Bee took a step forward, her eyes incredulous.

“You asked her to come with you? You—you asked her to move to Boston?” She looked at Tom for confirmation, and then to Hannah.

Tom let out an exasperated sigh. “Of course. I wanted her with me. I—”

“You told me you couldn’t see me as anyone’s wife,” Hannah snapped, kicking off her other shoe, which landed about two feet away. A young boy on the dance floor, one of Matt’s nephews, picked up the satin heel, held it over his head, and danced with it victoriously.

“I couldn’t see you as anyone’s wife, that’s true. Hannah, you seemed so uninterested in us by the time I left. So independent. You had all these new friends. I was hoping you might disagree with me and tell me you would come…that you would live my life for just a few years after I’d lived yours in New York.”

Hannah couldn’t hear any more of it. As soon as the band began playing “Superstition,” she staggered away to resume dancing, this time grinding the air, her waist humping an invisible partner. Bee and Tom looked on, their mouths agape, as Hannah turned her back to them and began approaching guests, playfully bumping them with her hips. In her peripheral vision, Hannah saw Bee break her pose and stomp off the dance floor toward the dinner tables. In response, Hannah danced more wildly and mugged for the wedding photographer, who happily took pictures as she stuck out her tongue and lifted her shoeless feet.

Once the cameraman grew tired of her, Hannah slowed her movements and looked back at Tom, who had been rejoined by Jaime the guidance counselor. Hannah identified Jaime’s expression as something other than jealousy. Jaime watched Hannah with a mask of concern—her eyes horrified, as if she were witnessing a small child playing in an intersection. Hannah turned away furiously and looked for a suitable dance partner.

Joe

Joe was oblivious to Hannah’s show on the dance floor until Bee came striding in his direction, the train of her dress fishtailing behind her.

“Uncle Joe,” Bee pleaded, leaning into him, “I need you. Now.”

“If it isn’t my gorgeous, married niece,” he responded, his body still turned toward Vicki. “Are you looking for a dance partner?”

“I’m looking for a ride. Right now.”

Joe looked up and realized Bee’s urgency. Up close and under the glow of the tent lights, he could see that her tan makeup was beginning to collect in the lines on her troubled forehead. Dark circles had emerged from underneath the bride’s evaporating concealer.

“Whatever you want, kid,” Joe said tenderly. “What do you need?”

“I need you to get Hannah back to the hotel,” Bee said, pointing to Hannah, who now had a circle around her on the dance floor. Her body was pressed against Bee’s brother, Eric, who appeared to be as drunk as she was. He’d fused his twenty-five-year-old palms to the small of Hannah’s back as if he were trying to hold on to a mechanical bull. Hannah kept one hand on the back of his neck and used the other to clutch her inhaler, which Bee knew she’d tucked into the control-top rim of her tights.