Around nine, the candle-covered cake is rolled into a central location amid all of the tables. The candles are lit by a team of waiters as everyone crowds around, Clint standing nearest to the table with Renata by his side. Caia bids Grace a quick, sweet farewell, and then the three Caldwell children are standing together, opposite their parents. Caia extends onto her tippy-toes to whisper something in Crew’s ear that makes him cup a handover her mouth, and Cooper ducks his head toward them, hoping to be let in on the joke. Grace tries not to wonder what Caia said, tries not to consider the possibility that it might’ve been about her. When the last candle is lit, Renata smiles proudly and holds up her wineglass. Without having to say a word, she brings all of the conversations to a gentle close.
“I’d like to say a few words about Clint on his sixtieth birthday,” she begins. Her cheeks are wine flushed, but she looks radiant. “You’ve all probably heard this before, but you’re gonna listen anyway.”
A light chuckle ripples through the crowd.
“Clint and I met when we were just kids. He was my high school sweetheart.”
Grace’s brows hike; she had no idea their story spanned so many years. They look at each other like they’re still in the throes of passionate, all-consuming love—she never would’ve guessed they’ve known and loved each other for most of their lives. She didn’t think that kind of love actually existed—let alonethrived—in real life.
“We grew up together. He’s always been my best friend.” She looks at her husband, tilting her head affectionately. “But I didn’t know helike-likedme until we were in tenth grade, when he bribed the janitor into opening my locker on Valentine’s Day so he could leave me a necklace and a letter that confessed his feelings.” With her free hand, she fishes something out of the pocket of her sleek black slacks. A folded-up piece of notebook paper, faded and discolored from years of being touched and treasured. “I still have it. You don’t get to know what he said—but what youshouldknow is that the necklace was from Kmart. It turned my neck green, but I still wore it every single day. I stillhave that, too, but it’s become a bit more fragile over the years. Clint spent his lawn mowing earnings on it, and the reason I always tell this story when I’m talking about my husband is because it’s so quintessentiallyhim.Even at fourteen, he was willing to work tirelessly for the people he loved. Sweat, blood, tears—hours of hard labor to pull together twenty dollars so he could spoil me in the only way he knew how.” Clint’s cheeks have gone red, and he’s shifting back and forth on the heels of his boots—the man looks about two seconds away from breaking into a full sob.
“We’ve been through a lot since then,” Renata continues. “Colleges on the opposite side of the country—long distance was awful. But then we came back to Texas, made a home for ourselves on my family’s ranch. He knew that was my dream and he made it come true. He gave me three beautiful children.” She nods in the direction of the three of them, all suddenly looking uncharacteristically sheepish. Renata dismisses their shyness with a tiny, endearing wave of her hand.
“Clint—every single day, you make me happier than the one before. Thank you for being the heart and soul of this family, the unshakable port in my perpetual storm. You are more loved than you will ever know.” She raises her glass, and the sea of people surrounding her follows suit. “Happy birthday, honey.” The crowd echoes her, and then everyone drinks to a teary-eyed Clint, who has pulled Renata into his embrace to kiss her temple, the two looking very much like two kids in puppy love.
The band returns to their instruments to accompany the “Happy Birthday” song, and Clint’s smile grows wider as he approaches the cake, beckoning everyone closer. “Are y’all trying to burn down the ranch? Get over here and help me with these,”he shouts. With the help of his family and friends, the candles are extinguished, followed by roaring applause.
As beautiful as the moment is, Grace can’t help the darkness that settles into her thoughts as she watches the Caldwells share a long, tight group hug. Clint’s smile is blinding, not a shred of melancholy in his eyes. The look of a man surrounded by love so genuine it’s almost palpable. Grace has never seen anything like this—doesn’t quite know what to make of it once the joy begins to soften. It’s like real life comes crashing back, reminding her thatthisis how a family should be. Telling her none too kindly that she doesn’t belong in this picture—doesn’t fit in with all these shiny, happy people.
Thankfully, the onslaught of self-doubt and hate is throttled by a hand grasping and squeezing her wrist, demanding her attention. She turns to find June at her right, eyes sparkling and glued to the stage. “You ready?” June asks.
Grace follows her stare and sees Bryce on the verge of starting another song. “For what?”
June grins but says nothing.
“All right folks,” Bryce says into the mic. “I’ve been told y’all have a little tradition for Señor Clint’s birthday.”
A variety of hollering erupts from the crowd, and suddenly, everyone is pouring in, racing past Grace and June and onto the dance floor.
“That’s right,” Bryce says, nodding. “If you aren’t already, come on and get down to the dance floor. Because we…” He strums the guitar, taps a boot against the stage, and looks to his band for confirmation that they’re ready. Satisfied, he smirks and says, “Are about toboot scoot.”
