Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,107

outside and his beat-up Nova had been given a surprise paint job in his favorite color. “Sounds good to me,” he said. We shared the second rum and Coke and were still holding hands when waiters began setting down plates at each table. I didn’t know how or if I should address the hand-holding, but as I was doing it, I knew it was what I wanted to be doing.

“That’s my cue to go to the head table,” I said. “But save me a dance later?”

“I’m basically here to do whatever you want and eat some chicken,” Joe said as we broke apart to go to our tables. His smile made me feel better than the drinks had.

As I crossed the room, someone tapped my shoulder. I spun around to see Mrs. Trillo, with Mr. Trillo standing behind her. Mrs. Trillo’s enormous boobs had somehow been hoisted into a dress with spaghetti straps, and she wore a stronger perfume than her usual Jean Naté.

She drew back slightly at my black eye, and I knew I should go reapply my eye makeup. I moved my hair shield back into place. “Susan, honey, how are you doing?” She said it so gravely, you’d have thought I was at one of my parents’ funerals, not a wedding.

“Things are good,” I said, trying to hit the right note. If I sounded too chipper, it might seem snotty. I didn’t want to seem like I didn’t miss her, or Candace, because I did.

“We haven’t seen you much lately,” she said, looking so sad I wondered what Candace had told her. Or maybe Candace hadn’t said anything and I was just missed.

“I know. Soccer and school and Candace is . . . busy,” I said, assembling an awkward attempt at a sentence. “I have to get to the head table now but . . . I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, honey,” Mrs. Trillo said, as Mr. Trillo gave me a distracted but fatherly smile.

I replayed the conversation in my head, thinking that if that was the thorniest moment at my dad’s wedding, I would count myself lucky.

With dinner came wine, but I stuck to sips of the rum drink. Joe and I caught each other’s eyes a few times. Maybe Tina had been right about taking a chance on him. If she hadn’t been with her dad—she’d left right after she got me ready—I would have found a pay phone and called to ask what I should do. But she’d probably tell me to go with it, and given the way Joe and I couldn’t stop smiling at each other . . . maybe she’d be right.

The day’s collection of unforeseen events—the game that wasn’t one, the reckless thrill of chalking the field, the team’s rush to get me ready, Bobby’s compliment, hand-holding, and now trading these looks with Joe, like we weren’t just friends—put an extra sparkle on my buzz. I was happy, and it surprised me, especially when I compared the feeling to how I’d reacted when Polly first told me about the wedding. I felt important at the main table, seated next to my dad, who slung a proud arm around me every time someone came up to congratulate him. When they’d comment on what a beautiful woman I was becoming, Dad would mention how I was quite an athlete, too. He must have been a little buzzed, like me. But his pride was genuine.

I’d eaten half my chicken and a few forkfuls of vegetables and potatoes when the lights dimmed for the first dance. Polly and my dad had opted to have couples join them on the floor. Joe waited for me to finish a dance with my uncle Rich, who was my dad’s best man. Then it was our turn.

We started to sway to “Just the Way You Are” by Billy Joel, and Joe put his hands on my waist. My head came up to his chin, and when he cocked his head to whisper in my ear, his breath was warm on my neck. “So is it weird, being in your dad’s wedding?”

“It’s not as weird as you’d think,” I said. “Or maybe I’m getting used to dealing with strange circumstances.”

“So now you can tell me what the strange circumstances were with St. Mark’s.”

“Well, I don’t know how to say this, but there are dirty movie theaters downtown where I’d see fewer penises than I did today.”

“Wait . . . what?”

I told him about Ken and the team’s streaking, and douching,