48 First Dates (Seeking Romance #1)

The Prince of the First Dances

5

A beautiful dance,

followed by horrible news;

life changes quickly.

M y first kiss was not exactly how I had pictured it. The next day, Mitzi and I went to the mall to add a Max the Dog charm to my bracelet. The whole time, we attempted to parse Tyler’s body language to make sense of the date.

Mitzi and I decided I should play it cool—wave and say hi, then follow his lead. At most, I’d comment about school or chorus or some safe subject. No mention of what happened at the end of the date would be made unless Tyler brought it up.

It was a good plan.

The problem was he never looked in my direction. In fact, he did not say another word to me again. Ever.

It must have taken some superhuman power to ignore me for the rest of high school, but Tyler did it. Evidently, sneezing on someone is okay. But kissing like an animated dog is an unrecoverable humiliation. It was no surprise when he started dating another chorus girl, Emily. I just hoped she liked Max the Dog better than I did!

As for Mitzi and me, we decided that if Tyler felt the need to ignore us. We were more than happy to reciprocate.

We put the whole mess out to pasture and focused on the Spring Fling. The event was a Sadie Hawkins dance. The one where the girls asked the boys. It all started with the unmarried women of Dogpatch in the Lil’ Abner comic strip so many years ago. I did a report on it for co-op one year, hoping the leaders would let us have our own dance. Homeschooling filled one with random facts.

Anywhoo, there was a guy in Mitzi’s ceramic class that she wanted to ask. He had a friend named John that needed a date. John was the one with the car and the driver’s license. His attendance, with a date, was critical to the plan.

After a bit of begging, I agreed to ask John to the dance, but only after I checked with my parents. I waited until about a week before the dance to ask, positive my parents would say no since they didn’t know John and he was driving.

To my surprise and sarcastic delight, they said yes.

The shock of their agreement made me miss the tears in my dad’s eyes. I ignored the sniffle my mom made as she turned away to finish cooking dinner.

In hindsight, I wish I had noticed how unsteady her voice sounded when she suggested she take us shopping for our dresses. I wish I noticed how quiet my dad was as he watched the moment unfold. I failed to see the clues that would have warned me about what was to come.

Unaware, I swallowed my pride and asked a friend of a hopefully-more-than-a-friend of my best friend to my first high school dance. And when he said yes, all my thoughts turned to dresses, hair, and my ability to dance to songs I had never listened to before.

Mitzi’s mom worked as a hairdresser. She agreed to come over the night of the dance to do our hair and makeup. When they came, Mrs. Katz gave my mom a long hug. I was too wrapped up in dresses and dances to recognize that clue, either. It’s only in my memory that I can connect the dots.

The night of the dance, we agreed to meet the boys at a local state park. The beachside preserve was a popular place to take pictures. A whirlwind of sequins, lace, silk, and suits played out on the sun-bleached shores. Flashes from what had to be a million cameras lit up our group.

My mom insisted on getting at least a hundred pictures. Ones of only me. Ones of dad and I. Ones with my whole family. Ones with Mitzi and I. Ones with our dates.

I’m grateful she captured the magic of that evening and our radiant smiles. She highlighted how our dresses matched the emerald waters. They popped perfectly against the background of crystal-white sand and straw-green sea oats. She memorialized Dad’s look of pride as he posed next to me. With her lens, Mom captured the essence of a fairytale evening.

She also captured a moment when I did not know that the wicked witch had already delivered the poison apple.

The moment the pictures were done, we headed out. The cafeteria at McCracken High had morphed into an under-the-sea nightclub. There were green, blue, and purple lights flashing everywhere.

The decorating committee hung several hundred tiny silver balls all over the ceiling. Each one reflected light in the same way that the sun filters through the ocean. We lived a hop, skip, and jump from the beach, but this—this was beyond all our expectations.

To make the moment even more special, as we walked in, they were playing my song—“Brown-Eyed Girl.” John grabbed my hand, and we danced till our toes were numb. I didn’t know all the songs. And I’m sure I didn’t have all the moves, but it didn’t matter. It was the most fun I had had in the almost fifteen years I had been on the Earth. By the end, we were messy, sweaty, no-shoe-wearing versions of the people who had arrived.

It was a fairytale-esque evening. A kiss at the end was the only thing that would have made it dreamier.

But that would never happen. John and I had decided that we were going to be friends. The kind with inside jokes and lots of shared moments. The kind that had absolutely no fairytale spark between them.

The realization didn’t end the enjoyment of the night. It lingered as I shut the door behind me. The smile that begun with the pictures was still plastered on my face. I sighed with contentment as I locked the door.

“Adelaide Ann, is that you?”

I wish I could freeze myself at that moment.

That I could stop time with me standing at the bottom of the stairs. With the mythical joy of that evening dripping from my fingertips. With the sound of my father’s voice calling to me. With my heart full.

