“Ready?” I asked, trying to infuse my voice with a warmth I didn’t feel.
“I think so, Mom,” she whispered.
The moment we stepped inside the gymnasium, we were hit by a wall of sound and color. Streamers draped from the basketball hoops, a massive arch of pink and silver balloons framed a photo booth, and upbeat pop music pulsed through heavy speakers. The dance floor was already packed with fathers and daughters twirling under a spinning disco ball.
Maya’s footsteps slowed drastically.
“Do you see any of your friends from class?” I asked, scanning the chaotic room.
“They’re all busy with their dads,” she said, her voice dropping.
We moved along the absolute edge of the room, sticking close to the bleachers. Every few steps, I could feel the weight of pitying glances. People looked at my simple black dress, and then at Maya’s too-brave smile and her aggressively painted sneakers.
A girl from Maya’s class waved from across the room while her father dipped her in a clumsy, laughing waltz. Maya offered a small, tight wave back, but she didn’t move to join them. We found a spot on the tumbling mats pushed against the far wall. I sat down, and Maya instantly curled into my side, pulling her knees to her chest so her painted shoes were hidden beneath the tulle of her green dress.
She watched the dance floor, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. When the DJ transitioned to a slow, acoustic song, the sheer, crushing weight of Marcus’s absence seemed to physically shrink her.
