“Noooo, let’s just sit here,” I say. “Besides, we can’t ballroom to this.” I bury my face in X’s shoulder.
But X isn’t having it. He tells Cassidy what music to play and suddenly we’re giving impromptu dance lessons. We start with bachata. Somewhat surprisingly, Sophie and Martin get infinity hips right away. Cassidy takes a longer time. We move on to salsa and then to the Hustle, trading partners so Martin doesn’t feel like a fifth wheel.
We drink more and dance more and we’re loud and tipsy and silly and all so in love with each other it makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.
Happiness is tricky. Sometimes you have to fight for it. Sometimes, though—the best times—it sneaks up behind you, wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close.
CHAPTER 41
Joy Emoji
<Thursday, 9:47 AM>
Me: Hey Dad
Dad: Hi, honey. Is something wrong?
Me: Everything’s fine
Me: I have something to say
Me: But I just want to say it over text
Me: If I talk I’ll cry and I don’t want to cry
Dad: Okay.
Me: I decided to come to your wedding
Dad: That’s wonderful. You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear that.
Me: Yeah ok
Dad: Are you sure I can’t call you? Texting is a poor medium for conveying joy.
Me: God you’re such a nerd dad professor
Me: Please don’t call. I get how happy you are
Dad: Okay, sweetheart.
Dad: You know Shirley’s shower is next Sunday. Would I be pushing it to ask you to go to that too?
Me: Yes that’s definitely pushing it
Me: But I’ll go
Dad: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me: That’s a lot of exclamation points dad
Dad: It really is such a poor medium for communication.
Me: You gotta get some emojis in there
Dad: Not in a million years.
Dad: I love you very much, Evie.
Me:
CHAPTER 42
Uncomfortable Silences
SHIRLEY’S WEDDING SHOWER is “themed,” which is a fancy way of saying it’s a costume party. We’re supposed to dress like we’re going to afternoon tea at Buckingham Palace.
For the occasion, Danica’s wearing some sort of vintage, sleeveless, pink-and-white-flower-patterned silk dress. She’s also wearing an elaborate hat sculpture. I see a hummingbird and hibiscus flowers nestled in her Afro. It sounds ridiculous but looks incredible. Choosing the perfect outfit for every occasion is her superpower.
My outfit is nothing special, just a beige skirt and a gauzy pale-yellow blouse. I （briefly, very briefly） considered wearing funeral black. I’ve talked myself out of going to this thing at least two times in the past week. Both times, X talked me back into it.
Mom’s at the kitchen table, drinking tea and flipping through yet another recipe book when we get downstairs. She closes the book and presses one hand over her heart when she sees us. I’m not sure I understand the look she’s giving us. There’s pride there, and something else too.
“When did you girls get so big?”
“Big and beautiful,” Danica says with a little curtsy.
“You were always beautiful,” she says. “But I just don’t know when you got so big.” She sounds genuinely surprised—astonished, even—like we grew two feet overnight.
“You okay, Mom?” I ask.
“Yes, man. I’m fine,” she says, waving me off. She walks over to Danica and adjusts the hibiscus on her hat. She dusts something I can’t see off my shoulder.
“Time really flies, you know,” she says. “And the older you get, the faster it flies.”
I don’t think the slight Jamaican accent I hear in her voice is my imagination. I scour her face for a sign that she’s feeling less than fine, but I can’t find one. But how can she be okay when she’s sending us off to Dad’s soon-to-be bride’s wedding shower? How can she be so over it, when I’m not at all?
“You girls have a good time,” she says, and sends us out the door.
* * *
——
The shower is forty-five minutes away at a hotel in Pasadena. When we get there, the other guests are easy to spot. Flower-patterned dresses and enormous hats abound. We get a few stares and even some double-takes from the staff and hotel guests. I suppose they don’t see large groups of mostly Black women dressed for a garden party every day. That, or they’re flabbergasted by our tremendous beauty.
The hostess leads us out to a courtyard patio, and it feels like we’ve stepped into a wild English garden. I see bougainvillea on trellises and climbing vines on the walls. Lavender, rosemary and jasmine bushes are everywhere. I see hibiscus, poppies and marigolds and other bright flowers I don’t know the names of.