The Girl Who Fell(101)

An usher leads me to a pew in the back of the church, mere steps away. I am careful in these foreign heels. Mom slips in beside me.

She whispers. “Gregg’s looking like quite the handsome man.”

I tsk. “No impure thoughts in church.”

She clucks, slaps gently at my thigh.

A new song begins to play from the hidden organ and the congregation stands. Within moments, Anna floats down the aisle, her fire-red hair pulled into a brilliantly slicked twist. Her smile spreads wide and bashful and dazzling all at once. And then she is past us, walking toward her future husband with a lithe, certain stride. I watch her reach the altar, join hands with her fiancé. But it is Gregg I study as prayers are read and vows are made.

• • •

Mom holds my arm for balance as we head back into the snow, the wind whipping at my face. We drive a few blocks to the hotel reception hall, Mom gushing about Anna’s beauty and how she’ll bawl uncontrollably when I get married.

In the reception hall, smooth light ricochets throughout the room, glowing from candles and white flowers. Lilting violin music sings from a lone musician in the corner.

Mom plucks a glass of champagne from the tray a waiter offers. “Let’s find our table.”

Within moments of taking our seats, the room hushes. Mr. Slicer stands at the head table. He tinks his silverware against his glass in wedding Morse code, making champagne flutes rise around me. I raise my water glass.

“I’ve thought about this day for a long time,” Mr. Slicer starts, adjusting his tie. “When Anna was born, she was no bigger than my forearm.”

Mom reaches for my hand and squeezes it like she’s remembering when I was that little. She must have so many memories of me that I don’t even have. Memories she shares with Dad. It’s right that he’ll take my place as Mom’s date tonight.

Anna and her new husband tuck into one another as Mr. Slicer finishes his speech and toasts the room. The sound of clinking glass reverberates throughout the space. The air is electric with love, the promise of love, the anticipation of love. It sends a tingle onto everyone’s skin, like love is possible for every attendee at this very moment.

And I remember its intoxication. Parts of me still crave it.

Until I recall all the bits that weren’t love at all.

Music blooms in the room once again and then my father is walking toward our table. I watch Mom’s face, how she lights with surprise.

“Jimmy! What are you doing here?” She stands, my father takes her hands, kisses her so gently. Like he’s trying to get it just right.

“Zephyr asked me to come.”

“He’s my plus one,” I tell her. Mom looks at me then, and her joy fills me. She lowers her eyes in a soft thank you.

My father offers me his elbow. “Care to brave the dance floor with me?”

Dad and I are both crappy dancers, but that never stopped us from fooling around in the kitchen when I could still balance on his toes.

I follow him to the dance floor where Gregg’s little sisters are doing a mash-up between the waltz and flailing. The sweetness of it climbs in me, settles there.

“You look beautiful,” Dad says.

“I’m glad you came.”

I let my head fall against my father’s chest and close my eyes. The music swims in the room but all I can hear is his heartbeat. How it is reliable and here.

“Thank you for this, Zephyr.” My dad’s words are whispered, filled with gratitude.

I open my eyes, find his.

“Thank you for letting me back in, allowing me to earn your trust.”

“It’s just a dance, Dad.” I tack a laugh onto my words, but both of us hear how the giggle is forced. Because both of us know this is so much more than a dance.

“You know how your mother and I have been going out to dinner lately?” Dad asks.

“I know. Date night.”

“Date night.” Dad laughs. “I like that.”

“Well, I was wondering if it might be all right if I came to the house after one of our dinners? Just to see you and say hello. I won’t stay long. Not if it makes you uncomfortable.”

It wouldn’t. “I think that would be okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And there it is. A small pact, another small step.

When the song is over, Gregg walks to us, all shoulders and strut, like he’s on the ice, like his steps are effortless. I move to give him a hug.

“Congratulations,” I tell him.

“I didn’t get married.”

“No, but you got a brother-in-law. It’s about time men started to gain numbers in your family.”

He laughs. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Good point.” He looks to Dad, shakes his hand. “It’s nice to see you here, Mr. Doyle.” He nods toward the head table. “You’ve made my dad happy.”