The Beginning of After - By Jennifer Castle Page 0,25
arrive on late flights at the airport. He had a wife and a baby, and his sweet ’78 Mustang was just back from the shop.
We learned these things about him during the ten-minute drive from Meg’s house to the Hilton. It was easier to talk to Manny, through the open smoked-glass window dividing the front seat from the rest of the car, than make conversation with one another. I sat with Meg in the way-back, Joe and Gavin facing us. Gavin had a line of perspiration beading across his upper lip. He’d wipe it away, then two minutes later it was back.
“The Sweat Mustache,” whispered Meg, her breath minty against the side of my face.
Joe playfully kicked my foot, which was dressed in one of Nana’s black satin pumps and looked unattached to my body. I kicked back and smiled. Other than a light arm around my shoulder when we were posing for pictures, it was the first time we’d touched all evening.
At three, Meg and I had had our hair done at the Cosmos Salon. Hers: an updo with lots of curls. Mine: all down and straight. I got it trimmed a bit, to shoulder length, and even a few inches’ weight off my head felt like a huge relief. We had spent the time since then getting dressed in Meg’s room while Nana and Mrs. Dill drank tea downstairs. Meg showed me her new bra and announced her plans to fool around with Gavin at one of the after-prom parties. Later, I threw up in the Dills’ hallway bathroom sink.
We’d done photos on the front steps, then, after the guys arrived, more in the driveway and over near the big pine tree at the edge of the lawn. Nana went inside twice to get Kleenex, and each time she took too long.
I thought of the photo of my mother in her prom dress. It would have been easy to suggest we take one picture inside, of Joe and me in front of the stairs, and even though it wasn’t our house, it would have counted enough to make it into the double frame. But I didn’t want to. Not then, at that moment, when things were moving along so smoothly.
At the Hilton, there was a long line of limos dropping kids off. Quick swishes of colors and fabrics. Gel on the boys’ hair that glistened in the fading sun, and on the girls, corsages of every flower imaginable. If they put all their hands together, they’d make a field of bright, nonmatching blooms.
We watched everyone from the right-side window, quiet. When it was our turn, Manny got out and opened the back door. The guys exited first and moved away, cluelessly leaving Manny to help us step from the car.
“Thank you, sir,” said Meg, winking at him.
I just looked at the ground as he took my hand and pulled me onto the concrete, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. When I raised my head to see where I was going, there was Joe, holding out his hand now like he was offering me a lifeline.
And then there was Andie Stokes and Hannah Lindstrom, with their dates, Ryan and Lucas. I wasn’t sure who was with whom, but I couldn’t imagine it mattered. Andie hugged me, tight, and then dropped back to check out the dress.
“Oh my God,” she said. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks.”
“We have the best table. Come see.” She beckoned, and we all followed her into the ballroom. As we passed under the orange and blue balloon arch, I turned to see where Joe was. But he wasn’t behind me. I scanned the lobby until I spotted him talking with Mr. Churchwell, who shook his hand and clapped him on the back before letting him run to catch up. I turned back quickly so he wouldn’t know that I saw.
Mr. Churchwell. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but maybe he had something to do with all of this. With Joe, and with Andie and Hannah. But things were moving too fast for me to think more about it.
We did have the best table. It was farthest from the stage, centered along one side of the dance floor, next to French doors that opened onto the ballroom’s balcony. Most of Andie’s friends were already seated at the next table over—the second-best table—and we all waited for Andie to choose her seat. She did, and then everyone else fell into place, Meg and I next to each other.