Slow Dance

Eleven

The bride and groom danced to a Cowboy Junkies song. Shiloh had forgotten about the Cowboy Junkies.

Shiloh wished she knew their story—Mike and Janine’s. It had to be romantic. First love, reconnection...

The wedding party dance came next. Cary danced with a bridesmaid. The bridesmaids wore long column dresses—sage green, halter

neck. They were all in their thirties. Women with children. Cary’s dance partner looked like she’d been tanning a lot recently.

He was holding her in two places. The standard places. The song was “You’ve Got a Friend” by James Taylor—it wasn’t very danceable,

even for a slow dance.

Shiloh had never understood the point of wedding party dances. She hadn’t had one at her own wedding. She’d barely had a wedding

party.

When the song was over, something fast started. Whitney Houston. Cary looked up in Shiloh’s direction, catching her staring

at him. She looked away.

“Cary!” Becky called out a few seconds later.

He was walking up to their table. Ronny pushed out a chair. “Have a seat, homes!”

“I can’t,” Cary said. “I’d love to—but Janine wants us to get everyone dancing. It’s a snowball dance, so I have to drag someone

back with me.”

Shiloh was trying not to look at him, but it was too hard; she was only going to get so many opportunities before this night

was over.

Cary glanced over at her. His eyebrow twitched.

“I’ll go.” Tina jumped up and took his hand.

Shiloh watched them walk away.

“I thought Tina was a lesbian now,” somebody said.

“That was just a one-time thing.”

“It was at least a two-time thing. Ask her ex-husband, ha ha.”

“You can be both, you know.”

“Both what?”

“A lesbian and, like, regular.”

“Regular and unleaded.”

“We should be dancing.”

“I don’t think we can go out there until we get tapped. Those are the rules.”

“Oh, the snowball dance rules. Very strict.”

The music stopped with an artificial screech, and the deejay called out, “Snowball!” Everyone on the dance floor went scrambling

for a new partner. Tina and Cary were both headed back toward their table.

One of the groomsmen got there first. “Shiloh, let’s dance.”

“Go on, Shiloh. Those are the rules.”

“I don’t have to follow the rules,” Shiloh said. “I didn’t sign a contract.”

Someone else got up to dance with the groomsman.

After the next “Snowball!” Shiloh was alone at the table. She put her hand in her jacket and felt her car keys.

“Hey,” someone said.

She looked up. It was Cary, a little flushed from dancing.

“Hey,” she said. “You still snowballing?”

He looked around. “No. I think Janine’s plan worked. Everybody’s already out there.”

“You want to sit down?”

“Yeah. Unless...” He tilted his head. He lowered his eyebrows. “Would you like to dance?”

Shiloh’s bottom lip was already in her mouth. She bit it. And then she nodded. “Sure.”

Cary kept himself from looking surprised. Or maybe he really wasn’t surprised—maybe he didn’t remember Shiloh well enough to be surprised.

She stood up.

Cary didn’t take her hand the way he had Tina’s. He didn’t touch her arm or the small of her back. They walked side by side

onto the dance floor.

“I can’t fast-dance,” Shiloh said quickly. The Whitney Houston song was still playing. ( “Don’t you want to dance, say you want to dance.” )

“Um, all right.” Cary looked like he was problem-solving. “Do you want to just stand here and bounce? That counts.”

“Uhh...” She glanced up at him. “I’ll just nod my head, okay?”

Cary laughed, like she was being kind of pitiful. “Shiloh, why didn’t you just say...” He shook his head, like it wasn’t

worth finishing. Then he put his left hand on her side and reached for her hand with his right. “We’ll slow-dance—is that

better?”

Shiloh let him catch her hand. “But it’s a fast song.”

“No one cares.”

“Okay.” She put her other hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, okay.”

Shiloh had done plenty of slow-dancing over the last fifteen years. Well, not plenty—but some . Enough. She’d figured out that dancing was just affectionate swaying most of the time. That you could turn down your nerve

endings and not get so worked up about it. She’d danced with Ryan at their wedding and at other people’s weddings. She’d danced

with his dad and his brothers. It wasn’t mortifying. The intimacy didn’t burn.

But this...

Cary’s steady hand resting on her waist, just under her jacket. Her hand in his. He wasn’t holding her close—but it was still

closer than they’d ever been in high school.

... this was a lot.

