“Did you just see the way Tom looked at Hannah?” Joe asked Vicki, now invested in her friend’s drama. He was amused at the way he rattled off the names, like soap opera characters.

“Yes,” Vicki whispered, pleased, her eyes still on Tom. “That was…exactly what I hoped for. That was exactly right. That was the look of someone who is overwhelmed with regret.”

“We’d better get on our feet before we miss Bee,” Joe said, beaming as he spotted the bride, his favorite niece, whom he hadn’t seen or called in years.

Joe and Vicki stood up with the rest of the spectators as Bee began her slow march toward matrimony. She nodded at the guests at the ends of the aisles as she walked. Her arm was locked with her father’s, who maintained a stoic facial expression. As usual, he revealed nothing.

Joe tried to imagine his own daughter making a similar march with him on her arm. It didn’t seem possible, at least not now. When she was younger, Cynthia had eagerly taken Joe’s phone calls and been ecstatic about her occasional visits to Las Vegas, which he packed with shows, buffets, and day trips to the desert. But in the past couple of years, she’d barely returned his messages. He could hear her whine when her mother asked him to take his phone calls.

Joe’s girlfriend, Sarah, had comforted him by explaining that Cynthia was simply going through puberty, but it went beyond that, Joe thought. After all, he was the one who had given Cynthia the birds-and-bees talk. He was the one she’d called when she had her first crush, and when she got her first period and was too embarrassed to tell her mother. Puberty should have only strengthened their bond, but the last time Cynthia had seen him in Vegas, she’d yelled at him, accusing him of being an apathetic parent. She’d criticized his lifestyle and mocked his relationship.

“She’s, like, half your age,” Cynthia had said about Sarah, shortly after they’d met.

“That’s actually not true. If she were half my age, she’d be twenty-one. She’s thirty-one.”

“She is closer to my age than your age,” Cynthia had countered.

Joe paused for a minute, calculating as fast as he could.

“Not true. Cynthia, I just don’t know what’s going on here. If you don’t like Sarah, fine. She won’t come over when you’re here. But I never see you, and I just want to spend some time with you.”

“I think,” Cynthia said, her eyes covered in glittery blue eye shadow, “that if you actually wanted to see me, you’d come to see Mom and me in Maine.”

Joe was shaken out of the memory by Vicki grabbing his arm. Bee was passing their row and gave them a quick wink. Joe’s eyes welled with tears. It had always been easier with Bee than with his own daughter. Bee had adored Joe when she was a child and only grew to like him more during her teenage years. It was Uncle Joe who fed her chocolate in private when she was still allergic, giving her an antihistamine as she ate a Snickers bar so that by the time she and Joe returned home from their long walk around the Ellicott City historic district, no one would know the difference. It was Uncle Joe who would take Bee to the mall in Columbia, where he’d buy her the nail polish and the cheap accessories that Donna had determined were a waste of money.