Chapter 4: The Invitation With Two Names Missing
Marcus didn't answer Amy's question right away.
The sauce had begun sticking to the bottom of the pot, and the kitchen smelled of tomatoes, garlic, and the faint sweetness of the bread warming in the oven. Outside, the afternoon sunlight had faded into a soft orange glow, stretching across the kitchen floor.
Amy stood beside the counter in her lavender dress, waiting.
“If he comes to homecoming,” she repeated, “how do I know whether he's coming for me or just so everyone can see him there?””
Marcus turned off the stove.
“You might not know right away,” he admitted.
Amy's shoulders sank.
“That's not very comforting.””
“No, sweetheart. It isn't.””
He reached for two plates and set them on the counter.
“But you don't have to figure out his reasons before you decide what you want.””
Amy looked down at her dress.
“What if I want him there even if his reasons aren't good?””
“Then you can want that.””
“What if I get disappointed again?””
Marcus pulled out a chair.
“Then we'll deal with that, too.””
Amy sat slowly.
She had expected him to tell her to protect herself. To warn her against believing another promise. Instead, he was leaving the decision in her hands, and somehow that made the choice more frightening.
Because if she invited her father and he failed her again, she wouldn't be able to blame anyone else for the hope she had carried.
Marcus placed a plate in front of her.
“Eat something before you make any big decisions.””
She gave him a weak smile.
“You always say that.””
“Because you become a completely different person when you're hungry.””
“I do not.””
“Last Tuesday, you called a perfectly good grilled cheese sandwich disrespectful.””
“It was burnt.””
“It was golden brown.””
“It was black, Marcus.””
He laughed, and she almost managed to laugh with him.
They ate dinner at the kitchen counter, discussing school and whether Amy's best friend, Tiana, would be allowed to sleep over after homecoming. Marcus asked what time the dance started and whether the school had arranged transportation for students who planned to stay late.
Amy answered automatically, but her mind kept returning to the phone call.
Her biological father had said he would come.
He had also made it clear that he didn't want people thinking badly of him.
Those two facts sat beside each other in her mind, refusing to make sense.
After dinner, Amy carried her plate to the sink.
“I'm going upstairs,” she said.
“Okay.””
She hesitated in the doorway.
“Marcus?””
He looked up from rinsing the dishes.
“Yeah?””
“If he actually comes, will you be mad?””
Marcus set the plate down.
“Mad at you?””
She nodded.
“No.””
“Even if I want him to walk me in?””
“Even then.””
Amy studied his face.
“And if I want a picture with him?””
“I'll take the picture.””
“And if I want him to dance with me?””
Marcus gave her a small smile.
“Then I hope he learns to dance before the DJ starts playing.””
Amy's eyes glistened.
“You'd really be okay with that?””
He dried his hands on a towel and walked toward her.
“I'm not going to make you choose between people you love, Amy.””
She hugged him before he could say anything else.
That night, she placed the lavender dress on a hanger and hung it on the outside of her closet door. She set the silver heels underneath it, aligned carefully beside each other.
Then she sat at her desk and opened the school's homecoming website.
The dance was three weeks away.
A small banner across the page reminded students that guest forms and ticket purchases were due the following Friday.
Amy opened the online form.
*Student Name:* Amy Carter.
*Parent or Guardian Contact:* Marcus Carter.
She filled in the details and scrolled to the section asking whether she planned to attend with a date or family member.
She paused.
Then she selected Family Escort.
The form asked for the escort's name.
Amy typed Marcus Carter.
She stared at it for several seconds before saving the draft.
Her biological father had not asked about the date. He hadn't asked about the dress, the dance, or whether she wanted him to walk her in.
But he had promised to come.
Maybe that was enough for now.
The next morning, Amy found a message from him.
What time is the dance?
She sat up in bed, her heart jumping before she could stop it.
She replied with the date and time.
His response came a few minutes later.
Send me the address.
She did.
Then she waited for another question.
There wasn't one.
At breakfast, she told Marcus about the messages while he packed his lunch for work.
“He asked for the address,” she said.
Marcus glanced at her.
“That's a start.””
“I know.””
“He hasn't said anything else?””
“No.””
Marcus put the lid on his travel mug.
“Then let him take the next step.””
Amy frowned.
“What does that mean?””
“It means you don't have to carry the entire conversation on your back.””
She thought about that while Marcus kissed the top of her head and left for work.
For the next several days, Amy tried to follow his advice.
She didn't send her father pictures of the dress.
She didn't ask whether he had bought a ticket.
She didn't remind him of the date.