He was smiling at her. Shiloh was wearing two-inch heels—they were nearly eye to eye. “I’m glad you came tonight,” Cary said.

“Of course I came.”

“You skipped the last wedding—”

“It was in Rhode Island. And I was pregnant.”

“—and then I missed our ten-year reunion.”

“We didn’t have one,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Tammy flaked. She moved to Michigan.”

Cary frowned. “That’s why I voted for Sylvia.”

Shiloh laughed. “If you tell Sylvia that, she might organize the fifteen this summer.”

“You gonna be there?”

Shiloh wrinkled her nose and shrugged. “I don’t know. This is already a lot of reunion for me.”

“Yeah, god forbid you see your old friends twice in one year.”

“There’s only so much to talk about...”

Cary was smiling. “There’s fifteen years to talk about.”

“Yeah, but all we ever actually talk about is high school.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so bad? Sparing a couple hours to commemorate four consequential years?”

“It was high school .”

“The more you talk about the past,” Cary said in his science voice, “the more you remember about it. The more it unfolds.”

“And that’s good?”

“Yes. It makes your life feel longer.”

“That is some Yossarian mind-fuckery, Cary. Everyone wants to forget high school.”

He was grinning. “‘Everyone,’ Shiloh? Since when do you care about ‘everyone’?”

She laughed again. She realized she was squeezing his hand when he squeezed hers back.

A new song had started, an even faster one. A guy dancing near them Cabbage-Patched right into Shiloh. Cary pulled her a little

closer. “Here,” he said, steering them back, away from the center of the dance floor—and immediately into another couple.

“No, here, ” Shiloh said, tugging Cary’s hand and shoulder, guiding him another way.

He followed her. “We’re still dancing, right?”

“If you want to.”

“I want to.” He stopped them. “Here is good, by the wall. Away from the speaker.”

“You know,” Shiloh said, “we could just be talking comfortably at a table...”

“We could,” Cary said. He didn’t let go. “Dancing is better.”

“Why?”

“Because you can talk when you’re dancing, but you don’t have to. And nobody else can interrupt.”

“Somebody could cut in.”

“Nobody’s gonna cut in.”

“You think that nobody else wants to dance with me?”

“I think that when two people are slow-dancing to ‘Hey Ya!,’ everyone leaves them alone.”

Shiloh frowned. She looked around. “Now that you’ve called attention to the song... it’s actually hard not to dance.”

Cary smiled. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

He pulled her closer and started to sway faster, in time with the music.

Shiloh laughed.

Cary held her tight, moving his shoulders back and forth to the beat.

Shiloh tried to move her shoulders, too. She was clumsier than him. She was laughing. And blushing.

“This better?” Cary asked. He was grinning with his mouth closed. His eyes were light.

Shiloh was laughing too hard (and quietly) to answer. Her face fell forward. She let him move her hand to the music. She rocked

back and forth with him and tried to relax her neck.

“Hey Ya!” turned into “Groove Is in the Heart,” and then, to Shiloh’s dismay, Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch.

Cary kept them moving. It was easier if Shiloh didn’t look at him— but she couldn’t not look at him. (Time was short.) She lifted up her chin.

He looked like he’d been laughing, too.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m a grown man,” Cary said, like that was an answer.

Shiloh laughed some more, letting her forehead rest on the far edge of his shoulder. She was glad they didn’t have to talk,

because this was a lot to take in. So much more than she’d been hoping for tonight—more than just a good look at him and a

warm conversation.

And it wasn’t over yet.

To keep it going, all Shiloh had to do was keep her self-consciousness at bay. (Her self-consciousness and her bone-deep desolation.)

(She could be desolate tomorrow. And the next day. She could table her ennui.)

Shiloh was getting another hour with Cary. A bonus hour. In his arms.

Her teenage self could never have predicted—or even comprehended—how precious this would feel. That seventeen-year-old kid

had a glut of Cary hours. All the Cary she cared to eat. Cary was her day-in, day-out. Her standard operating procedure.

Shiloh hadn’t been able to conceive of a life without Cary... until that’s what she had. A whole life without him, years

and years, with no sign of that ever changing.

This night was an aberration.

This dance.

Shiloh closed her eyes and kept her shoulders loose. She kept track of everywhere that Cary was touching her.

When the music slowed down, Cary pushed away from Shiloh a little. He let go of her hand and put both his hands on her waist.

The song was “Faithfully” by Journey.

“I love this song,” Shiloh said.

