My heels sink into the grass as I walk toward them. Nick folds me into a big hug that I’m not totally expecting but feels really good.
“You look beautiful,” Nick says into my ear. I don’t want to let him go. “Kira, what do you think of Sam’s dress?”
“I would’ve worn pink,” Kira replies. She’s wearing a bright pink dress and glittery cowboy boots. Honestly, an inspired sartorial choice.
“I don’t wear pink,” I say. “It looks super good on you, though.”
“She’s excited for the dancing,” Nick says.
“I hope you’ve both practiced your eighties and nineties moves. I had a peek at the playlist and I’m pretty sure there’s going to be a group singalong to ‘Get What You Give’ after the cake cutting.”
“I’m hungry,” Kira says.
I direct them to the food trucks and set off in search of my mom. Maybe I’m still feeling some emotional hangover from the ceremony, but I think I want to tell her about my “someday,” too.
Mom waves tome from across the lawn. She’s walking toward me with a woman I don’t recognize, scanning the crowd like they’re looking for someone. The woman is somewhere in between my mom’s age and mine, wearing a strappy green dress that looks sophisticated, yet appropriate for a casual outdoor wedding. A fellow Realtor?
“Have you seen Nick?” Mom asks.
“Oh, well, yes. I have. I actually wanted to talk to you about—”
“Perfect timing,” Mom says to the woman. “Oh, I forgot you haven’t met! Sam, this is Shawna.”
I take in a sharp breath that almost chokes me before managing to say, “I’ve heard so much about you.” She has no idea how much.
My mother leans a little closer to me. “How should we officially introduce them? I was thinking you could bring Kira over to the dessert table or something.”
Great. Even in this scenario, I’m the babysitter.
A few seconds later, Shawna’s mother, who must have a terrific radar for drama, appears beside her.
“I’ve never done something like this before,” Shawna whispers to the rest of us. “I’m really nervous.”
I study Shawna’s face for signs thatshewas hoping for this meeting as opposed to either of our mothers, but all I see is minor embarrassment at being dragged to the wedding of a near stranger for the sake of a misfired setup. I wonder if her mother has been as insistent about this entire thing…if she’s also watching videos about “parenting emerging adults” and sliding their talking points into conversations.
I need to act quickly.
“Actually…” I touch my mom’s forearm. “I need to talk—”
I’m not sure what comes first: the ear-piercing “Boooo!” or the swift shove by sticky little hands against my back, pitching me and my champagne glass forward directly into Shawna.
In the background I hear Nick yelling to Kira in a booming voice, my mom’s theatrical gasp, Shawna letting out a little scream when the champagne hits her dress.
In the foreground, my body does the full fight-or-flightresponse: surge of adrenaline, racing heart, loudly unleashing several expletives as I crash into another woman in formalwear.
I manage to stay on my feet only because my stupid heels are stuck in the soft grass. And the accidental bodily contact from Shawna breaking my fall.
Nick crouches down and puts his face near Kira’s. “What did I tell you about that?”
“It’s a game we do!” she exclaims. My least favorite game ever.
The other women descend on Shawna with napkins.
“That’s not a game,” Nick says. “Come here and apologize to everyone. Especially Sam and…this nice lady.”
Kira tilts her head down and says she’s sorry with as much sincerity as one can expect from an embarrassed nine-year-old. At least there’s no baby talk this time.
“Well, I guess that answers the question of how to introduce you two,” my mom says, dabbing at Shawna’s shoulder with a napkin. “Nick, this is Shawna—I think you’ve chatted, right?”
