Plus One

I got invited to her cousin's wedding. The card said "Daniel and guest." I don't have a guest.

Her name was Imogen. We were together three years, long enough for her family to adopt me. Her little cousin used to call me "the tall one." Her nan once told me I had "kind eyes." I carried that compliment for months.

When we broke up, I thought I'd lose all of them too. But here's the card, thick cream paper, gold letters, delivered to my flat like nothing's changed.

I called my mate Sam. "Should I go?"

"Mate. No."

"But it's a wedding."

"It's HER wedding to attend. You're the ex."

He was right. But I kept the card on my fridge for two weeks anyway. Looked at it every morning. "Daniel and guest." Like the universe was daring me.

Tonight, I finally decided to RSVP, a polite decline, a nice message. I flipped the card over to find the address.

On the back, in blue ink, a tiny handwritten note. Not typed. Not printed.

"Nan insisted. But so did I. Table 9. I saved you a seat. No pressure. x"

Imogen's handwriting. Her loops. Her little cross at the end.

Table nine. Not "Daniel and guest."

Just Daniel.

I put the card back on the fridge.

Then I took the pen next to it and ticked "Attending."

For one.