“Great song,” Cary agreed.

The hand he’d been holding was hanging at her side. Cary picked it up and put it on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Shiloh murmured.

His hand went back to her waist.

It was almost impossible not to make eye contact like this...

Shiloh wasn’t great with eye contact.

“I don’t understand how people dance with strangers,” she said. “Just like— Hi, sure, let’s stare into each other’s eyes for three minutes .”

“We’re not strangers,” Cary said.

“Right. But I mean—we are. Practically.”

He frowned. His frown was inches away from her mouth. “Practically?”

“We haven’t talked in fifteen years—”

“Fourteen,” he corrected her.

“Well, that’s longer than we knew each other to begin with.”

“You think that makes us strangers?”

“No,” Shiloh said. “But also, yes? Like—cells get replaced in the human body every seven years. So that’s two full iterations

since 1992. You don’t have any cells left that remember me.”

“I’m pretty sure my cells remember you, Shiloh.”

“Not from firsthand experience.” She clenched her hands in the shoulders of his jacket. “Anything your cells know about me

has been passed down from other cells through oral tradition.”

“You’re winding yourself up,” he said. “Don’t.”

“I’m not winding anything.”

“I might believe that, if we’d just met. If I didn’t know what you look like wound .”

“I’m just saying—”

He looked tired all of a sudden. “You don’t have to look in my eyes, okay?”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

Cary had stopped swaying. “Do you want to stop dancing?”

Shiloh stood very still. She shook her head.

“That’s a myth,” he said. “Some cells replicate quickly, but others stay with you for life.”

“Which ones?”

“It varies, depending on the system.”

“I was using figurative language.”

“I’m not a stranger, ” he said.

“But you’ve changed...”

“So have you, Shiloh.” Cary was looking very stern. “Show me how.”

Shiloh’s bottom lip was between her teeth. She slid her hands up his shoulders to his neck. She started swaying again.

Cary squeezed her waist and swayed a little closer.

You could slow-dance to anything, if you were motivated—and Cary was right, nobody would bother you. They would surely gossip about you... but Shiloh didn’t care about gossip.

She pulled Cary even closer, too close for gazing. With her arms around his neck and her cheek right next to his. It was a

truly astonishing amount of intimacy. (Maybe worse than eye contact.) Shiloh couldn’t be this close to Cary and also talk, so she didn’t talk.

She closed her eyes. She corralled her nervous system.

The deejay played more slow songs as the night went on. It felt like the whole room was slowing down to keep pace with Shiloh

and Cary.

In the end, it was Mikey who interrupted them.

Shiloh felt a hand on her shoulder and lifted up her head to see Mike standing there. “I’m not cutting in,” he said. He put

one arm around her shoulder and his other arm around Cary’s waist. “I’m dancing with you.”

Cary smiled at him. He had a special smile for Mikey. Amused. Delighted. Waiting to see what would happen next.

Shiloh looked at Mikey the same way.

“Congratulations,” she said.

“I thought you stood me up again, Shiloh. Where were you for the ceremony?”

“I can’t believe you even noticed!”

“Cary noticed.”

“I’m sorry I missed it, Mike. I had babysitter stuff.”

He hugged her waist. “I’m just giving you shit.”

“Well, you look handsome,” Shiloh said. “And your wife is beautiful. And I’m very happy for you.”

He grinned. “And I’m very happy to see you—it makes me feel young to see you two together. Like I’m seventeen, and we’re about to get gyros and go to Putt-Putt.”

“We could do that,” Cary said.

“All the Putt-Putts closed,” Shiloh said.

“We could still get gyros.”

“All right.” Mikey slapped Cary’s shoulder. “That’s Plan B. Don’t tell Janine that I have a Plan B.”

“I still haven’t met Janine...” Shiloh looked around. There was only one other couple still dancing. Some kids were chasing

balloons across the floor. The lights had been turned up in the back of the room, and the waitstaff was packing up chairs.

A few people were standing at the bar.

It must be so much later than she realized.

“What do you need help with?” Cary asked Mikey.

“Nothing. It’s all taken care of. I think Janine and I are going to take off in a few minutes. I’m wiped.”

“Do you need me to drive you?” Cary offered. “I haven’t been drinking.”

“No, me neither. I’m good. You guys stay. We’ve got this place—and the deejay—for another half hour. Make him play your favorite

songs.”

