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.

CHAPTER 41

Joy Emoji

<Thursday, 9:47 AM>

 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.