Page 65 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

Her cheeks are as red as the ketchup some guy’s squirting on his slider.

“What are you doing?” she says through a clenched-teeth smile.

“Seizing the moment.” It’s my new motto. A new lease on life. Living large. Loosening Sadie up the best way I know how, by being ridiculous. “We’re doing our dance.”

“We haven’t done our dance in eleven years. And everyone’s watching.”

An audience is gathering, couples and families eyeing us with friendly curiosity. I don’t give Sadie time to overthink or freak out. I don’t overthink or freak out. I grab her hand, pull her close, and try to remember how to sweep her around in a slow waltz.

Why does a not-so-great dancer—me—know the difference between a slow waltz and a Viennese waltz, you may ask? Simple. I wanted to make Sadie happy.

For her birthday one year, I surprised her with dance lessons, because she loved dancing, and I loved any excuse to have my hands on Sadie Jones. We tried to learn the rumba from Dirty Dancing—one of her favorite movies. With my lack of skill, we switched to a slow waltz and got pretty decent at it. But it’s been eleven years.

We fumble our feet at first, the steps no longer second nature. Then we hit our stride. We do the gentle spins, rising and falling, our arms held at shoulder height, trying to get our posture right, the gold in Sadie’s eyes shining with what’s hopefully our bottomless well of fond memories. The song isn’t an actual “waltz” song—the perfect three-four time that lets you glide effortlessly in circles. Still, we do our best and finish with a big dip, because Sadie always loved being dipped.

I drag her back up to the applause of our audience.

“Bravo!” someone shouts.

“Y’all are so cute.” This from a woman to our left.

Sadie leans around me, addressing our fan. “He has a rare digestive disorder. If he doesn’t dance when music plays, he’s on the toilet all night.”

The woman cackles. “That’s it, girl. Keep him on his toes.”

As long as Sadie keeps me, she can embarrass me all she likes. “You still love throwing me under the bus,” I tell her, holding her close.

“You’re still an obnoxious drama addict.”

“If I am, it’s your fault. You bring out my inner exhibitionist.”

She scoffs. “Not true. You were a ham on the football field too.”

I nose her ear and whisper, “Because I knew you were watching.”

She shivers and takes my hand, leading us to icing heaven. “You changed me too. I mean, God. I was so cynical before we started dating. Angry all the time, assuming people were mean or had an ulterior motive. I was so rigid in my schedules. Then you blew into my life, all carefree and spontaneous. Being with you softened my edges.”

“You were a cynical teen because your parents were awful.”

“Sure, but you’re what pulled me out of that funk.” We dodge a couple of running kids, their hands full of mini donuts. “With you, I realized I was allowed to be happy, even if my parents weren’t. That I didn’t have to end up like them. Especially being around your family.”

The wild and raucous Bower boys, relentless troublemakers until a hurricane blew through our lives. “Pretty sure my family isn’t a benchmark.”

“Not your father, who I hope I never see again or I might face charges, but you and your brothers.” She smiles, knocking into my side with her lazy stride. “As much as you all fought, there was no denying how much you loved each other. This easy unconditional acceptance. It made me understand what a family really is.”

We reach the cupcake line. The perfect opportunity to wrap my arms around Sadie and pull her back against my chest. “I’ve pushed them away plenty over the years, but I know I’m lucky. I’m working on being better with them and bringing more carefree spontaneity back into your life.”

She nuzzles her head under my chin. “A single mom can’t afford to be carefree and spontaneous.”

My dancing afterglow dips. I mean, I have Sadie in my arms. She’s running her fingers over the sparse hairs on my knuckles, turning my hands electric, but her words remind me how different we are now. Our lives. Our responsibilities.

“I almost forgot—how did the video meeting go? Did Sarah offer you the job?”

She stiffens again. Slightly. Enough that I feel her arms tense. “Yes, but it’s not the job I was expecting.”

“She doesn’t want you starting the mentorship programs?”

“Not in the way I imagined.”