Less than twenty seconds later, the door swings open. I turn around fast, hoping it’s Danica and we can get out of here and go home.
But it’s not Danica.
It’s Shirley.
She takes a searching look around the room until she finds what she’s looking for.
And what she’s looking for is me.
“There you are,” she says, sounding relieved. She walks over to where I am at the sink. I see the moment she realizes I’ve been crying. “I was hoping we could talk,” she says, relief gone from her voice.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
She nods like she understands. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask you to forgive me. I know that’s too much to ask.”
I relax a little, knowing that.
She takes a deep breath. “I want to thank you for deciding to come to the wedding.”
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. “I’m not doing it for you,” I say.
“I know, but thank you anyway.”
She closes her eyes for a quick second and takes another deep breath, gearing up for something.
I wrap my arms around myself. I’m not sure I’m emotionally ready for anything else today.
“There’s another thing I want to say,” she says. “I’m sorry for the way things happened between me and your dad. And I’m sorry that this is hurting you. I love your dad. I know you might never like me, but I already love you because you’re a part of him.”
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything.
Her eyes roam across my face, looking for something. “You’re so much like him,” she says with a smile. “He’s real good with uncomfortable silences too.”
She turns around to face herself in the mirror. “I’m terrible at it. All I want to do is talk and talk and talk to make it better.” She laughs and adjusts her veil. “I’m doing it right now, I guess.”
“A little,” I say with a small smile.
There’s hope on her face when she turns to me again. But I drop my eyes from hers. I can’t make any promises. I’m not ready for that, not yet.
“Thanks for coming today, Evie. It’s really nice to see you,” she says.
* * *
——
Danica’s mostly quiet for the entire cab ride home. She doesn’t even look at her phone.
I stare out the window and think about all the visions I’ve seen in the last few months. It occurs to me that an unhappy ending for one person can mean a happy beginning for another, the way Mom’s unhappy ending with Dad led to Shirley’s happy beginning with him. I think about the way we’re all just starring in our own stories.
In her speech, Ms. Gene made it sound like Dad rescued Shirley somehow. In her version of things, Shirley’s not the evil stepmother that I think she is, that I thought she was. She’s the princess who finally found her prince.
“What did you think?” I ask Danica when we’re almost home.
“I thought it was beautiful,” she says.
“Me too,” I say. And I mean it. It was beautiful. But it was sad too. Both things, and at the same time. I don’t know why so much of life is like that.
CHAPTER 43
Entertain Us
LA DANCEBALL IS only four weeks away now, and Fifi steps up our practice schedule from rigorous to outlandish. Instead of two hours, our weekday sessions are now three. She takes us back to the promenade to see how well we can attract an audience and keep their attention. She makes us teach mini dance lessons to strangers, and then dance with the strangers. “Best way to learn is to teach,” she says.
The extended practice sessions improve our salsa, bachata, Hustle and West Coast swing. But the Argentine tango is still a beast. Mostly it’s my fault. At least, according to Fifi it’s my fault. “You need to be more sensual and loose,” she tells me. “Let yourself be swept away.”
And I am trying. I have the steps down cold. X’s lead is stronger now, and I’m better at following it. But I still can’t manage to relax. For the tango, I’m supposed to give myself to X as if I can’t help myself. But I’m afraid that if I pretend even for three minutes, I won’t be able to stop. The truth is, I don’t want to stop. And even though I’m seeing fewer visions these days because I know how to avoid them, I’m still afraid of what the future holds for us.
Now that I’m friends with my friends again, X slips into our little group as if he’s always been a part of it. He goes with me to all our beach bonfires. He brings his guitar and we sing silly songs and play Tipsy Philosophicals. We go to his shows as a group. Cassidy drinks too much and blames it on the music. Groupies are supposed to party, she says. Martin nicknames us X Faction.