The Front-Row Seat

Chapter 1: front

On the morning of the wedding, Daniel carried a small wooden box into the empty ceremony room and placed it on the first chair.

The box was no bigger than a paperback book. Its corners had faded from being handled, and a tiny brass plate on the lid carried one name:

Milo.

Daniel adjusted the white ribbon tied around it, stepped back, and frowned.

“Too much?” he asked.

I stood at the end of the aisle with one shoe on and the other in my hand. Behind us, the florist was trimming roses over a plastic bucket. Somewhere in the hotel kitchen, trays rattled and a machine released a long sigh of steam.

“No,” I said. “He would have expected the best seat.”

Daniel smiled.

“That’s what I thought.”

He turned the box slightly so the name faced the aisle. Then he rested his hand on the lid for one quiet second, as if greeting an old friend.