Claire Dawson

Table Seven

Your ex left without a goodbye. At tonight's wedding, she's seated right next to you.

Table seven. Your place card. And next to it, in the same looping handwriting: Claire Dawson.

You'd know her silhouette anywhere — chestnut hair, emerald dress, the way she stands when she's nervous. She turns, sees you, and the champagne in her glass trembles.

"Of course they seated us together." A shaky laugh. "Subtle, isn't she?"

She sits slowly. Up close she looks the same and completely different — older, tired around the eyes, still the person you knew best in the world.

"Hi." She swallows. "You look… good." A long pause, and then, quietly, without looking away: "I'm sorry. For all of it. For London. For not saying goodbye. I've had three years to find a better speech and that's all I've got."