Instead, she focused on school, spent time with Tiana, and practiced walking in her silver heels without looking like she was about to fall down a flight of stairs.
On Thursday afternoon, she was sitting at the kitchen table finishing a history assignment when her phone rang.
It was her father.
“Hey, Dad.””
“Hey, Amy. You got a minute?””
“Sure.””
“I was thinking about homecoming.””
She straightened in her chair.
“Okay.””
“I can pick you up before the dance. Maybe we can get some pictures.””
Amy's fingers tightened around her pencil.
“You want to pick me up?””
“Yeah. What time should I be there?””
She looked toward the living room, where Marcus was folding laundry.
“Six?””
“Six works.””
A smile spread across her face before she could stop it.
“Okay. I'll send you the address again.””
“You don't have to do all that. I have it.””
The words were ordinary.
But to Amy, they felt enormous.
He had kept the address.
He had remembered the date.
He was making a plan without being asked twice.
“Thanks, Dad,” she said softly.
“No problem.””
The call ended.
Amy remained seated, looking at her phone.
Marcus walked into the kitchen carrying a basket of clean towels.
“That sounded promising.””
She looked up, grinning.
“He's picking me up at six. He wants to take pictures before the dance.””
Marcus smiled.
“That's good, sweetheart.””
“You don't sound surprised.””
“I've learned not to be surprised by much.””
She threw a dish towel at him.
He caught it against his chest.
“Violence in my own home.””
“Stop being annoying.””
“Impossible.””
She laughed, and for the rest of the evening she let herself imagine the possibility that homecoming might become a memory she would treasure for the right reasons.
On Friday, Amy's father sent another message.
Make sure you're ready on time. I don't want to be waiting around.
She read it twice.
It wasn't affectionate, exactly, but it was practical. She told herself that people expressed love differently. Maybe this was how he showed he cared.
She replied, I'll be ready.
Then she went downstairs to show Marcus the earrings she had chosen.
He offered an opinion on the silver pair and the pearl pair, then admitted he couldn't tell the difference between the two once Amy held them farther than a foot away.
She laughed so hard she had to sit down.
For a little while, everything felt normal.
But that night, just before bed, Amy heard her phone vibrate.
A new message from her aunt Denise appeared.
Sweetheart, your dad asked me something today. I thought you should know before homecoming.
Amy sat on the edge of her bed.
What did he ask?
The reply came almost immediately.
He wanted to know whether Marcus was going to be there.
Amy stared at the screen.
She typed, Why?
Her aunt's answer took longer.
He said he didn't want any confusion about who was walking you in.
Amy felt the warmth drain from her face.
She read the sentence again.
Then she looked toward the lavender dress hanging beside her closet.
Her father had promised to pick her up.
He wanted pictures.
He wanted to be there at six.
But now he was asking whether Marcus would be there, too.
Amy called her aunt.
Denise answered on the second ring.
“Hey, baby.””
“Why would Dad care if Marcus is there?””
Her aunt sighed.
“I don't know, Amy.””
“Did he say anything else?””
A pause.
Then Denise said, “He asked whether people at the dance would know Marcus was your stepfather.””
Amy swallowed.
“Why would that matter?””
“I can't answer that for him.””
Amy pressed a hand against her forehead.
For the first time since her father had agreed to come, the excitement she had been nurturing began to feel fragile.
She wanted to believe he was coming because he wanted to see her in her dress.
She wanted to believe he had finally understood that this night mattered.
But she couldn't stop thinking about the question he had asked her aunt.
Not whether Amy was excited.
Not whether she needed anything.
Not whether he could help.
Whether Marcus would be there.
When the call ended, Amy walked downstairs.
Marcus was sitting on the sofa, sorting through the mail.
She stood beside him, twisting the sleeve of her cardigan between her fingers.
“Can I ask you something?””
He looked up.
“Anything.””
“If Dad asks me to tell you not to come to homecoming, what should I do?””
Marcus slowly set the envelopes on the coffee table.
He didn't look angry.
He looked like a man who had been waiting a long time for a question he had hoped would never come.
“First,” he said, “I'd want to know why he was asking you to choose.””
Amy's voice trembled.
“And then?””
Marcus held her gaze.
“Then I'd remind you that homecoming is your night, sweetheart. Not mine. Not his.””
He reached for her hand.
“You should get to spend it with the people who make you feel loved.””
Amy squeezed his fingers.
She wanted to believe that was simple.
May you like
But as she stood there in the quiet living room, she realized her father might be planning more than a trip to the dance.
And somewhere between the photographs he wanted and the question about Marcus, Amy began to fear that her homecoming night was becoming a contest she had never agreed to enter.