“Hey, Cary, you look nice.”
“Thanks, Gloria.” (Her mom made Cary call her “Gloria.” He hated it, but it would be rude to call her “Mrs. Butler” if that wasn’t what she wanted to be called.) “I wasn’t sure whether Shiloh saw that we were here.”
“You should have honked,” Shiloh said, coming down the stairs.
“Slow down,” her mom said to her. “You’ll break your neck.”
“I don’t like to honk,” Cary said, looking up at Shiloh. His eyesshifted, surprised. Shiloh couldn’t read his expression—but she was happy to register with him.
Cary was wearing a black tux with a red cummerbund. Apparently all the guys rented tuxes for prom; you couldn’t just wear a suit. (Well, youcould,but Cary respected conventions.) His tux was too wide in the shoulders, and it was still polyester—but it looked way better than his ROTC uniform.
“Hang on,” Shiloh’s mom said, looking around the living room. “I’ll get you money for dinner.”
They were going to Kowloon, a sit-down Chinese place. Entrees were $7.95 and you got two crab rangoons plus egg drop soup.
“I’ve got it,” Cary said.
“Save your money, Cary.”
“You save your money, Gloria. I’ve got it.”
“He’s got it, Mom. See you later.” Shiloh hugged her mom from the side, then pushed Cary out onto the enclosed porch. It was dark—the porch light was burned out. She closed the front door behind them.
“Hey, wait,” Cary said. He caught Shiloh’s wrist before she could walk past him down the steps.
She turned back to him. Thanks to her boots, she was a little bit taller than he was.
“I got you this,” Cary said, holding up a plastic clamshell. “But I guess you already have a flower.”
Shiloh squinted down at the box. There were flowers in it. A corsage.
“Oh god,” she said, “was I supposed to get you a flower? And Mikey?”
“We don’t need flowers,” he said. “But we thought—I thought, well, girls always have them at prom.”
“Then let’s do it,” she said. “Thank you.”
Cary shook his head. He seemed upset. “No. Your flower looks better. You look good.” He glanced down at her, then up again. “You look like a time traveler.”
Shiloh reached for the corsage. Cary pulled the box away—“Shiloh.” She caught it anyway and tugged it out of his hand.
She cracked the lid open. It was a little bouquet with three white carnations and baby’s breath, tied with a blue ribbon.
“Your flower is nicer,” Cary said again.
He was right.
“My flower is fake,” Shiloh said. “Hold this.” She handed him the box and started unpinning her lily. She had to be careful—her mom had used two sewing pins.
Cary watched her. He handed her the corsage when she was ready for it.
It was hard to pin something onto your own chest. The corsage came with a long pearl-ended pin, and you had to get it just right... Shiloh stuck her finger and swore.
“Here,” Cary said. “Let me.” He took the carnations from her, and the pin, and leaned closer.
“I guess you’ve done this before,” Shiloh said, thinking of the photo of Cary and Angie, and remembering the corsage on Angie’s sleeveless gown.
“It would be easier with a light,” Cary said. His head was bent in front of her face.
