It’s all very beautiful, like a fairy tale.
Shirley is the evil stepmother.
Obviously.
It’s not hard to spot Shirley. She’s the only one wearing a white veil instead of a hat. Danica makes a beeline for her. I watch them hug. Danica twirls to show off her outfit and Shirley claps her hands together, delighted. They look more like sisters than future stepmom and daughter. I try not to stare, but I can’t help myself. The last （and only） time I saw her was when I caught her with Dad.
At least physically, she’s nothing like Mom. Mom is tall and straight. Shirley is short and curvy. Mom has a short Afro. Shirley has a big wild one. I wonder if their personalities are different too. And if they are, then how did Dad manage to fall for both of them in one lifetime?
I force myself to stop staring and hurry to my table. If I can manage to avoid talking to Shirley for the entire shower, then today will have been a success.
As soon as I sit, my phone buzzes with a message from X. Just seeing his name on my screen makes me feel less panicky.
X: Doing ok? he asks.
I take a selfie holding one of the fancy teacups. I text it to him with the caption #teaforone.
He texts back immediately. Want me to come join you?
I’d love for him to be here. He’d make me laugh. He’d distract me from the sad, angry, panicked churning in my stomach.
Girls only, I text back.
Two minutes later, he sends me a picture of himself wearing a dress, heels and a lot of makeup.
I zoom in and decide he looks pretty great. I have many questions about the picture but not enough time to ask them.
Danica arrives at the table with Aunt Collette （Dad’s older sister） and Cousin Denise （Collette’s daughter）。 They live in San Francisco, so we don’t see them a lot. Aunt Collette spends ten minutes telling me and Danica how she can’t believe how grown-up we are. Danica and I smile at each other. First Mom and now Aunt Collette. Why are grown-ups constantly surprised that we kids grow up? I’m pretty sure that’s what we’re supposed to do.
After a few minutes, waiters descend to take our tea orders and the shower begins in earnest. The garden fills with the buzz of twenty-something women chatting and celebrating.
Shirley is at the next table over, sitting with five women. Again, I can’t help watching her. A couple of the women look like her sisters, with the same wide eyes and high cheekbones. The older woman sitting right next to her must be her mom. She’s what Shirley will look like in thirty years. Her mom leans over and whispers something into her ear that makes her throw her head back and laugh. Shirley’s laugh is loud and strangely dolphin-esque. It’s also completely contagious. I can’t help smiling.
“There goes baby girl with that laugh,” says a hooting older woman at another table. A few other people chuckle along.
I make myself stop gawking at her. Even her laugh is different from Mom’s. Mom laughs like she doesn’t want to disturb the air. Shirley laughs like a tornado. For the millionth time, I wonder if Dad fell out of love with Mom first or if he fell in love with Shirley first. If Shirley didn’t exist, would our family still be together? Or would he just have fallen for someone else?
Fortunately, the waiters descend on us again, saving me from pondering questions with unknowable answers. This time, they’re carrying tiered silver trays filled with tiny sandwiches and miniature desserts. I hear a lot of oohing and aahing. One woman says she hopes they’re bringing more food.
Danica takes artful pictures of everything she eats and posts them. I take less artful pictures and text them to X.
I send him a photo of a tiny lemon custard pie complete with a gold leaf lying on top. He sends a single potato chip sitting in the center of one of Maggie’s china plates.
I send him one of a triangular salmon sandwich topped with caviar. He sends me one of a dollop of jam surrounded by four bread crusts.
We go on like this and I laugh my way through the entire meal.
Forty-five minutes later, I’ve eaten as many cucumber sandwiches and scones with clotted cream as any person reasonably should. I tried not to like the food, but it was completely delicious.
Finally, it’s time for the actual gift exchange part of the event. Mentally, I prepare myself for boredom. And I’m not wrong. It is spectacularly boring. Mostly it consists of Shirley opening presents, cooing over the present and then tearfully thanking the giver of the present. Fifteen presents in, I want to stab myself. Twenty presents in, I do stab myself. I’m kidding.
After the last present is opened and ritually appreciated, Shirley’s mom stands up and clinks her fork on her champagne glass.