TAYLOR AND Megan were on the patio with Uncle Mike, each holding a big red cup.
“We’re reviewing the playlist,” Uncle Mike said.
“Well, no one needs to hear ‘Mony Mony’ again, ever,” Megan said, scrolling through Uncle Mike’s phone, which apparently he’d gotten back from the phone box. “Also FYI, I am deleting ‘Bizarre Love Triangle’ for obvious reasons.”
Kyle peered over Megan’s shoulder. “It’s so much eighties stuff.”
“If it’s not clear by now,” Uncle Mike said, “the dances are not for you. You guys have a dance every other week at school or at parties or whatever kids do. Opportunities for dancing go down like ninety-five percent once you pass college so, yeah, I admit it. The playlist is for us.”
“My dad won’t dance,” Kyle said.
“He can’t dance,” Taylor said. “Some of these aren’t even that danceable.”
Uncle Mike took the phone back. “Those are the cool-down songs. We’re old, guys. We can’t do more than three good dancing songs in a row.” He put his arm around Kyle. “And your dad can dance and he needs to dance and he will dance. I planted a bomb on this playlist, and when it detonates, I guarantee he will get on the dance floor.”
The rest of the afternoon, Aunt Brenda churned out adult slushies on the margarita machine while Grandma and Grandpa napped, and Kyle helped his dad and Uncle Mike set up the sound system. At one point he had to go out to Uncle Mike’s truck to look for an extension cord and noticed his mom’s car was gone.
He brought the cord back. His dad was up on a ladder; Kyle went over to steady it. “Where’s Mom?”
His dad came down one rung. “She left. For home. She wanted to slip away and not have it be a big thing.”
Kyle looked up at him.
“For real,” his dad said. “I’m not trying to hide anything from you—she specifically asked me not to tell until people noticed she was gone, and that is the whole truth. She wants a little time at home alone. To nest, she said.”
“Oh. Cool, I guess. I just thought . . . I don’t know.”
“Imagine if she stayed. Having to deal with everyone avoiding her or the topic or pitying or judging.” He came down another rung. “Kyle, I’m so sorry I put this on you back in March. If I could go back in time and handle it all differently, you know I would.”
Kyle nodded. “I know, Dad.”
Meanwhile, Megan, who would be twenty-one in a week, had gotten in on the booze. Taylor, who was still two years off from legal, kept sneaking it too. They were supposed to be clearing the patio but were actually kicking back in lawn chairs next to Emily and Great-Aunt Gina, talking in semi-hushed tones.
Kyle headed in that direction, to see if Megan and Taylor knew about their mom leaving and also to do a little chilling himself, when there was a giant crash, then Brenda swearing. Apparently his dad had come off the ladder to help Brenda reposition the drinks table for the tenth time, and now the margarita machine was in pieces on the concrete patio.
“Jeff!” she shouted.
“What? That wasn’t me!” Kyle’s dad protested. “The cord wasn’t long enough!”
“I just paid two hundred bucks for that thing! It was brand-new!”
Uncle Mike called over, “I guess you’ll have to suffer through the horror of unblended margaritas tonight, Bren.”
“Why me, God?” Aunt Brenda yelled, shaking her fist at the sky.
They heard Grandma from inside the house: “People are trying to nap!”
“Help me up,” Great-Aunt Gina said to Emily. “I left my stick inside and I need to go in for a rest myself.” Emily got her up and they went into the house.
Rest. The word alone was enough to pull Kyle down onto one of the chaises. He took Taylor’s big red cup of whatever and helped himself to a few sips, passed it back, and closed his eyes.
“Mom’s gone,” he mumbled.
“We know,” Taylor said.
“Okay.” The cup was in his hand again. He sipped, eyes still closed, then held it out until someone took it away. His breathing slowed down. “I think she really loved that guy. Or loves.”
Megan scoffed. “For some reason.”
Kyle was drifting off.
“I don’t know,” Taylor said. “Do you think Jacob will be okay?”
“Will we?” Kyle mumbled, and that’s all he remembered until he woke up at dusk, sore from falling asleep, and hard, on strips of vinyl. Uncle Mike had started playing some low, chill countryish music to set the mood. Emily was playing backgammon with Uncle Dale while Alex watched. Kyle headed into the kitchen to grab a couple bites of leftovers, and when he came back out, Aunt Brenda was downing her unblended margarita and harassing Uncle Mike until he declared it, officially, time to dance.
The playlist started with classic Stevie Wonder. Easy enough to get everyone onto the floor. Even Kyle’s dad, who’d been drinking a bottle of beer, let Taylor coax him out of his camp chair, though halfway through the song he faded back and chatted with Great-Aunt Gina and Grandpa Navarro, who both watched from the corner.
“I’m glad Uncle Mike finally admitted this is pretty much all for him and my mom,” Emily said. She and Kyle were on the very edges, where they could sort of look like they were participating but not actually dance per se.
“I know,” Kyle said. “This is his happy place.”
“How did Megan and Taylor learn to dance?”
