Technically, it could be called a first date. What did that mean? Magdalena was tense and confused. What was the distinction between “friends” and “dating”? “Friends” meant you got each other’s jokes and were available for sharing breakfast tacos or beer. “Dating” meant something more formal. Especially a date that involved dressing up and meeting family members. Whoa! How had this all happened so fast? She had stepped up initially as a friend. They were both at that age where it is painful to go to a wedding solo – she would help Eric out; be his “date” for the wedding of his brother. It rapidly became more involved; travel, hotel sleeping arrangements, clothes. Clothes! How was she going to pull it off? Magdalena had been in tennis shoes and sandals so long, the very idea of anything resembling heels was excruciating. Formal wear meant drearily going through the racks of discount stores to find something acceptable and affordable. Her mom had been sweet. She knew Magdalena was in a pinch, and fronted her the money to buy something un-embarrassing.

They had passed a lot of hurdles to get there, and now Magdalena and Eric were dressed in their finest, waiting to be seated in the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner. Looking at Eric in his dark suit and tie, Magdalena surprised herself by blushing and averting her eyes. She had never seen him in anything other than torn jeans and T-shirts, and truthfully had not realized how good-looking he was. Haircuts were not something he could afford to splurge on, and although he had a cleaner cut than usual, a persistent cowlick jutted up unpredictably from the top of his head.

They played their part; walking arm in arm to their assigned table. Next to them was Eric’s beloved grandfather, a nonagenarian. They settled in and ordered a glass of wine. After the appetizer, Magdalena got up to go to the ladies room. Eric’s grandfather also stood, holding a high-ball. Something wasn’t right; he was unsteady on his feet. Magdalena took a step closer to him, to lend support. Before she knew what was happening, Magdalena was holding Eric’s grandfather horizontally in her arms. Tenderly, she embraced him, like a big unexpected doll. She was not large; barely making five feet tall, and he was tall and spindly. Yet, she stood her ground, holding him like a willowy scarecrow. His drink had spilled messily over her dress. Now what? Desperately, she sought out Eric’s face for advice. The gossamer shawl she was wearing fell away, revealing substantial biceps acquired through pottery-making.

Things were unraveling. Instead of presenting herself as a mysterious ingénue, here she was holding the family icon in her capable arms; waiting for instruction as to how to proceed.