Mom’s at the kitchen table, drinking tea and flipping through yet another recipe book when we get downstairs. She closes the book and presses one hand over her heart when she sees us. I’m not sure I understand the look she’s giving us. There’s pride there, and something else too.
“When did you girls get so big?”
“Bigandbeautiful,” Danica says with a little curtsy.
“You were always beautiful,” she says. “But I just don’t know when you got so big.” She sounds genuinely surprised—astonished, even—like we grew two feet overnight.
“You okay, Mom?” I ask.
“Yes, man. I’m fine,” she says, waving me off. She walks over to Danica and adjusts the hibiscus on her hat. She dusts something I can’t see off my shoulder.
“Time really flies, you know,” she says. “And the older you get, the faster it flies.”
I don’t think the slight Jamaican accent I hear in her voice is my imagination. I scour her face for a sign that she’s feeling less than fine, but I can’t find one. But how can she be okay when she’s sending us off to Dad’s soon-to-be bride’s wedding shower? How can she be so over it, when I’m not at all?
“You girls have a good time,” she says, and sends us out thedoor.
——
The shower is forty-five minutes away at a hotel in Pasadena. When we get there, the other guests are easy to spot. Flower-patterned dresses and enormous hats abound. We get a few stares and even some double-takes from the staff and hotel guests. I suppose they don’t see large groups of mostly Black women dressed for a garden party every day. That, or they’re flabbergasted by our tremendous beauty.
The hostess leads us out to a courtyard patio, and it feels like we’ve stepped into a wild English garden. I see bougainvillea on trellises and climbing vines on the walls. Lavender, rosemary and jasmine bushes are everywhere. I see hibiscus, poppies and marigolds and other bright flowers I don’t know the names of.
It’s all very beautiful, like a fairy tale.
Shirley is the evil stepmother.
Obviously.
It’s not hard to spot Shirley. She’s the only one wearing a white veil instead of a hat. Danica makes a beeline for her. I watch them hug. Danica twirls to show off her outfit and Shirley claps her hands together, delighted. They look more like sisters than future stepmom and daughter. I try not to stare, but I can’t help myself. The last (and only) time I saw her was when I caught her with Dad.
At least physically, she’s nothing like Mom. Mom is tall and straight. Shirley is short and curvy. Mom has a short Afro. Shirley has a big wild one. I wonder if their personalities are different too. And if they are, then how did Dad manage to fall for both of them in one lifetime?
I force myself to stop staring and hurry to my table. If I can manage to avoid talking to Shirley for the entire shower, then today will have been a success.
As soon as I sit, my phone buzzes with a message from X. Just seeing his name on my screen makes me feel less panicky.
X: Doing ok?he asks.
I take a selfie holding one of the fancy teacups. I text it to him with the caption #teaforone.
He texts back immediately.Want me to come join you?
I’d love for him to be here. He’d make me laugh. He’d distract me from the sad, angry, panicked churning in my stomach.
Girls only,I text back.
Two minutes later, he sends me a picture of himself wearing a dress, heels and a lot of makeup.
I zoom in and decide he looks pretty great. I have many questions about the picture but not enough time to ask them.
Danica arrives at the table with Aunt Collette (Dad’s older sister) and Cousin Denise (Collette’s daughter). They live in San Francisco, so we don’t see them a lot. Aunt Collette spends ten minutes telling me and Danica how she can’t believe how grown-up we are. Danica and I smile at each other. First Mom and now Aunt Collette. Why are grown-ups constantly surprised that we kids grow up? I’m pretty sure that’s what we’re supposed to do.
After a few minutes, waiters descend to take our tea orders and the shower begins in earnest. The garden fills with the buzz of twenty-something women chatting and celebrating.
Shirley is at the next table over, sitting with five women. Again, I can’t help watching her. A couple of the women look like her sisters, with the same wide eyes and high cheekbones. The older woman sitting right next to her must be her mom. She’s what Shirley will look like in thirty years. Her mom leans over and whispers something into her ear that makes her throw her head back and laugh. Shirley’s laugh is loud and strangely dolphin-esque. It’s also completely contagious. I can’t helpsmiling.
“There goes baby girl with that laugh,” says a hooting older woman at another table. A few other people chuckle along.
