At one point he asked, "If I sneak off to the bathroom, you won't run away, will you?"
I surprised myself by realizing how much I was enjoying the evening and all thoughts of escaping were long dismissed. I agreed to stick around.
The orchestra began playing something closer to our generation and Paul pulled me to the dance floor. By then I wasn't the only one in stocking feet. I didn't admit I hadn't danced in twenty years, but my unprotected toes learned he was no more adept than I. That didn't stop us. From the sidelines, my niece, barefoot and sweating from her more exuberant dancing, kept winking and giving me a "thumbs-up" sign. I even caught my sister smiling. Paul just laughed at the pantomime.
As we left the floor after a particularly robust endeavor, I felt an arm about my shoulder and turned to face Suzie Kelly, my sister. My heart was in my mouth. She smiled at Paul as the three of us stood awkwardly in the middle of the dance floor. I prayed my sister wouldn't vent her frustration with my insensitive behavior in front of my two-hour friend. Instead, she smiled and asked if I was enjoying myself."
"As much as twenty free rides on the Ferris wheel," I answered.
"More than a peck of ice cream with a quart of chocolate syrup?"
"A dozen times more," I answered, giving her a tentative hug. I bit my lip. We were kids again, if only for a moment. She continued to smile, turned, and walked away. I saw Maureen give me a victory sign from across the floor. It was a start, after a twenty-year hiatus.
While Paul didn't ask for an explanation, I felt he deserved one. "That my sister. We haven't exactly been on the best of terms," I said as we strolled back to our table.
"It happens in families."
"It's my fault," I continued, the champagne making me far less reticent than usual. "Our mother's in nursing home and Suzie's been the person who cares for her. I know I have to visit but I'm not sure she'll even know me. It's been twenty years but I keep remembering her the way she was, once upon a time." I looked up at him, I guess expecting sympathy.
"Come on," he said. "They're playing our song." He rose and took my arm before I could protest.
"I've never heard of this music before!"
"Me neither," he answered; as he tugged me back out on the floor.
There followed a series of those get acquainted dances designed to get everyone sufficiently mellow for the balance of the evening. It worked better than high school where I'd dashed off to hide in the girl's room. Paul made it easy to join in the festivities. Thoughts of my sister and mother fled my mind as a Latin beat rang in my ears. Later in the evening, as we sat exhausted at our table, Paul resurrected the subject of my sister.