My Shirley Temple had two cherries and two of the skinniest straws ever, just like in the grown-up drinks. 

“Just ditch the straws and drink it,” my cousin Tony said, raising his own glass to his lips and gulping.

“That’s not how you drink a cocktail,” I said.

“That’s not a cocktail,” he said.

“Shut up!” I said.

Strings of pink, and lavender fairy lights draped the ceiling and the antlers of the dear on the wall. Vases of pink roses and white balloons decorated each table, some of them moved to an empty seat, so people could see each other. The band at my cousin Janice’s wedding played a song that made even the oldest grown-ups get up and dance. 

Uncle Bill and Aunt Barbie moved stiffly, protecting space between them. Great Uncle Harold and Great Aunt Stella moved in shuffle steps, his head tilted down and hers just slightly up. Uncle Stevie, who everyone said would always be a bachelor, danced with the kids who squealed when they were chosen to get swirled. Janice and her new husband, Franky, pressed together, his face buried in the cloud of baby flowers in her hair. 

The little cousins ran around the edges of the dance floor. The high school cousins squeezed around a table, rolling eyes, talking too loudly then whispering.

The song slowed to a stop. Couples zig-zagged to a table or the bar or the bathroom. Then the singer turned to look right at Janice and Franky. 

“We’ve only just begun to live. White lace and promises,” he sang.

My cousin and her husband walked back onto the floor. Everyone except my grandma clapped. Janice was blushing and smiling like she did when she got runner-up in the Queen of the County Fair contest. Franky looked mostly at the floor. 

“So many roads to choose…” 

My grandma sat in the corner of the room, staring at her water glass. She didn’t like Janice, and she hadn’t said even one word since we left the house.

I felt a tap on my left shoulder. I turned to find no one. Then a tap on my right. I laughed.

“Fooled you again!” My grandpap said.

“No you didn’t!”

He bowed low and held out his hand.

I allowed his hand to swallow mine, and I watched my feet walk onto the shiny floor. We moved in side-to-side steps, until he circled his hand above my head, like he was stirring a giant birthday cake. I tip-toed in a circle. A ballerina. My face warmed, and my palms felt all sweaty, so I rubbed one then the other on my skirt. 

“Remember when I was little?” 

“I do,” he said.

“I used to dance on top of your feet.”

“You were very little then,” he said, smiling with all his teeth.

“For just a minute?”

After a quick nod, I stepped onto the shoes he had polished just for the wedding, and instantly we were off. I held on tight. I could smell his Pall Malls and Old Spice. We swirled and swooped around the room like movie stars. When the song began to fade, my grandpap spun me off his feet and ended our dance in a deep dip.

We walked back to the table with my hand through the crook of his arm. 

As he walked away, I saw the scuff marks on his toes. I pulled the soggy straws out of my cocktail and took a big swig.