Nick, wearing such unexpected adult clothing, would sort of bow, and say “Good evening” in that awful canned tour guide voice. My friends would start to laugh, thinking he was imitating somebody, or joking. Then they’d see he wasn’t trying to be funny, he was really like that; they’d look at me incredulously and then shrug and back off. Nick wouldn’t dance, either. Twice we actually got out on the dance floor. He sort of twitched a few times and then said he didn’t feel like it after all and walked away. It was either walk after him or go on dancing alone. I almost deserted him. I have never been so embarrassed. I just wanted to crawl away and never be seen in public again. Nick and I sat on the sidelines like a pair of wallflowers and had nothing to say to each other. My metal folding chair was more companionable than Nick. I felt stiff all evening. Not just my conversation, but even my face and my fingers and my legs were stiff. The few people who stayed and tried to make conversation with us gave up fairly soon, because Nick just wouldn’t participate.