A familiar song begins, and the steps to the accompanyingline dance begin in perfect synchronicity. “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” is one of those universally beloved songs, and there isn’t a person in the state of Texas who doesn’t know it, or the steps. It draws people to the dance floor like moths to a flame, Grace included. Because when “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” is playing, it’s basically sacrilegious to do anythingbutboot scoot.
June renews her hold on Grace’s wrist, dragging her out onto the dance floor amid the sea of party guests. Grace looks around, spotting familiar faces with alcohol-flushed cheeks and wide grins as they all make their way into surprisingly uniform lines. She starts to move her feet when she’s found her place in a line—the grapevines, the clicks and kicks, all of it comes as naturally as breathing, muscle memory at its finest. Standing in the line in front of them are Mikey, Caleb, and Pierce, who all stumble through the steps and almost knock over a group of elderly women. Grace and June nearly double over with laughter as the three men attempt to regain their footing, the older women staring daggers into them, all the while not missing a single step. The mass of people turns fluidly in a new direction, and then the Caldwells come into view.
While it isn’t surprising to see all five of them on the dance floor—as a unit, they seem to have the power to convince the surly eldest son to do anything they want—it is strange to witness just how…goodof a dancer Crew actually is. Grace imagines him being dragged to dance halls across the state with his parents as a child, learning line and square dances elbow to elbow with his mother. His hat is tipped back slightly, revealing a sliver of his hairline. His expression is uncharacteristically relaxed, like he doesn’t even have to think about what move to make next. He knows it by heart—could probably do it in his sleep.
Toward the end of the song, Cooper tries to cut his older brother down to size by kicking behind his knee. He laughs as Crew nearly face-plants, and then the two men are tussling in the middle of the dance floor. Caia and Renata both yell for them to knock it off; Clint hollers something that sounds likeTake it outside—a dad joke if there ever was one, considering theyareoutside. The horseplay ceases as the song comes to an end—Crew’s hat has fallen to the floor, leaving his dark hair to sprout wildly in multiple directions. He replaces the hat firmly on his head, then chuffs Cooper’s chin with a light fist. A boy’s version of getting the last word.
“Y’all look damn good out there,” Bryce says when the music has faded out. “What about the El Paso? Anybody know that one?”
The majority of the crowd cheers, but some begin to scatter, heading back to their tables, or the bar, or to the extremely fancy porta-potty trailer bathrooms, which are air-conditioned and smell like a garden in the springtime.
It happens quickly, before Grace even realizes what’s unfolding. Caleb and Pierce grab hold of each other dramatically. Mikey tries his luck with a guest, and his eyes light up when she agrees. Cooper playfully slaps Crew in the stomach before turning around and starting slowly, nervously, toward June, and when they make eye contact across the dance floor, she gives him a Cheshire cat smile.
Grace, now by herself amid the buzzing crowd, searches for a familiar face to pair off with before the music gets going. She sort of knows this dance—remembers it vaguely from the teen nights she went to at Midnight Rodeo in middle school. Mostly, she remembers how important it was to quickly partner up withyour crush before they got stolen away by another. How scandalous it felt, holding both hands, wrapped around each other, sweaty and tentative and exhilarating.
Now, as an adult, the stakes are much lower. In fact, Grace is content to walk off the dance floor when she sees most of the hands already paired with others. An ice-cold drink sounds like heaven after working up a sweat during the previous dance—and with this hairstyle, there’s no respite from the dank heat, no breeze hitting the back of her neck. It takes all the patience she has not to yank the now flattened, frizzy curls into a high ponytail.
Bryce begins to strum his guitar, landing on another cover, a familiar tune. Over the music, a murmur catches Grace’s attention as she’s making to leave, and what she finds has warmth blooming in her cheeks for a reason other than the summer heat. Clint’s and Renata’s hands are already clasped, both standing and ready to begin. In front of them are Cooper and June, and next to them, Caia is standing at Crew’s shoulder looking adamant about something. Crew’s hands are up, and he’s starting to back away from his sister, but she appears to care little for whatever excuse he’s making to leave.
Because Caia’s got Grace in her sights, and the twinkle in her eye tells Grace that her mind is made up. It looks so much like the one in Renata’s—but where Renata’s is sage and assuring, Caia’s is mischievous and confident.
She mouths the wordgoto her brother, then points firmly past him. At Grace.
Crew turns, and when he spots her, his shoulders give a little sag. Whether from disappointment and irritation at his sister’s matchmaking, or from relief that it’s Grace on the other end of Caia’s command and not another politician’s wife he has toschmooze, she doesn’t know. His expression is as unreadable as ever.
She doesn’t know exactly what she expected—maybe a shake of his head, a resigned shrug—somethingthat would let Grace down easily when he inevitably exited the dance floor and did not succumb to sisterly pressure. In the variety of scenarios, she hadn’t given weight to the possibility that he’d actually listen, and that he’d be walking toward her with purposeful steps, his face transforming from a nondescript mask into something soft. Something sweet.
