What Alice Forgot

The stage went dark. A single spotlight revealed Alice’s mother and Nick’s father in full Latin costumes, standing completely still. Roger had one knee thrust between Barb’s legs, his arm around her waist. Barb was leaning back, exposing her neck. Roger’s head was bowed toward hers, his face dramatic, frowning tremendously.

Nick made a sound like something was stuck in his throat. Ella made a sympathetic choking sound back.

“Grandma and Grandpa look like people on TV,” said Tom happily. “They look famous.”

“They do not,” said Madison.

“They do so.”

“Shhhh,” said Alice and Nick together.

The music started and their parents began to move. They were good in a horrendous sort of way. Swiveling their hips proficiently. Moving in and out of each other’s arms. It was just so mortifyingly sexual—and in front of all these old people!

After five agonizing minutes of dancing, Roger stopped at the microphone while Barb danced around him, flicking up the sides of her skirt and stamping her feet provocatively. Alice could feel an attack of giggles about to sweep over her. What on earth are you doing, Mum?

“Folks!” said Roger in his best plummy radio-announcer voice. The spotlight lit up the beads of sweat on his yellow-tanned forehead. “You may have heard that my lovely wife and I will be offering salsa-dance lessons every second Tuesday. It’s great exercise, and a lot of fun to boot! Now, anybody can do the salsa, and to prove it, I want to invite two people out of the audience who have never salsa-danced before up onto the stage. Let’s see now . . .”

The spotlight began bouncing around the audience. Alice watched the light, hoping Roger had the sense to choose a couple who could actually walk.

The spotlight stopped on Alice and Nick and they both held up their hands to shield their eyes.

“Yes, those two blinking like rabbits in the headlights look like the perfect victims, don’t you think, Barb?” said Roger.

Olivia, Tom, and Madison jumped from their seats like lottery winners. They began pulling at their parents’ arms, shrieking, “Yes, yes! Mum and Dad dance! Come on!”

“No, no! Pick somebody else!” Alice swatted away their hands in a panic. She never, ever volunteered for this sort of thing.

“I think they’d be perfect, Roger,” said Barb from the stage, with a big game-show-hostess smile.

“I’m going to kill them,” said Nick quietly. Then he yelled, “Sorry! Bad back!”

The old people weren’t buying that. They were the ones with arthritis.

“Bad back, my foot!” cried out an old lady.

“Have a go, you mug!”

“Don’t be party poopers!”

“Don’t worry, the sick feeling will go away, Daddy,” said Olivia sweetly.

“Dance, dance, dance!” shouted the old people, stamping their feet with surprising energy.

Nick sighed and stood up. He looked down at Alice. “Let’s just get it over with.”

They walked up onto the stage, Alice pulling self-consciously at her skirt, worried it was riding up at the back. Frannie shrugged from her place in the front row and held up her hands in a “nothing to do with me” gesture.

“Facing each other, please,” said Roger.

Roger stood behind Nick and Barb stood behind Alice. Their parents maneuvered them so that Alice’s hand was on Nick’s shoulder, his around her waist.

“Closer now,” boomed Roger. “Don’t be shy. Now look into each other’s eyes.”

Alice looked miserably up at Nick. His face was blankly polite, as if they were two strangers who had been pulled out of the audience. This was excruciating.

“Come on now, are you a man or a mouse?” Roger clapped his son on the shoulder. “The man has got to take charge! You’re the leader. She’s the follower!”

Nick’s nostril twitched, which meant he was highly irritated.

In a sudden movement, he put his hand on Alice’s lower back and pulled her close to him, frowning masterfully in an over-the-top imitation of his father.

The audience erupted.

“I think we’ve got a natural here, folks!” said Roger. His eyes met Alice’s and seemed to be sending her some sort of kindly message. He was a pompous old twit, but he meant well.

“Okay, light on your toes!” said Barb, demonstrating to Nick. “And forward on your right foot, back with your left foot, rock back onto your right foot, step back with your left foot. Shift your weight to your left foot, step back with your right foot. That’s it! That’s it!”

“And let’s get those hips moving!” cried Roger.

Alice and Nick didn’t dance much in public. Alice was always too self-conscious, and Nick wasn’t fussed either way, but sometimes at home, if they’d had wine with dinner and they had the right sort of CD on while they were packing the dishwasher, they danced in the kitchen. A silly, hamming-it-up dance. It was always Alice who initiated it, because actually, she quite liked to dance, and actually, she wasn’t bad.

She began to move her hips in imitation of her mother, while trying to keep the top half of her body still. The crowd roared its approval and she heard a child, probably Olivia, shout, “Go, Mummy!” Nick laughed. He was stepping on her toes. Barb and Roger were grinning like Cheshire cats. She could hear their children shouting out from the audience.

There was still chemistry. She could feel it in their hands. She could see it in his eyes. Even if it was just a memory of chemistry. There was still something. Alice’s head was dizzy with hope.

The music stopped. “See! Anyone can learn to salsa!” cried Roger as Nick dropped his hands from her waist and turned away.

Elisabeth’s Homework for Jeremy We were driving to the Family Talent Night when I had a sudden craving for television.

House was on. I needed to see Dr. House being nasty and sarcastic while he diagnosed impossible medical conditions. What would Dr. House say about me? I wish you were more like Dr. House, Jeremy. You’re so nice and polite. It’s annoying. Niceness doesn’t cure anyone. Why don’t you just bring me face-to-face with a few home truths?

“You’re infertile. Get over it,” House would sneer, brandishing his cane, and I’d be shocked and invigorated.

“Can we turn around?” I told Ben.

He didn’t try to change my mind. He is being very gentle and careful at the moment. The adoption application forms have disappeared from the kitchen counter. He’s put them away. Temporarily. I can see the idea still shining in his eyes. He still has hope. Which is exactly the problem. I cannot afford any more hope.