“You may now kiss each other!” Vivian shouts, pulling me out of my own brain to watch as Mom and Ron share a gentle kiss. Vivian’s right—they are so happy together. They walk down the grassy aisle together as Misty cues up this Ben Folds song called “The Luckiest” that Ron is obsessed with, and all seventy or so people in the audience stand up.
“That was so great,” Ember says, wiping at their cheek.
“They’re so damn cute together,” Shana says.
“I know,” I say. “They really are.”
“I cannot wait to explode this crowd’s collective brain,” Shana says.
We’re about twenty minutes into the cocktail hour, ten minutes before Angry Baby will start playing, and spirits are high. Shana, Ember, and I are huddled behind the drum (secretly) sharing a beverage called a greyhound that Vivian kindly snuck to us. It has grapefruit juice and vodka, and though my drinking experience is limited, I think it’s the best-tasting alcoholic thing I’ve ever had.
“Hey, go easy on that,” Ember says, eyeing us with genuine concern. “You need to still be able to play chords.”
“Ember, my love,” Shana says, one hand on their shoulder. “It’s one drink split among the three of us. I think we’re gonna be okay.”
“This is my last sip,” I say, taking a large chug that goes down rougher and grosser than I was expecting. “Yowza-dowza!”
Shana, Ember, and I all crack up. I’m not feeling nervous about performing anymore. And it’s not (just) because of the vodka! I’mriding high on the wave of Mom and Ron’s love, on the relief that Vivian is emanating now that the hard part of her day is done and it went so well, on this deep feeling I have that being back with Carter is the Right Thing, no matter what doom awaits us in six months.
Plus, it still hasn’t rained, and the sky has taken on a lighter shade of gray.
“Oh!” Shana says. “Maggie, question: the chords going from the chorus into the bridge... Is it B-flat right into C? Or does it bounce to F first, then C?”
“Lemme think.” I hum through the song in my head. “It bounces to...”
In the middle of the sentence, I see him, wandering through the yard.
Dad has arrived.
“Bounces to what?” Shana gives me a playful shove. “F?”
“Yes,” I say. “F. As inFmy life because of what IC.”
Dad is wearing a black sports jacket over a light blue button-down, along with jeans and his black Chuck Taylors. He grabs a dumpling off a server’s tray and pops it in his mouth, right before he spots me.
My nerves come rushing back.
“Magpie!” Dad says, arms wide, giving me a hug that I mostly reciprocate. “I’m in time for your set, right? How’d the ceremony go?”
“Hey, it was great,” I say. “Really beautiful. Did you miss it on purpose?”
“Eh,” Dad says. “More or less, yeah. I wanted to see Vivvy in her element, but... There’s only so much weird I can handle, you know?”
“That makes two of us.”
“You didn’t want to see it either?” he asks, unable to hide his excitement.
“No, I’m talking about right now, Dad,” I say. “You. Being here.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Dad scratches his cheek and looks around. “Well, your mom and Ron were really cool about it. I already missed your last gig. Couldn’t miss this one too. They get that. You look fantastic, by the way. Great dress. I—” Dad turns to acknowledge my friends, as if he’s just noticed them. “Hey, Shana! Ember! Long time, no see!”
“Hey, Mr. Spear,” Shana says at the same time that Ember says hi.
“Heard you all tore it up big-time at your coffee shop gig. Consider me hashtag proud, as you kids would say.”
“No one says that anymore, Dad.”
“Ha! Okay.” Dad lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Magpie, is it too much for me to be here? Should I go?”
