Honey Girl(82)

His eyes are only for Mom. For him, it is just the two of them. “I do,” he says, sure as anything.

The I dos echo like a memory, a memory of the same words uttered in a church in the desert. She doesn’t try to push it away. She just lets it be.

“Melodie Martin,” she says. “Kelly Nichols. I now pronounce you husband and wife.” She lets out a relieved exhale. “You may kiss the bride.”

The crowd stands and applauds as Mom and Kelly kiss. She looks out, and Ximena meets her eyes. “I love you,” Grace whispers, “so much it hurts.” She feels good seeing all the people from their community brought together for this day. She looks toward the back, and there is Colonel. He catches her eyes. Grace stares back, and she smiles. He doesn’t return it, but his parade rest relaxes just a little bit.

She’ll take it.

Miss Darla starts the piano again, and Grace takes in the music. She takes in the happiness. She takes in the fact that she is here with most of her family. She is here, and not lost, spinning between stars and galaxies. Mom and Kelly start to walk down the aisle, and Mom looks back to make sure Grace is following.

“I’m here,” she says quietly.

The piano plays the start of another song. It’s about new beginnings. It is honest, and it is love, and it is real. She commits it to memory.

Grace feels like herself again at the reception.

It’s in a different tent. The ceiling of this one is entwined with gold lights that illuminate the oncoming night. She walks through to see all the people engulfed in gold, to see Mom and Kelly engulfed in gold, and she relaxes. It’s over. She did it.

She collapses in relief next to Ximena and Agnes seated at a table by the back. Agnes leans on Ximena’s shoulders as she downs a glass of champagne. They sway a little to the music.

“Hey,” she says. “Hi, I’m so happy to see you.”

“Hey, hi,” Agnes says. “I’m getting drunk.” Next to her, Ximena nurses what is probably ice water. “Tell her to get drunk with me.”

“She won’t,” Grace says at the same time Ximena says, “I won’t.”

They catch eyes, and Ximena glares. Grace grins. “She likes taking care of you too much, Agnes,” she says brightly. “Weird kink, but whatever.” She ducks from the shoe that tries to swat her. “Not la chancleta!”

“Don’t get comfortable,” Ximena snipes when Grace sits down. “Someone is looking for you.” She gestures toward the other side of the tent, and Grace’s stomach flips before she turns around.

Colonel, standing stiffly and proudly, watches her.

“Shit,” she mumbles. “Did you know he was coming?”

“Yeah,” Ximena says. “He texted me all his flight details, and we even shared a drink at the airport bar. No, of course I didn’t know he was coming.”

“Maybe he didn’t see me.” Grace stays stock-still. “Is he still looking?”

“Yep,” Agnes says, starting on Ximena’s glass of champagne. “It’s almost like he recognizes his own daughter. Strange.”

“Okay.” Grace glowers at the two of them. “I’m going to go talk to Colonel because that is actually better than sitting here being mocked. How do you feel about that?”

“He’s still looking,” Ximena says. She inspects one of her painted, jeweled nails. Grace stomps off.

The walk from their corner to where Colonel has planted himself feels like miles. There are a million questions swarming through her head. Mom never mentioned inviting him. Colonel never mentioned coming. Granted, Grace only answers about half his calls, but it’s the principle of the thing. She tries to get ahead and figure out his angle, but he has always been unreadable and two steps ahead.

She comes to a stop a few steps in front of him and resigns herself to the fact that he has the upper hand.

“Colonel,” she says, straightening. She meets his eyes, chin tilted up. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Yes,” he says evenly. “I asked your mother to keep it a surprise.”

“Why?” Grace blurts out, frustrated. “Did you want to trip me up? Were you trying to disarm me or something? I’m not coming back to Portland, not yet,” she says, surprised by her own decisiveness.

She has seen Colonel in many moods. She has seen him angry and disappointed. She has seen him in pain, near out of his mind lying in a hospital bed. She has seen him scared, convinced the ghosts of his past would burst through his own front door in the middle of the night.

She has never seen him surprised. The expression is unfamiliar on his face.

“Porter,” he says, eyebrows furrowed. “Is it really that far-fetched that I just wanted to see my own daughter and maybe wish an old—” His lips twist, unsure. “Maybe just wish your mother the best?”

“Maybe,” Grace responds, but she knows, deep in the pit of her belly, it’s unfair. Some days, her brain reshapes Colonel into a villain of her past. Sometimes, it’s easy to believe. It is much harder to believe the person she looked up to as God for so many years is just a man. He is just her father. “I didn’t mean that,” she says. “I’m just a little taken aback.”

He holds his hand out. She eyes it warily. She cannot think one move ahead, let alone two. She takes it, out of options, and is amazed to be led onto the dance floor.