“Not from my dad. He can barely clap to ‘Happy Birthday.’”
His sisters seemed to naturally know what to do, whereas Kyle took more after his dad with not quite being able to find the rhythm. Aunt Brenda danced up to Taylor and Megan while the Gap Band played, and then Martie and Alex jumped over, too.
“There she goes,” Emily said. Alex’s entire dancing style was based on jumping.
When the Gap Band faded down and Prince faded up, Aunt Brenda chugged the rest of whatever drink she was on and threw the cup to the side so she could give her full attention to dancing. She spun right into Uncle Mike and they both almost fell. Emily groaned.
During the first slower-song break, Uncle Mike swept Aunt Jenny into his arms and swayed with her, clasping her hand to his chest. She buried her face in his neck. It made Kyle think about him and Nadia enough that he had to look away.
Martie and Alex came over to sit on the ground next to Kyle and Emily, drinking cups of ice water. “How are we going to have a dance party next year?”
“Our house,” Martie said. “I’m already thinking where we could put the sound system.”
“You know what we should do, Emily?” Kyle asked.
“What should we do, Kyle?”
“Someday, someday. What if we took, like . . . tap lessons. And learned a Fred and Ginger routine or something.”
“Together? Like we do all the lessons together? Even though we live four hours apart?”
“Yes, and then perform it. At farm week. Or whatever we call farm week when the farm is gone.”
Uncle Mike cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Break about to be over! Everybody up!”
When the song started, Kyle’s dad jumped to his feet and said, “Dude!” to Uncle Mike.
“Oh, no,” Kyle said to Emily. “This is like my dad’s favorite song.”
Emily got up, suddenly energetic. “I’m going out there.” If she’d taken his hand, he’d have gone too. But she just skipped away. He heard Alex’s voice: He’s not even looking back.
His father hit the floor in his golf shirt and knee-length jean shorts. He bobbed his head and bit his lower lip like a bad parody of a white dad dancing, except Kyle knew it was totally authentic. Then he made eye contact with Kyle, mouthing lyrics, coming toward him.
“Shit,” Kyle said under his breath.
In a second, his dad’s hands were clasped on Kyle’s, dragging him out. He flashed back to Martie’s birthday and Aunt Brenda. What was with this family? It was like you weren’t allowed to not dance.
“Okay, okay,” he said, and did his own pathetic two-step.
His dad kept holding Kyle’s hands. It was weird, and then it wasn’t. They didn’t let go.
Emily was next to them now, and when the chorus started, she and everyone else sang, “Lido! Whoa-oh-oh-ohhhh!” and then in the next verse, his dad dropped Kyle’s hands so he could point to the sky and shout, “Toe the line or don’t, and that was all she wrote!”
During the snapping part of the song, Kyle stepped back to watch his dad along with the little crowd of family that had circled him. Jeff Baker snapped off the beat. He spun on one foot. He closed his eyes. He kept shouting lyrics, missing half of them but still moving his mouth.
If Kyle’s mom could see him now.
Boz Scaggs faded out, and Aunt Brenda was trying to push into the circle formed around his dad. It felt like if they’d been strong and sober, they would have lifted his dad up on their shoulders like a winning soccer team. Kyle laughed at how sweaty his father was and then did a double take and thought, No, he’s crying—well, yeah, he’s also super sweaty, but those are tears on his cheeks. And his first instinct was to look away before his dad caught him seeing, but why?
He wanted to see. He wanted to be seen. He wanted to be seen seeing.
Then he did what he really wanted to do, which was get his dad in a bear hug, or get himself into one from his dad.
They embraced. Over his dad’s shoulder, he saw Emily dance a little jig, sort of to the music, and Kyle laughed and his dad thought he was laughing at him, at them, and they goofed around pretending to dance like an awkward junior high couple, and it made everyone laugh, and they acted like they were stretching out the joke but really they were holding on and holding on and holding on.
At the end of the night, some of the kids were lying on the patio, some sitting on the ground. The adults were in lawn chairs and camp chairs. Only Great-Aunt Gina had given up and gone to bed. Pico lay at Grandpa’s feet, eyes closed. Big citronella candles at the perimeter made the shadows jump. Uncle Mike had switched to a dreamy, mellow playlist full of guitars and singing in Spanish.
“How do you know about Carlos Lico?” Grandpa Navarro asked Mike, clenching an unlit pipe in his teeth.
“How do you think?” Aunt Jenny asked her father.
Grandpa Navarro hummed along, then got up and walked into the shadows to smoke.
Aunt Brenda and Uncle Dale held hands. Emily said they practically hadn’t let go of each other ever since finding out about Kyle’s parents, like marriage problems might be contagious and they already had enough of their own. Grandma Baker started talking about how much she was looking forward to having less stuff, being in a smaller space. She had an idea for a mystery novel she wanted to write.
It was like everyone had agreed to not get sad tonight. Even though there were so many sad things, and they were so tired. Uncle Mike had been right. They’d needed to dance.