Instructions for Dancing

by Nicola Yoon

  “Tango is dance of desire. For the three minutes of tango, there is nothing else but him. While you are dancing, you belong to him.”

  “Once again, totally sexist,” I say.

  “To be desired is also powerful, no?” she says.

  I don’t know about that.

  But the truth is, I understand what she’s saying. I am holding myself back. I am afraid to give in completely to how I feel about X.

  “Not to worry,” she says to me as we’re leaving. “Tango comes for everyone. You will learn to let go eventually.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Declarations

  “YOU GUYS WERE way better than I thought you’d be!” Cassidy shouts to X, Jamal and Kevin after their show.

  X laughs. “I’ll take that,” he says, grabbing extra chairs for the table.

  Kevin and Jamal give Cassidy a who the hell are you, white girl? look that she shrugs off.

  “Don’t listen to Cassidy,” Sophie says. “You guys were great.”

  “This was my first rock and roll show,” says Martin, sounding like someone’s great-great-great-grandparent from another planet. “It was incredible.”

  X does the introductions and makes his way around the table to me. His eyes are doing that electric, glittering thing I noticed the first time I saw him play. He tugs me to my feet and then picks me up and twirls me around. I yelp and hold on tight while he laughs into my hair.

  “We do okay?” he asks.

  “Amazing,” I say.

  He smiles against my neck, and his dreads are softly scratchy against my cheek.

  I press myself closer. There’s a feeling inside me like a balloon that’s one breath away from bursting. We’ve spent so much time together lately, just the two of us: dancing, texting, talking until way too late into the night. It feels good to be out with our friends, but it feels like a big step too. Like we’re making a public declaration to his friends and mine.

  I feel like I’m making a declaration to myself. Despite what the visions have taught me, I’m still doing this thing with X.

  X sits down in my chair and I sit on his lap. He wraps his arms around my waist. Everyone’s talking and laughing, but I’m barely listening. The club is even darker and smaller and smellier than I remember. I think maybe their cleaning products are actually made from stale beer and pee. The main act is getting set up onstage, and the club fills with even more people. X laughs at something, and I feel the rumble of it against my back. I love the way he laughs, free and open and with all of himself.

  After a while Jamal and Kevin take off. They have dates with some “lovely concertgoers,” as Jamal puts it. X fist-bumps them both goodbye. I watch the two of them disappear into the arms of a group of outrageously hip people.

  None of us wants the night to end, so we end up back at Cassidy’s house. As usual, her parents are away, on location for a movie shoot. She takes us out to their “outdoor entertaining area.” It’s more like a miniature country club than a backyard, and it’s beautiful. My favorite part is the blue-green lazy river that bubbles and meanders up and through the sloping lawn. Café lights flicker overhead, strung between tall, wide palm trees. There’s a full bar, couches, love seats and even a gas fireplace filled with bright-blue glass and lava rocks.

  Cassidy turns on the fireplace and gets us all drinks from the bar. Something about a fire makes you want to stare into it. For a few minutes we sit there watching the flames while listening to the bubbling of the pool and the rush of the Santa Ana winds through the palm trees.

  “My parents never, ever come out here,” Cassidy confesses into our silence.

  Sophie tips her head onto Cassidy’s shoulder, and Cassidy takes a sip of whatever she’s drinking.

  “Thanks for inviting us,” X says. “Hands down the nicest damn house party I’ve ever been to.”

  She laughs. “It is fabulous, right? I’m glad you guys came.”

  Martin’s sitting in the single armchair across from me and X. He nudges me with his foot. “Did you really write that ‘Black Box’ song?” he asks.

  Right before the band launched into it at the show earlier, X told the audience that I’d written the lyrics.

  “That one was my favorite,” Sophie says.

  “I only helped a little,” I say.

  X shakes his head. “She means a lot.”

  Everyone’s eyes are on us, and I’m more than a little self-conscious.

  Cassidy gets a mischievous gleam in her eye that tells me she’s going to embarrass me. “Aww, you guys are so cute,” she teases.

  “Aren’t we, though?” X says back, refusing to be embarrassed.

  Martin stands up suddenly. “I have a declaration to make.” He clears his throat. “The next time Danica is single, I’m going to ask her out.”

  “Good for you, man,” X says, clapping. “I hope she says yes.”

  I feel a pang of worry, but I force it aside. After all, here I am with X, risking an unknown future.

  “I hope she says yes too,” I say.

  I’ve surprised Martin. “I thought you’d try to talk me out of it,” he says.

  “Evie’s growing,” Cassidy says, laughing and raising her glass into the air.

  “Can I make a declaration too?” Sophie asks.

  “Of course, babe! Declarations all around.”

  “I declare that one day I’ll be on the International Space Station.”

  Then it’s Cassidy’s turn. “I declare…a thumb war,” she says. We all laugh and try to get her to be serious and actually declare something, but she’s not having it.

  Now it’s my turn. “Do I have to stand?”

  Both Martin and X say yes at the same time.

  “Fine,” I say, getting up. “I declare that I’m going to my dad’s wedding.”

  “No. Way,” says Martin.

  “Yes way,” I say, nodding.

  “That’s too much growth,” says Cassidy.

  “I’m proud of you, Eves,” Sophie says.

  X just smiles at me. “Guess it’s my turn,” he says, standing up. “I declare that one day I’ll be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I also declare that I’m going to finish high school. Someday soon. Ish.”

  We all laugh.

  “Speaking of high school,” Martin says, “I can’t believe it’s almost all over.”

  “Don’t you dare get sentimental!” Cassidy yells. She’s more than a little tipsy now. “Besides, we still have our summer road trip.”

