The women at her own table had returned to the conversations with their partners, leaving her with nothing to do but take slow sips from her near-empty glass. The whole experience already felt like a lasting regret she’d have to bear, and she still had the dinner to suffer through. She sat up in the chair, wishing for another drink, and then saw Jesse. She thought she’d prepared for this moment but seeing him changed all that. Even from far away he looked good, and the sight of him filled her with such yearning she could hardly contain it. And then she couldn’t help but smile. He sat at a nearby table farther up, also with strangers. The way the tables were arranged, he couldn’t see her unless he knew where to look, but what was important was that she could see him.

He behaved like someone who’d learned to question every decision. Everything deliberate, cautious, back straight, hands clasped together in his lap. He didn’t dare drink. A glass of water sat at the table and when there was a lull in the dinner, he brought it to his lips. He looked like he was trying very hard to feel as though he was actually there, that he belonged.

During the speeches at the beginning of the dinner, whenever a woman spoke—Celine, or Phillip’s mother, or any of the bridesmaids—Jesse lowered his head, not lifting it again until the conversation had shifted.

Mira couldn’t stop watching him through the rest of the meal. She directed her gaze back to the table each time she thought he noticed her, pretending to listen to the conversation. She wanted to catch his attention, wanted him to see her, but she also wanted to see his face when he noticed her. Her stomach was in knots; she could barely eat any of the steak on her plate.

When dinner was close to over, Phillip’s parents, the hosts, announced that the floor was open for dancing, and Mira saw her chance to go to Jesse, but Celine’s father got to him first.

“You’re a murderer,” he said, pointing at Jesse. He’d tried to control his tone, as if aware of his place in the hierarchy of guests, but he still managed to be loud enough to cause attention. A quick hush fell over the room as guests processed the scene.

“Dad, it’s all right—” Celine started, her face flushed. She got up and moved closer in her own attempt at de-escalating what she saw coming, and it might have worked except Jesse snickered in response. A reflexive action done before he could consider its repercussions, that men like him could be killed for less. A snicker could be a dangerous thing, especially when directed at those who felt the world had already done them wrong.