The west wall. It wasn’t a table. It was a row of extra folding chairs stacked like an afterthought next to the speakers. Still in disbelief, I walked over. The only seat that should have been mine had a place card that read: Tiffany, Cousin’s +1. I didn’t even know who Tiffany was, but there she was, sipping champagne in my presumed seat.

I found my mother adjusting the boutonnière on my dad’s jacket. “Hey,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. “Do you know what’s going on with the seating?” She didn’t look at me. “Oh, yeah. Brianna’s family had more people show up than expected. They flew in from so far, you know. Just hang near the wall for the ceremony. You’ll still see everything.” “The wall?” I echoed, a little too loudly. My dad shot me a look, a silent warning not to make a scene. “It’s not a big deal,” my mom said, waving me away. “Just don’t ruin the pictures by sulking.”