My First Date Turned Out to Be a Stranger's Funeral

We had planned to meet at a coffee shop on Sunday. His name was Devon. Online, he was warm and quick, the kind of texter who made you laugh out loud on the bus. I was excited in a way I had not been in a while, which is exactly the setup the universe likes before it drops a piano on you.

Sunday morning he texted, "Change of plans -- family thing came up, but come with me? I promise it'll be quick and then we can grab lunch." He sent an address. I thought, adventurous, a first date that is not just sitting across a tiny table sweating. I said sure. I put on a nice-ish top. I drove over.

The address was a church. There were a lot of cars. There were a lot of people in black. I texted Devon, "am I at the right place??" and he replied, "yes! side entrance, save you a seat." So I walked into the side entrance of a church full of people in black and Devon, in a dark suit I had not been warned about, waved me into a pew.

It was a funeral. I was at a funeral. On a first date. In a burgundy top that suddenly felt very loud.

"Who -- " I started to whisper, and Devon whispered back, "My great uncle Ray. We weren't close. But my mom needed backup." Backup. I was backup. I had known this man in physical space for ninety seconds and I was now his emotional support stranger at the funeral of a man named Ray whom neither of us, it turned out, could pick out of a lineup.