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.

The service began. People cried. I did not know Ray. I tried to arrange my face into respectful neutrality, the face of someone who is sad but appropriately, for a person they never met. Devon's mother leaned across him at one point, looked at me, and said, "And you are?" And Devon said, "This is my friend." Friend. We had not even had coffee.

Then -- and I need you to understand I did not plan this -- they asked if anyone would like to share a memory of Ray. And there was a silence. A long, terrible, echoing silence. And Devon, my date of one hour, leaned over and whispered, "Could you say something? Anything? It would mean a lot to my mom, no one's getting up."

I did not get up. I want that on the record. I have some dignity. I shook my head so hard I think I pulled something. Devon looked wounded. Actually wounded. As if I had failed a reasonable request.

We did not get lunch. After the service he was pulled into family things, understandably, and he said, "I'll text you." And then he did not. Ever. Again.

That is the part that kills me. I went to a stranger's funeral for this man. I sat through Ray. I met his grieving mother. And that was the thing that scared him off -- not the funeral, which he arranged, but the aftermath, in which I was simply present. He ghosted the girl who showed up in burgundy to mourn Uncle Ray.

Rest in peace, Ray. I hope wherever you are, someone got up and spoke. It should have been Devon.