I wanted to crawl under my chair.
“Would you like to dance?” Andrew asked.
I had less than no desire to dance with some random dude at my brother’s wedding. Especially with some random dude whom my grandmother had coerced into asking me. But she was standing about four feet from us, nodding and making a shooing motion with her hands. And saying yes to one dance would （hopefully） get her to drop the subject and therefore help me survive until we got home the following evening.
“Uh, sure,” I said, dropping my phone into my purse.
We got to the dance floor and Andrew put his arm around my waist. “So are you friends with Jake?” I asked.
He gave me a funny look. “You don’t remember me?”
I looked at him more carefully. “Should I?”
“I’m crushed,” he said, smiling. “I was so in love with you.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Andrew MacKenzie?”
My eyes widened. “Andy MacKenzie?”
He shrugged. “It’s Andrew now. But you can call me Andy if you want.”
I used to babysit for him when I was fourteen and he was eight. Meaning he was now—I did the math quickly in my head—twenty-six. And I had been his babysitter. Nope. Absolutely not. I dropped his hand and backed away a step.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry. Too weird for me.”
“What is?”
I gestured to the space between us. “This.”
“Dancing?”
“My grandma—trying to set me up with someone I babysat for.”
“That was almost twenty years ago. We’re both adults now.”
“Look, Andy, I’m sure you’re great and all. But no amount of adult erases that. I could be eighty-six and you could be eighty and it’d still be gross.”
He shrugged again. “Your loss. Your grandma made you sound pretty desperate.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks. Bye. Have a nice life.” I dashed back to the table, snatched up my purse, and ran out of the terraced area where the party was.
I found a set of cushioned wicker sofas encircling an empty firepit just around the corner and collapsed onto one, both grossed out and hurt that he had called me desperate.
I hated everyone at that stupid wedding. I hated Jake and Madison for making me come here, where I was forced to share a room with my grandmother and then exposed to ridicule like this. I didn’t stop mattering just because I was thirty-two and single and they were younger and getting married.
I pulled my phone out, and I didn’t hold back. When I was done, I didn’t even proofread it, I just hit “Publish,” then closed my eyes to regain my composure. The blog was cathartic that way. By the time I published it, I had flushed most of the anger and shame out of my system. I would be expected to rejoin the party with a smile on my face and, having just eviscerated them anonymously on the internet, I could do that.
On my way back into the party, I stopped in the bathroom to do a makeup touch-up. The sun had set, so the lighting was forgiving, but I didn’t want to look like anything was amiss for pictures.
Madison was in there with her sister and two friends, who were giggling about having just held her dress so she could pee.
“Lily,” she greeted me warmly, coming over and taking my hands in hers. I started in surprise, mixed with a little guilt. “Amy told me what happened with your room and I wanted to apologize—I had no idea about the mix-up.”
I shook my head. “My grandma called the agent and told them she was rooming with me. It wasn’t anyone else’s fault.”
“But we could have rearranged some of my friends and found a room for you. I’m sure we still can for tonight if you want?”
“That’s—kind—of you. But no. She’d be offended if I did that. And it’s just one more night of her snoring.”
“Thank you for putting up with the inconvenience to be here. It means so much to me. And to Jake, although he’d never say it, of course.”
“Of course.”
“We’d love it if you’d come to Chicago to visit us sometime.”
“I—uh—sure. After all these weddings. Maybe.”
Madison’s mother walked into the bathroom, looking for her, and told her that one of her uncles wanted to dance with her. Madison excused herself and her friends went with her, leaving me alone in the bathroom, where I gripped the sink and stared at myself in the mirror.
She’s nice, I thought. And at least I hadn’t trashed her specifically in the blog. Mostly because I had absolutely nothing to say about her. But I still felt guilty. Here she was inviting me to come visit her, when I had made absolutely no effort to get to know her. What was wrong with me?