Then it was time for the father-daughter and mother-son dance. This had been an object of concern during the year leading up to the wedding. Mariel’s relationship with her father was still strained from his years supporting Diantha’s absurdities, though they’d made progress in family therapy. The more difficult issue was that Oz had been taken away from his demoness mother at a young age in order to be trained as a soul bargainer and hadn’t seen her in hundreds of years—he hadn’t even known her name or if she was alive or dead. But Oz’s childhood mentor, Astaroth, had made it his mission to atone for his part in that tragedy by finding her, and now Elwenna the demoness stood at the edge of the dance floor, hands clasped to her mouth. When the music started up again and Oz held out a hand, eyes glistening with unshed tears, she took it, and more than a few guests started weeping outright.
Ben had always been a crier, and now he wiped away a tear, sniffling. He couldn’t imagine being separated from his family for that long.
He also couldn’t imagine the day coming when he could spin his wife around the dance floor in front of their families . . . though he could easily conjure a memory of the last time he’d talked with his mother on the phone and she’d hesitantly asked, “So, I know you’re busy, but have you given any thought to dating?”
Yes, Mom. Arguably too much thought. And the moment “anxious, workaholic werewolf” appeared on someone’s vision board, she’d be first to know.
But tonight wasn’t about him, so Ben gave his full attention to the two pairs spinning （or aggressively tromping, as the case might be） across the dance floor, applauding and cheering them on.
Once the formal dances ended, Mariel grabbed a flute of champagne and raised it high. “Let’s party!”
Music started blasting from the speakers as people of a variety of species rushed to the dance floor to begin gyrating with an enviable amount of confidence. Ben sidled up to the bar. It was manned by a centaur named Hylo he recognized as the bartender at the dive bar Le Chapeau Magique. They had buzzed hair and a labrum piercing, and their roan coat had been shaved with heart designs to commemorate the occasion.
“What’s your poison?” Hylo asked.
“Whiskey,” Ben said. He normally wasn’t much of a drinker, but if he was going to dance—and Gigi would certainly drag him onto the floor if Mariel didn’t first—he needed to drown his self-consciousness.
“How about an old fashioned?” At Ben’s nod, Hylo started mixing ingredients, tapping their hooves rhythmically. The nonbinary centaur was a member of an Irish step dance troupe as well as a popular ClipClop influencer （as Gigi had informed him, being far more social media savvy than he was）。 Hylo presented the drink with a flourish, and Ben thanked them, slipping money into the tip jar.
He downed the old fashioned in under a minute, then held the empty glass out.
Hylo raised their eyebrows. “Dang, are you trying to get wasted?”
Ben gestured to the dance floor. “Social anxiety,” he said succinctly.
“Ah.” Hylo nodded knowingly. “Well, don’t party too hard, all right? I’ll have to cut you off if you get rowdy.”
Ben wanted to laugh at the idea. The rest of his extended family was noisy, chaotic, and prone to brawling, as most werewolves were, but the number of times he’d done something that might be classified as “rowdy” could be numbered on one hand. “Don’t worry, I’m a sad drunk,” he said.
Hylo rattled the cocktail shaker before pouring him a second drink. “Weddings can be tough,” they said. “Especially for single people.”
Was he that transparent? Ben grimaced. “They shouldn’t be. I just need to be a better person.” He slipped another tip in Hylo’s jar.
“It’s nothing to do with being good or bad. Being sad or lonely or even jealous is normal—the thing that matters is how you treat people, and as far as I’ve seen, you’ve been very kind.” Hylo patted his hand. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll meet your soulmate here.”
“Maybe,” Ben said with zero sincerity. His life was consumed by running a small business, and what kind of woman wanted to be saddled with a werewolf who didn’t even like howling at the moon?
But Hylo was being kind and understanding in that bartender/therapist way that involved emotional labor they didn’t need to be doing, so Ben mustered up a smile. “Thank you,” he said. “Maybe tonight’s the night I find her at last.”