Now that Shiloh was aware of the room around her, she couldn’t imagine dancing any more. She couldn’t believe she’d done it

at all. It was like she’d danced right through her dress reverting to rags and her coach turning into a pumpkin.

Also, she was thirsty, and she really had to go to the bathroom.

She started pulling away from Cary and Mike.

“I’m just going to run to the bathroom.”

“Here,” Mikey said, “give me a hug first. I’m taking off.”

She hugged him.

“I’m going to be in Omaha all the time now. I’ll call you, Shiloh.”

She squeezed him. “I’d like that.”

The bathrooms were in the lobby, by the doors.

When Shiloh came out, Cary was standing there talking to someone. She stood on the other side of the lobby waiting for him.

He already looked sad when he walked over to her. “You heading out?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I never expected to stay so long.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Thanks.”

Cary held the door for her and followed her to the parking lot. It was cold out, but Shiloh hadn’t wanted to wear a coat.

They both stopped at her car.

Cary was scratching the back of his neck. He seemed nervous.

Shiloh knew what she wanted from this moment—but she didn’t know how to make it happen. She wasn’t practiced in the alchemy

of changing a night into another kind of night. And she was historically bad at transitions.

“It was really good to see you,” she said. Lamely.

Cary looked up, sharp. “Shiloh, can I verify something?”

“Sure?”

“You’re living with your mom, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And that’s because you’re no longer married?”

“That is correct,” Shiloh said.

Cary nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

She laughed. There were tears in her eyes. “I mean, no, it’s been a disaster.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Thanks. You’re engaged, right?”

“ No. What? Who said I was engaged?”

“Becky. She said she heard—”

“No,” Cary said. “I’ve gone on three dates with someone.”

“Total?”

“Lately. Before this wedding. I went on three dates with someone.”

“Okay,” Shiloh said, “well, I hope that turns into something for you.”

“ No. ” Both Cary’s hands were on his hips. “I mean, I’m not engaged. I don’t have a girlfriend. I’ve been on three dates with someone.

Recently. That’s the extent of my current commitments.”

“Okay, Cary.”

Cary reached a hand up to Shiloh’s cheek.

He gave her a few seconds.

Then he kissed her like he’d been thinking about it all night—like maybe he’d been thinking about it for fifteen years.

Shiloh did her best not to ruin it.

Okay...

Okay.

So this was a kiss. A good kiss.

What made a kiss good, Shiloh decided, wasn’t technique. It was wanting it—and she wanted this. She wanted him . She’d never wanted anyone else as much or as well.

Shiloh had wanted Cary before she’d even known how to recognize want. Before she had words for it. Before she had some sense

of these things and their dimensions.

She’d longed for him—and she’d thought it was something else, some other feeling. She’d thought that someone else would come along someday and that person would show her what love and desire felt like. That future person would be real. In a way that nothing in high school ever

could be. No one in North Omaha.

Shiloh was going to get away from this place, and then her life was going to begin, and everyone in the new, real life was going to be better than everyone who came before.

Maybe she’d never said that out loud. Maybe she’d never even thought it through until just now—the mechanics of her misunderstanding.

Shiloh had wanted Cary before she knew what that meant—and now it was too late for her to ever truly have him.

But Shiloh was getting this kiss...

And maybe she would even get this night. A bonus night with Cary. A break from destiny. An out-of-continuity adventure.

God, he felt so good. So deliberate. There was no question who was kissing who at the moment. Shiloh was being kissed. She was receiving it, taking it. Being told. Cary probably didn’t trust her enough to steer just now—and he was correct.

Shiloh did not have a steady grip.

Her hand came up between them and gently brushed the front of his shirt. Fumbling.

When Cary finally pulled away, Shiloh’s chest was heaving. Cary’s eyes were black.

“Let’s not say goodbye just yet,” she said.

“Okay,” he agreed.

“We could...”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Shiloh pushed her chin forward, and Cary kissed her again. It was still so good.

“Did you drive?” she asked.

“No. I came with—”

“I’ll drive. Where are you staying?”

“Oh,” he said. “With my mom.”

“Oh,” Shiloh said. “Of course.” She’d been imagining a hotel room. Should they get a hotel room? Going back to an existing hotel room felt different from obtaining a room at midnight for a one-night stand.

“Do you have to get home?” Cary asked. “Your kids?”

“They’re not there,” she said, making up her mind. “Come home with me? I mean—” She cringed. “I know how that sounds—”

“It sounds great, Shiloh.”