  My vision of Sophie and Cassidy and their breakup and what it means for our road trip rises in my head, but I push it back down. Martin gives me a quick look to see how I’m doing. I flash him a smile that says I’m fine. I press my shoulder into X and remind myself that I’m living in the moment.

  Cassidy pours herself another glass of wine. “You know what this party needs? Music,” she says. She does something on her phone and suddenly music is coming out of speakers I can’t see. She springs up. “Come on, show us some of that fancy ballroom dancing.”

  “Noooo, let’s just sit here,” I say. “Besides, we can’t ballroom to this.” I bury my face in X’s shoulder.

  But X isn’t having it. He tells Cassidy what music to play and suddenly we’re giving impromptu dance lessons. We start with bachata. Somewhat surprisingly, Sophie and Martin get infinity hips right away. Cassidy takes a longer time. We move on to salsa and then to the Hustle, trading partners so Martin doesn’t feel like a fifth wheel.

  We drink more and dance more and we’re loud and tipsy and silly and all so in love with each other it makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

  Happiness is tricky. Sometimes you have to fight for it. Sometimes, though—the best times—it sneaks up behind you, wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close.

  CH
APTER 41

  Joy Emoji

 

  Me: Hey Dad

  Dad: Hi, honey. Is something wrong?

  Me: Everything’s fine

  Me: I have something to say

  Me: But I just want to say it over text

  Me: If I talk I’ll cry and I don’t want to cry

  Dad: Okay.

  Me: I decided to come to your wedding

  Dad: That’s wonderful. You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear that.

  Me: Yeah ok

  Dad: Are you sure I can’t call you? Texting is a poor medium for conveying joy.

  Me: God you’re such a nerd dad professor

  Me: Please don’t call. I get how happy you are

  Dad: Okay, sweetheart.

  Dad: You know Shirley’s shower is next Sunday. Would I be pushing it to ask you to go to that too?

  Me: Yes that’s definitely pushing it

  Me: But I’ll go

  Dad: !!!!!­!!!!!­!!!!!­!

  Me: That’s a lot of exclamation points dad

  Dad: It really is such a poor medium for communication.

  Me: You gotta get some emojis in there

  Dad: Not in a million years.

  Dad: I love you very much, Evie.

  Me:

  CHAPTER 42

  Uncomfortable Silences

  SHIRLEY’S WEDDING SHOWER is “themed,” which is a fancy way of saying it’s a costume party. We’re supposed to dress like we’re going to afternoon tea at Buckingham Palace.

  For the occasion, Danica’s wearing some sort of vintage, sleeveless, pink-and-white-flower-patterned silk dress. She’s also wearing an elaborate hat sculpture. I see a hummingbird and hibiscus flowers nestled in her Afro. It sounds ridiculous but looks incredible. Choosing the perfect outfit for every occasion is her superpower.

  My outfit is nothing special, just a beige skirt and a gauzy pale-yellow blouse. I (briefly, very briefly) considered wearing funeral black. I’ve talked myself out of going to this thing at least two times in the past week. Both times, X talked me back into it.

  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?”

  “Big and beautiful,” 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 the door.

  * * *

  ——

  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 help smiling.

  “There goes baby girl with that laugh,” says a hooting older woman at another table. A few other people chuckle along.

  I make myself stop gawking at her. Even her laugh is different from Mom’s. Mom laughs like she doesn’t want to disturb the air. Shirley laughs like a tornado. For the millionth time, I wonder if Dad fell out of love with Mom first or if he fell in love with Shirley first. If Shirley didn’t exist, would our family still be together? Or would he just have fallen for someone else?

  Fortunately, the waiters descend on us again, saving me from pondering questions with unknowable answers. This time, they’re carrying tiered silver trays filled with tiny sandwiches and miniature desserts. I hear a lot of oohing and aahing. One woman says she hopes they’re bringing more food.

  Danica takes artful pictures of everything she eats and posts them. I take less artful pictures and text them to X.

  I send him a photo of a tiny lemon custard pie complete with a gold leaf lying on top. He sends
a single potato chip sitting in the center of one of Maggie’s china plates.

  I send him one of a triangular salmon sandwich topped with caviar. He sends me one of a dollop of jam surrounded by four bread crusts.

  We go on like this and I laugh my way through the entire meal.

  Forty-five minutes later, I’ve eaten as many cucumber sandwiches and scones with clotted cream as any person reasonably should. I tried not to like the food, but it was completely delicious.

  Finally, it’s time for the actual gift exchange part of the event. Mentally, I prepare myself for boredom. And I’m not wrong. It is spectacularly boring. Mostly it consists of Shirley opening presents, cooing over the present and then tearfully thanking the giver of the present. Fifteen presents in, I want to stab myself. Twenty presents in, I do stab myself. I’m kidding.

  After the last present is opened and ritually appreciated, Shirley’s mom stands up and clinks her fork on her champagne glass.

  Someone yells out, “Don’t you make us cry now, Ms. Gene.”

  “Oh, you know she will,” someone else shouts back.

  Ms. Gene shushes them both. “You all just be quiet now.” She turns to Shirley, takes her hand and kisses it before turning back to us.

  “For those of you who know my Shirley, you know she’s been through a lot.” She stops talking and puts her fist over her heart. “Some of the things she’s been through, no one should have to endure. I don’t know why the Good Lord saw fit to put her through all that, but He works in mysterious ways.”

  Shirley bows her head slightly and her sisters cover her hands with theirs.

  What has she been through? I wonder.

  Her mom leans down to kiss her forehead. When she straightens back up, she’s crying. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry on this beautiful day, but…Anyway, today is not about old pain. Today is a celebration.”

  A chorus of mm-hmms goes up around the room.