm potato skins onto a platter, when the bride and groom arrived, caught only the tail end of the cheering as I made my way out into the reception hall. The first glimpse I got of Zach was when I offered my tray to a group of men, and he turned to face me, pale pink rose in his tuxedo lapel, shiny gold ring on his finger. I expected him to play dumb, pretend he’d never seen me before. When his face went slack at the sight of me, I wasn’t surprised. But I stumbled backward when he reached a hand out toward me, red patches blooming high on his cheekbones when his gaze fell to my stomach. Potato skins slid off my tray, smearing under my heels as I backed away.

I tried to avoid him after that. Kept to the edge of the room, lurking in the shadowiest corners like a ghost. I watched his head swivel, searching, even as he listened to toasts in his honor, took his first spin on the dance floor with his new wife. He wasn’t pretending he hadn’t seen me, wasn’t trying to avoid me. Even as I wished desperately that he would.

Eventually, he caught up with me. It was after the cake cutting, the party in full drunken swing, and I had taken a breather outside. I leaned back against the ragged brick wall and crossed my arms for warmth. It was cold, my breath steaming in the dark air, but the back of my neck and under my arms were dank with sweat. The baby kicked hard against my ribs, and I rubbed against her foot, willing her to settle down.

I knew it was him the second the door swung open, the sound of laughter and ’90s pop music drifting out behind him. “Hey,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

I closed my eyes, told myself to get this moment over with. “You didn’t need to,” I said, without turning my head or opening my eyes. “I’m fine.”

I felt him settle in beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he leaned against the wall. He smelled like flowers from his new wife’s bouquet. “How far along are you?” he asked quietly.

I did look at him then. “Are you asking if it’s yours?”

He shook his head. “I know it is, from the expression on your face. So six months, right? Give or take a few weeks.”

I nodded, brought my hands up to my mouth, and blew on my half-numb fingers. Zach started to shrug out of his tuxedo jacket, but I stopped him, put a hand on his arm. “No, don’t. If someone comes out, it won’t look right.”

Zach laughed at that, but it was a sharp, hard sound. “That’s the least of my worries right now.”

“I’m not asking you for anything,” I told him. “I don’t expect anything. You should go back in.”

Zach turned sideways, braced his shoulder against the wall. I didn’t like him staring right at me, his body close to mine. “What are you going to do?” He reached out, his splayed fingers hovering above the curve of my belly. I shifted away and he dropped his arm.