Instructions for Dancing(32)

I don’t say anything.

“I wanted to tell you in person, but—”

He stops talking. What he wants to say is that since I refuse to visit him, he can’t tell me anything in person.

Mom has stepped completely out onto the patio now.

Danica’s big, dark eyes are scouring my face.

“It’s about Shirley,” he says.

For a second I think he’s going to say they’ve broken up. For a second, I see us all back together at our house having blueberry pancakes for breakfast.

But that’s not what he says. “We’re getting married.”

There was a time when he would’ve used an obscure phrase like plighting our troth instead of getting married. He’d have made me geek out over the etymology with him, and I would’ve teased him about his word nerdiness even though I’m a word nerd too. We were so close before the divorce. We have the same sense of humor: slightly quirky, slightly cynical. We have the same outlook on the world: halfway between amused and bemused.



It’s still hard for me to believe how far apart we are now.

He sighs into my silence. “Sweet pea, say something,” he says.

“Don’t call me sweet pea,” I say.

“I know you’re having a hard time with everything…,” he says, sympathy in his voice.

His sympathy just makes me angry. If it wasn’t for his duplicity, I wouldn’t need his sympathy. “Don’t act like you care, because we both know that—”

“Stop,” he says. Speakerphone makes his voice echo back on itself.

I sit down on the bottom step of the staircase. Now I understand why Mom was unsteady before.

Danica’s frowning and shaking her head at me in disapproval.

“I want you to come to the wedding,” he says.

“No,” I say. “I’m not going.”

“Evie, let’s talk about this. I really want you—”

“No,” I say. “I’m not going and you can’t make me.”

He sucks in a long breath and I know he’s gearing up to flood me with words to try to convince me.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I say.

“Evie, I—”

“Really have to pee,” I insist. “Going now.”

He gives up. “Okay,” he says.

I hang up but don’t move from where I am on the stairs.

Mom comes back into the house and slides the glass doors closed. With them shut, it feels like we’re in our own little bubble, cut off from the world.



“Okay, well,” Mom says. “I suppose we should talk.”

Before she can launch into whatever parent talk she’s about to give us, I ask her: “When did he tell you?”

“We spoke about it last night, but he wanted to tell you himself.” She looks at Danica and clasps her hands in her lap. “How are you feeling about the news, D?” she asks.

“I feel fine about it,” she says.

“What about you, Evie?” she asks.

“You know how I feel,” I say.

She nods at the glass door. “I know this can be a challenging time,” she starts, sounding like she’s reading from a parenting book. How to Talk to Your Children About Divorce.

Except I’m not a child anymore. I’m almost eighteen. The visions have taught me more about how love really works than I ever wanted, or expected, to know.

I interrupt the speech she’s giving us. “Mom, please don’t make me go to the wedding.”

She squeezes the arms of the chair. “It’s important to your father.”

“What about what’s important to me?”

Danica slaps at her thigh. “Why are you always so mad at Dad?” she demands. “He didn’t do anything wrong. They fell out of love and got divorced. It happens all the time.”

I press my lips closed tight for a moment so I don’t say anything I shouldn’t say.

“Mom, please don’t make me go,” I beg.

“I think you’re going to regret this, but I’m not going to make you go.” She stands up and heads for the hall closet. “You’re really willing to upset your father like this?”



We both know the answer to that question.

“Promise me you’ll at least think about it,” she says.

I don’t know if I’ve ever been so relieved. “Okay,” I say, but only to make her feel better. I’m definitely not going to think about it.

Mom slips on a sweater. “I’m going for a walk,” she says.

Danica shakes her head at me but doesn’t say anything. She goes upstairs, leaving me alone on the couch.

Mom’s wrong that I’ll regret not going. What I would regret is seeing Dad kiss Shirley and learning their fate. I’d regret pretending to be happy for him. I’d regret seeing how happy he is in his new life, knowing that he was once ours. And most of all, I’d regret being there to commemorate the official end of our family.



* * *



——

I spend the rest of the evening doing nothing but responding (and not responding) to text messages. Sophie texts to say she’s sorry she didn’t tell me about her and Cassidy earlier, but isn’t it great that they’re together? She seems really happy. Cassidy texts too. She doesn’t apologize for keeping their relationship a secret, and she’s just as thrilled as Sophie is. Can u believe she’s my gf now??????