Instructions for Dancing(50)

She smiles over at our table and raises her glass to Danica and me.

I raise my glass of sparkling cider, and Danica raises hers too.

It’s only been a few minutes, but I can already tell that Shirley’s mom is the kind of person who loves big. She’s proud and fierce and sweet too. It’s obvious how much she loves Shirley. It’s obvious that she’ll love me and Danica big too.

There’s a part of me that would like to get to know her, that would like to feel the weight of that big love. But another part of me resents being claimed. My family was just the right size before. I already have two actual grandmothers. I don’t need another one. I don’t want another one. And I know what I’m feeling isn’t exactly fair, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

Shirley’s mom keeps going: “And you should see the way he looks at my Shirley, like she put the sun and the moon and all the stars in the sky. It’s almost embarrassing the way he loves her. But a love like that is what she deserves.”

I want to protest. Dad loved Mom like that too, didn’t he? Where did all his love for her go? Did it just disappear? Did he transfer it all to Shirley? Is that how love works?



“And you know my Shirley loves with her whole heart. She just dotes on him and his ten-dollar English-professor words. So now I want everybody to raise those glasses high. Yes, yes, get them up there.” She looks down at Shirley. “Sweetheart, you are the love of my life. I’m so glad you found the love of yours.”

Tears are streaming down Shirley’s face, and she doesn’t try to wipe them away. Her face is so full of love for Dad, it’s almost hard to look at. I’ve thought a lot of awful things about her over the last year. I’ve called her a liar and a cheat. I blamed her for taking Dad away from us. And for making things awful between Mom and me and Danica and me. I’ve been angry. So angry.

But looking at her now, I see how much she loves Dad. Of all the things I expected to feel today, understanding for Shirley wasn’t one of them. It’s hard to completely hate someone who loves someone you love. She loves Dad. I can’t deny that. Just like I can’t deny that I still love him.

Danica’s crying too. I don’t know if she’s feeling conflicted or overwhelmed like I am. I reach over and squeeze her hand. She squeezes back, and then it’s all too much for me. Too many emotions swirling together inside me. Too many emotions that are half one thing and half another. Too much beauty and too much sadness.

I squeeze Danica’s hand again but then let go of it and bolt from the table. By the time I get to the bathroom, I’m crying just as hard as Danica and Shirley were. I hide in one of the stalls and let my tears fall.

I don’t know how much time goes by, but eventually I’m not crying so much anymore. In the mirror I fix my tear stains and mascara smudges as best as I can. I text Danica to tell her I’m in the bathroom and that she should come get me when she’s ready to go. I don’t trust myself not to cry again in front of everyone.



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.