“You gotta love those Fees,” proclaimed Jackie’s boyfriend. “What a fun family.”

Hannah nodded and stood up, making a quick decision to walk over to the bar for another drink. She felt a spreading dread that she could only assume had something to do with the pills combined with the allergy medication she’d taken earlier in the day and the three glasses of wine she’d consumed since she’d walked down the aisle. Her moment with Tom probably hadn’t helped. She and Tom still shared the same sense of humor. They still looked to each other to be in on the same joke. Yet she didn’t know him anymore. He was living with someone else. He had a new life that didn’t include her in any way.

“Another white, please,” Hannah ordered, handing her glass to a bartender, who reached for the generic white wine and began to pour. Hannah turned back to the guests again, looking at Tom’s table. This time she saw Tom’s girlfriend talking to one of Hannah’s acquaintances from college, a guy named Bill Cohen, whom Hannah hadn’t spoken to since she and Tom had parted ways. Hannah had told Tom during the breakup that she would take possession of their New York friends—including Vicki—and that he could have everyone in New England, which was basically just Bill Cohen, who was an accountant in Manchester, New Hampshire. Hannah was never very attached to Bill anyway.

Hannah turned back to the bartender and reclaimed her drink.

The wedding planner’s voice suddenly bellowed through the tent. “Ladies and gentlemen, if everyone could take their seats and turn their eyes to the dance floor for the traditional father-daughter dance. Presenting Mrs. Bee Fee and her father, Richard.”

Hannah winced and muttered to herself, “Beefy.” She wondered if Bee was also cringing at the sound of her new name.

“Hey.”

The voice, which came from behind Hannah, startled her, causing her to whip around and almost spill her drink on her dress. She clutched the wineglass with two hands, trying to stop the chardonnay blend from splashing over the top.

Hannah looked up to see Tom. Her lips felt dry. She didn’t respond and instead looked him over, examining his face for changes. Her eyes went up to his hairline, to see if he’d lost any more of it. Balding had been one of his persistent fears when they were together.

“Are you looking at my hairline?” he asked incredulously.

“No,” Hannah barked defensively, trying to bring her eyes back to his face. “I’m just—no.”

“I haven’t lost any more hair,” Tom said, now in the voice he used to save for their arguments about whose turn it was to clean the bathroom or who had left the oven on after dinner.

“I didn’t say you did. Jesus, Tom.”

They both paused, staring each other down, and then dropped their defenses.

“Look, I just wanted to say hello,” Tom said. “This is awkward, obviously, and I wanted to make it easier. And I wanted to talk to you and see how you are…” He trailed off.