I can still hear the tone of his voice that evening. It was a mixture of relief, joy, and sorrow, tinged with fear. I wondered why it sounded that way. I questioned why it wasn’t my mom who had called out.

I thought of the sea glass charm I wanted to add to symbolize this night. I worried my parents would be upset that my shoes were ruined. I debated if they would forgive me when they saw the smile on my face.

There are a few details about that night that I don’t recall.

The way the house still smelled like the pizza we had for dinner. The way the vacuum lines were still visible on the carpeted steps as I walked up the flight. The way I winced every time the blister on my left big toe hit the carpet. The hoot of an owl in the backyard. The whoosh of my dress as I climbed the stairs. The way the door creaked as I opened it to go into my parent’s room. The way the light played off my mom’s crushed velvet robe.

The details of that moment are frozen in time. The minute observations are forever etched in my brain.

At that time, I had no clue that one of the worst moments of my life would arrive on the heels of the best one.

I walked into my parent’s room and leaned over to give my dad and mom a hug goodnight. The scent of toothpaste mixed with something I couldn’t place lingered around Dad. His hair was mussed, and his cheeks were pink as if he had been running his hand down his face. The top button on his pajama top was misaligned.

Mom’s eyes were dewy and red-rimmed. She had missed her nightly hair routine, but I got a whiff of her oatmeal lotion as I leaned in for a hug. A thin-lipped smile graced her face as she asked, “How was the dance, honey?”

Something is not right , flashed in the back of my mind, but I ignored it.

“It was stupendous!” I closed my eyes. “But I am ex.haus.ted.” I dragged the word out as I flopped on the end of the bed.

Mom looked at Dad and he nodded slightly. She turned back to me and said, “Well, then get yourself to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

I nodded, gave them both another hug, and headed off to bed, wondering why my mom’s voice wavered as she dismissed me.

I awoke the next morning to a bouquet of bacon mixed with coffee topped off with a hint of cinnamon.

Yes! Mom made breakfast!

Wait, what is so special about today?

I threw off the sheets and winced when my feet hit the floor. The blisters from last night hadn’t completely healed. I glanced out the window and noted the gray skies, which foretold of a rain-filled day. I realized my plans for the day would have to change.

I pulled on a sweatshirt over my pajamas, pushing any lingering doubts and sadness away. It was time to deliver the play-by-play of my first dance. I smiled to myself as I wince-skipped out of my room and down the stairs.

Nothing is going to ruin my post-dance good mood!

When I got to the kitchen, everyone was already at the table. But no one was eating. Or talking.

“Adelaide, get some food and sit down,” my mom said. The waver from last night now had an accompanying sniffle.

I grabbed a cinnamon roll and a piece of bacon, taking my place beside my sister. My dad had his elbows on the table with his chin resting on his tented fingers as he stared off into space. My brother was looking down at his plate, and my sister was hiding behind her coffee mug. A somber expression filled my mother’s face.

Why was everyone so down?

Usually, mom making breakfast from scratch is a celebratory affair…

I took a bite of the salty bacon and asked, “What’s going on here? Homemade breakfast and you two,” I paused, using my bacon to point at my parents, “look like someone died.”

My father looked out the window. My mother looked each of us in the eye, landing her gaze on me. A pit was forming in my stomach.

Uh-oh, this was bad.

“Honey, we didn’t want to ruin your night. And your father and I wanted…”

Definitely bad. Bad enough to ruin my post-dance mood bad.

Mom took a deep breath, but my dad spoke first. “I have cancer. We found out last week, the morning before you asked about the dance. We didn’t tell you kids immediately because I wanted you to enjoy your first dance without worrying.” He explained as he looked each of us in the eye, ending with me.

My sister gasped, and my brother continued staring at his plate. My mind was reeling with questions, but only one escaped. “What?”

“It’s cancer, and we’re going to hit it with everything we’ve got. We’re going to fight hard with chemo and radiation, but you need to know that it’s an aggressive form. We hope that treatment will add years and years, but the doctor has let us know that there is no cure. The treatment will slow it down, but it won’t—” All our heads popped up as my dad’s voice caught.

My mom reached over and grabbed his hand.

I stared at them, willing one of my parents to say they were joking. That it would all be okay. Willing my father to finish his sentence with, “It won’t kill me.”

But that’s not what happened.

“Kids, the truth is that I will die from this cancer one day. We don’t know when that day will be, but we need to be prepared that it could be soon.”

The air left the room.

The briny bite of bacon soured in my mouth, and the cinnamon roll on my plate looked as appetizing as dust.

I stared at my lap, hoping something there would help this breakfast make sense. But the only thought in my brain was, I bet those women in Dogpatch didn’t catch news like this the morning after their first Sadie-Hawkins dance.