There was no sound now besides the hum of the portable refrigerators and the bustling of the servers who traveled from table to table clearing dishes, so Dawn started in with her first line, her southern Reese Witherspoon voice ringing through the tent.

“Webster’s dictionary defines ‘sisterhood’ as ‘the state of being a sister.’ It also defines ‘sisterhood’ as ‘the solidarity of women based on shared conditions, experiences, or concerns.’” Dawn paused for a long, dramatic breath. “That’s all true,” she said, her face serious. “but I define sisterhood as Bee, my best friend.”

With that, Dawn reached over to the nearby podium and grabbed a stack of index cards that appeared to contain the rest of her speech. There had to be about fifty cards in the stack. Hannah could hear a few of the younger guests groan from a few tables away.

Hannah put her hand over her mouth to hide her grin. She suppressed a laugh as Dawn continued to talk, saying just a few words at a time between long, dramatic pauses. Hannah looked over to Dawn’s husband, who was taking advantage of his wife’s position at the front of the room by quickly buttering a fourth roll and shoving it his mouth, swallowing after only a few chews. He smiled devilishly at his unchaperoned behavior.

“Last year I got into a car accident,” Dawn continued, her voice echoing like chimes. “I was flat on my back. The doctors told me I’d need to wear a neck brace. Who was there for me, at my side?”

Dawn stopped before answering her own question and leaned forward.

“I don’t have a sister,” Dawn continued, ignoring her own question altogether, her voice low and somber for dramatic effect. “But I do have a sister now.”

Hannah felt her arms shaking. She was laughing, still silently but now conspicuously. Without thought, her eyes darted to Tom, who sat several tables to her right, to see if he was enjoying the moment as much as she was. She hadn’t known where he was sitting—she hadn’t allowed herself to scan the room for his face—but she found it now within seconds, almost as if she sensed his presence. Much to Hannah’s surprise, Tom was already staring back at her, his eyes wide as he found her smile. Hannah’s expression turned into a pained smirk. Tom, who was also laughing silently, bit his lip.

Their eyes remained locked as Dawn continued the seemingly endless story of her back surgery—about how Bee would bring her dinners during her long recovery. It was the most nonsensical, self-absorbed wedding toast Hannah had ever heard. It failed to acknowledge Bee’s new husband. It ignored the topic of marriage altogether. And as the speech, now in its sixth minute, continued, Dawn became more and more histrionic, the breaths between her sentences sounding like gasps.

Tom’s girlfriend, Jaime, the guidance counselor, stared forward, straight faced, while Tom and Hannah shared the moment, their eyes fixed on each other as they reacted in tandem to Dawn’s proclamations and hypothetical questions that went awkwardly unanswered. Hannah and Tom were still gazing at each other when Dawn reluctantly handed the microphone back to Bonnie Hunt, who seemed desperate to move things along after the maid of honor’s extended monologue. Hannah’s smile flatlined. It was over. Tom acknowledged her now-anxious expression with a sad grin and a long blink. His eyes shifted to his girlfriend, who was digging for something in her purse.