They danced in the grass underneath the tent, strands of white lights twinkling above them. Willa stood with a clean plate in her hands that she had meant to fill with food and watched Justin with Shivam, whom she’d never met before. Justin hadn’t told her anything about him or even that he had a boyfriend. He’d just brought Shivam to the wedding without a word. Not that she minded, but it had surprised her. The controlling part of her would have liked to have known, to have been able to prepare their mother, but no, Willa wanted that part of herself to die tonight. She was getting married. Everything felt new.

Justin was wearing nice clothes and holding someone in his arms. Over the last few months he’d created an attractive, serene person out of himself, the kind of person who could bring a date to his sister’s wedding. What did Shivam know about Justin?

Shivam looked uncomfortable on the dance floor. Not quite ready to be stared at, or not at ease with himself enough to ignore everyone else. He was young and wolfish, his hair slicked. He wore thick-framed glasses that magnified his eyes; one of them, she’d noticed earlier, was slightly lazy. Instead of dress shoes he wore canvas sneakers with his suit. He laughed, his teeth bright white and straight. Justin shut his eyes now and then as they moved. Willa had known all versions of her brother except this one. It had been over a year since he’d arrived at her front door. He’d only moved out three months ago.

She worried about Shivam’s age. Next to Justin, he looked like a teenager. It worried her because other people were around, other people stared. Justin didn’t deserve to be stared at. Willa didn’t want to know about her mother’s feelings on the subject. She wanted to be happy to see her brother this way, before any complications arose.

On the tables, red cockscombs stood in vases like bloody coral. The grass underfoot had flattened. “Weird flowers,” her mother had said. But they’d been free, cut out of Luke’s mother’s garden. Willa had wanted the wedding to be cheap and small. She didn’t want to be gawked at. She and Luke were not “introduced” at the beginning of the reception. They didn’t dance while people watched. After the ceremony, everyone entered the tent to drink. Most of the people here were Luke’s family. Grace had insisted Willa invite her aunt and cousins. She’d never been close with them, but she was grateful they kept her mother busy, and they’d brought money in cards.

At her table, Grace was also watching her son dance. Willa wanted her mother to feel something about Justin she’d never felt before. She should be pleased to see him happy. He’d grown his hair long again, the scar on his head invisible. He had gained some weight—the kind, Willa thought, that came with a new relationship.

One more glass of champagne and she would be drunk. Willa leaned on a table. A hand pressed into her back and she turned to find Jenny gently shoving her toward the dancers. Luke pulled his mother out into the grass and they did the same steps over and over. Moving quickly didn’t come naturally to his mother, and it took her a few minutes to find the right rhythm. She stopped him and slipped her shoes off.

As the song changed, Jenny swung Willa around again and Justin broke away from Shivam and took Willa into his arms. Jenny snapped Shivam up. Willa didn’t want anyone else to dance, and she tried to use a power inside her brain to keep the other guests seated. She imagined they’d all do this again sometime. She and Jenny and Justin and Shivam and Luke and his mother. Every year, they’d hold the anniversary of this dance.

“Aren’t you something?” Willa said.

“Hm?” Justin said.

She remembered the time he’d stretched out on the roof of the old house and had let the sun burn him to a crisp. God, remember when he was vain? He’d worn cutoff shorts! He moved with her around the others and smiled at her. She rested her head on his shoulder, next to the scar on his neck. This person should not have a scar. He should not want to die young. When they neared Luke, he let her go and took Luke’s mother in his arms and danced with her easily.

• •

As dinner wound down, Willa saw Grace talking to Justin, her hand on his arm. Justin rolled his eyes and rose from the table to follow their mother outside. Willa stood up quickly, making the plates and glasses clink. Luke met her eyes with concern.

It was hard to get through the huddles of guests when you were the reason everyone was there, but she made her way out and found Justin and their mother standing in the yard, the tent glowing behind them like a cocoon.

“He’s a child,” her mother said as she approached. Willa knew it was about Shivam.

“Don’t say ‘child’ that way,” Willa said.

“How can you be with that boy?” Grace said to Justin. “After what happened to you.”

Justin’s face wilted. “He’s not a boy,” he said. “He’s twenty-three and he’s the best person I know.”

“That’s what he told you. That he’s twenty-three. I never imagined you’d become one of those men,” Grace said. “I got used to the idea you’d be with men, but I never imagined this.” She searched for a place to put her champagne glass down, but there was nothing around but grass. For acres, grass. They were using Luke’s family’s farm for the wedding. In the distance, a cow moaned. “What must these people think? How can you do this to your sister?”

“Oh, you got used to it, huh?” Justin said. “When did you get used to it?”

“Mom, shut up,” Willa said. “Please stop.”

“Tell me,” Justin said. “What are these people thinking?”

“That you’re a predator,” she said. “You’re a pedophile.”

“Jesus Christ,” Willa said. She covered her face so she wouldn’t have to look at either of them. If Shivam had been a young woman, maybe Willa would have laughed, but she wouldn’t have cringed as she had when she first saw Shivam with her thirty-five-year-old brother. Young men reminded her of children.

“You can’t make me feel bad,” Justin said.

“I need to go back,” Willa said. But she didn’t. She held Justin’s arm. She wanted her mother to disappear, to just get in her car and leave. Shadows twirled inside the tent.

“He isn’t a child,” Justin said. “He’s a man. If he were forty you would still hate it.”

“Tell yourself whatever you want,” their mother said. “You’re with him because you’re afraid of being with a grown-up. You don’t have a real job and you’re with this boy. I’m waiting for you to make one good decision.”

“What would a good decision be? A woman?”

“Stop,” Willa said. “That’s enough. Let’s go back, Justin.”

Justin pulled his arm out of her grip. Willa didn’t know the last time he’d seen Grace. She sensed an ending.

“You have no power,” Justin said. He raised his hands with his palms facing their mother. Willa laughed. She felt Justin’s drunkenness as he cursed Grace. His hands trembled.

“If you had tried harder you would have had a different life,” Grace said. “He wouldn’t have gotten you and hurt you. You’re going to hurt this boy, too.”

With his hands raised, he stepped forward and with a grunt shoved their mother into the grass. An arc of champagne hit Willa across the chest. Justin turned and walked back to the tent. Willa crouched to help Grace, but she rolled over and wept with her face in the lawn and squealed until partygoers peeked out of the opening of the tent to see what had happened.