“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.”