As it nears sunset on Saturday, about two weeks later, I’m all done up for the Snow Ball dance. Hair. Nails. Jewelry. Makeup. Poppy and my mom fussed over me like a beauty pageant contestant—minus the sash—all afternoon, knowing just the look I was going for.
I knew the sleeveless long black sheath dress was the right one as soon as I stepped out of the fitting room and Mimi pressed her hands to her cheeks and gasped, “Oh, my goodness, you look like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Classic and sophisticated.”
Even though I’d never seen the movie, I knew who Holly Golightly was and what Audrey Hepburn looked like playing her. I was sure Nico would, too. Her look was polished. Chic. Iconic. I couldn’t imagine getting anywhere near that. But when Mimi twisted my hair up and fastened it with a clip from her purse, then unhooked the pearls from her own neck to wrap them around mine, I saw it. The gloves we added pulled the whole look together.
“I think you have a new talent,” I told my sister when she twisted my hair up to look like Audrey’s again today. She even managed to make it stay in place. Coconut oil might’ve played a part. I didn’t ask.
When the doorbell rings, my whole family rushes to the living room. Even Sequoia. My dad snaps a photo of me opening the door to Mrs. Noble and Nico, who’s wearing a fitted charcoal-gray suit and a tie. I wait for him to fidget with his collar to remind me of how much he hates dressing up, but he doesn’t. Instead he stands there, looking tall and sleek and gorgeous, clutching a plastic box containing a corsage of ivory roses.
“Oh no! I don’t have a flower for you.” I turn to my mom. “Aren’t I supposed to have one of those things to pin to his suit?”
“A boutonniere.” She smiles. “Your sister has it covered.”
She nods at Poppy, who pulls her hand out from behind her back and hands me a handmade red origami rose, complete with safety pin.
My heart swells.
“You’re the best.” I gather her into a hug.
I look at my family, pride and joy radiating off each and every one of them as they look back at me. Like my dance is their dance. My life is their life. And I wonder if all families have this. I kind of think they don’t.
I introduce Nico’s mom to my dad and siblings and we all traipse outside to take photos before the sun fades.
“You both look stunning,” Mrs. Noble says as she beams at us making our way down the front walk, then suddenly snaps a photo I wasn’t expecting. “It’s called journalistic photography,” she explains. “It’s about being in the moment instead of posing.”
My dad doesn’t take the same approach, and instead poses and props us in front of the tree in our yard “because the greenery is such a pretty backdrop.”
As dual cameras battle, and we’re not sure where to look, the mail carrier walks up with a stack of letters and bills. Instead of going to the front door to shove them through the slot, he hands everything to my mom.
My dad keeps taking photos and insists that Poppy and Sequoia join in. From the corner of my eye, I see my mom sifting silently through the mail.
Then she stops sifting.
Her forehead crinkles at the return address on one of the envelopes.
She opens it.
Reads.
Looks at me.
Looks at the letter.
Her smile drops.
“Over here, Junebug,” my dad says, but I’m too distracted by my mom to look at his camera.
He stops taking photos when my mom shoves the letter into his hand and turns her back to me.
Her shoulders shake.
“Mom?” I step forward.
She pivots. Points. “Don’t.”
Nico and his mom look confusedly at each other.
“Juniper,” my dad says, skimming the letter. “How could you?” His voice isn’t angry. It’s full of disbelief. Like I told him flaxseed causes cancer.
And then I know exactly what he’s reading. Laurel told me this letter would come. And while I tried to prepare the words in my head, I didn’t want to have to use them yet. Not tonight of all nights.
“What is it?” Sequoia says.
My dad clears his throat. “Your sister has apparently taken it upon herself to petition the court to get her vaccines. Apparently we can come if we want. It’s not an order. Just a suggestion.”
Nico’s mom stiffens.
“How gracious,” my mom snaps.
“Mr. and Mrs. Jade—” Nico attempts, but my dad interrupts him to address me.
“How long have you been planning this?” my dad asks.
“Since I got sick.”
“How did you even … Who’s helping you?”
I look at Mrs. Noble. “Nobody. It’s just me.”
“I find that hard to believe,” my dad says. “You can’t exactly just walk into court on your own when you’re sixteen.”
“I helped her,” Mrs. Noble blurts. “I have a friend. Her name is Laurel Ward. She’s an attorney, and she’s working pro bono for Juniper.”
“You helped our daughter?” my mom sputters. “We sat and drank tea together while your son was in the hospital.” She walks back and forth in our front yard. “There I was, trying to comfort you, mother to mother, and you knew all about this.”
“It’s not as if we were plotting against you,” Mrs. Noble says. “Juniper simply needed professional assistance, and I put her in touch with someone.”
“Well, you should mind your own business,” my dad says. “This town is unbelievable. Can’t anyone just let people live their lives?”
My mom steps forward to address Nico’s mom. “You played me for a fool, knowing all along what was going to happen to me. To us. To our family.”
“It’s not like that,” Nico says. “I asked my mom to help.”
“Well, isn’t that the nicest!” my mom shouts. “What a nice, supportive boyfriend you have, Juniper.”
“Hey,” Mrs. Noble says. “That’s enough.”
Nico looks at his feet.
“Don’t talk to him like that,” I say to my mom. I grab Nico’s hand to reassure him.
Poppy and Sequoia stand straight and still. Eyes wide.
“We will talk to the people who visit our home under false pretenses any way we damn well please,” my dad says through gritted teeth. And then directly to Mrs. Noble, “I think you should go.”
He wraps my mom in his arms, trying to comfort her.
I stand there, watching it all, in my dress and my shoes with my hair and my jewelry. On the outside, I probably look the most beautiful I’ve ever looked, but on the inside, I’ve never felt uglier.
I was expecting that letter to feel gross when it happened, but I’d forgotten about my mom meeting Nico’s mom. About tea and talking. Mom to mom. No wonder this moment feels deceptive.
“I feel so foolish,” my mom says, shaking her head and burying her face into my dad’s chest, letting out a dramatic sob.
“Melinda, please don’t feel that way,” Mrs. Noble says. “Maybe we can all talk about this together.”
“No,” my dad says. “We have nothing to say to you.”
“So foolish,” my mom says again.
“Mom, you’re not.” I put my hand to her back, but she won’t look at me.
Nico slumps in his dark suit, that little red paper flower the only spot of color. This has to feel as bad for him as it does for me. His mom is being made to take the fall here, and she shouldn’t. She did what she did because I asked Nico to ask her to help me. She introduced me to Laurel because I wanted her to.
“Mom,” I try again.
Nothing.
“Go to your dance, Juniper,” my dad finally says. “Just … go.”