Shiloh laughed. It was awkward. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said.

She pulled her keys out of her jacket and waved at her car. “I’m just here.”

Cary nodded.

She unlocked the doors with the button. Then they both stood there. She felt like maybe she should open the door for him—maybe

he was waiting to open the door for her?

She jerked toward the driver’s side, opening her door. Cary went for the other side.

As soon as she sat down, she apologized. He was picking up papers from the passenger seat. Shiloh took them from him. Her

work bag was on the floor; she grabbed that, too. “Sorry. No one else ever sits up here.” She threw everything in the back,

between the booster seats. Jesus Christ, reality was already making a harsh reappearance, wasn’t it?

Cary sat down and reached for his seat belt. “Don’t worry about it.” He glanced over at her and smiled. “I’ve never been in

the car with you before.”

He meant with her in the driver’s seat. “My mom wouldn’t let me get my license in high school,” she said.

“I know.”

“She said it would affect her insurance.”

“I remember.”

She smiled at him. “Remember you tried to teach me?”

He smiled back. “Yeah.”

Shiloh turned to the steering wheel, self-conscious now. Fortunately her house was only a mile or two away—and once they were on the road, Cary didn’t actually watch her drive. He paid attention to the streets and houses.

“My mom says the neighborhood has gotten worse,” he said.

“Everything has gotten worse. Everybody has a gun.”

He hummed. “I wish she’d move.” He looked over at Shiloh. “Sorry. That was insensitive.”

“No, I get it—it’s okay. How old is your mom now?”

“Seventy-three.”

“How’s her health?”

“She has emphysema.”

“I’m sorry, Cary.”

“She’ll never move,” he said, looking out the window again. “She has three dogs.”

Shiloh laughed. Cary’s mom had always had too many dogs. And too many kids. And too many relatives who needed a place to stay.

“Is she by herself?”

“No. My niece lives there with her kids. Angel.”

Shiloh nodded. She remembered Angel.

Shiloh badly wished that she still lived in the suburbs—so that she wouldn’t be driving Cary through such familiar territory.

She pulled into her driveway.

“You took down the fence,” he said.

“It fell down.”

“It looks good.”

Shiloh thought about asking him if he still wanted to go through with this. He already seemed different than he had in the

parking lot. More stern. But she didn’t actually want to give him an out—she didn’t want to make it easy for him to walk away

from her.

She got out of the car. Cary was right behind her. Following her up the steps. Reaching in front of Shiloh to get the screen

door.

His mouth was behind her ear. “Is your mom home?”

“I don’t think so.”

Shiloh opened the front door, bracing herself for the sight of the living room. She wasn’t a complete slob—but she was a working

mother with two kids and no desire to spend every free moment cleaning.

The living room was full of toys. Baskets of clean laundry. Potato chips.

“Sorry—” Shiloh started to explain.

Cary was still behind her. She felt his hand on her back. “Do you still have your old room?”

“No,” she said. “I’m in the old spare room.”

“Show me,” he said.

Shiloh nodded.

They headed up the stairs. There were more toys on the steps. And books. Papers. There were so many coats on the end of the

banister that it looked like a troll.

Cary stayed right behind Shiloh. She turned to him, to apologize again—but he caught her mouth and kissed her. He put one

hand on the back of her neck and held her there.

Cary was good at this. He probably got so much practice...

He was a thirty-three-year-old single man. He still had his hair, he was almost six feet tall. He was smart. Kind. Probably

not an alcoholic. And everyone knew the Navy had the best uniforms...

Cary probably had so much sex.

Like a normal amount.

The sort of sex people talked about in the advice columns Shiloh read online when she couldn’t sleep.

First-date sex. Practically anonymous sex. Sex in bathrooms and cars. Hotel rooms. Sex without any ties or obligations at

all.

Shiloh had never had that kind of sex. She didn’t really want it, in an ongoing way.

She just wanted a little bit of it now .

Cary pulled away. He gave her space to keep climbing the stairs. She rushed up the rest of them. There were two bedrooms up here, plus the bathroom. Shiloh’s door was open. Her room was the worst mess of all: Stacks of books. Bottles of lotion. Dirty mugs. Half her closet was spread out on her bed. “Sorry—” she said again.

Cary got in front of her, reaching behind her to close the door—then crowded her against it. “Shiloh,” he said before he kissed

her.