I grab Joey’s shoulders and redirect him to another area, but his arms flail all over the place, and his legs go limp noodle just before he collapses to the floor. I look at Seth, but he’s no help. He shakes his head and tries to back away. I’m not getting left alone with this kid, though. I grab his arm and drag him toward me again. He comes willingly with a little smirk on his face that I’d like to contemplate the meaning of, but there’s no time. We have a feral child to worry about right now.
We both look down at Joey as he starts rolling around on the floor. People are beginning to stare and whisper now. “Whose child is that?” I ask in an overly loud voice, pointing at Joey as he rolls away. I have to make it extra clear that this is not my child and this absurd behavior is not the product of my own poor parenting. I’m hopeful that someday I’ll have my own child humiliating me in public, but today I can place the blame on someone else’s shoulders…and boy am I glad.
I nudge Seth with my elbow and say, “Do something.” He looks at me in shock.
“What do you want me to do? You at least know him,” he says.
“This is not the Joey I see every Thursday morning. I don’t know this version of him,” I argue.
“I could roll on the ground with him,” Seth says as he starts to crouch down to the ground. I grab him by the lapels of his suit and pull him back up. He stands in front of me with a questioning look as he stares at my hand on his jacket.
“Are you trying to cause a bigger scene?” I ask.
“Well, no. But if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. That’s the saying, right?”
“I don’t think it applies to this situation.”
While we’re arguing over tactics, Joey rolls away from us, steam-rolling several wedding guests. Startled screams and shouts begin sounding out, and a wave of commotion follows him. Seth tries to back away again, but I grab his arm and drag him with me as I take off after Joey. I scoop him up off the ground, and he kicks and flings his arms around. He begins to slip out of my hands, and Seth grabs him and carries him in a football hold. He walks out of the reception area into a mostly empty hallway. I follow him out, asking what we’re going to do. I don’t want to take charge of the kid, but we can’t set him loose on the reception.
“You’re going to go find the kid’s parents, and I am going to do my best to keep him from ruining Jameson and Millie’s evening,” he says. I nod my head and go back to the reception with a steely determination to find Joey’s mom.
I run around the room like an absolute spaz, bumping into unsuspecting minglers. I get a few nasty glares, but I ignore them. They don’t know that Seth and I are trying to save this party from a four-year-old boy. We’re basically heroes, here. I spot Millie and Jameson wrapped in each other’s arms on the dance floor and take a moment to appreciate their cuteness. I can’t let Millie find out about Joey. She loves that boy, and she would make it her personal mission to hover like a helicopter mom…unlike his own mom, who is nowhere in sight.
I serpentine through the dance floor and eventually find her getting handsy with a man I assume is her husband. Joey looks just like him, so it’s a safe assumption. It’s also safe to assume that these two are still very much in love with the way they’re dancing. Maybe I should turn around and give them some privacy. Wait, no. They have to go get their kid.
I straighten my spine, lift my chin, and march toward them. I tap her on the shoulder, and the two of them jump apart for a moment. She turns to me, and recognition settles on her face before she says, “Hannah, how are you?”
“Umm, hi, Leslie,” I say. Her husband moves in behind her, and they continue dancing. I am cringing so hard. Harder than anyone has ever cringed before. And I think my dinner is making its way back up my esophagus.
I take a deep breath, preparing myself to ruin this couple’s evening with the news that their son has completely lost his mind. You can do this, Hannah. It’s their kid. They should have been watching him. The problem is, I hate confrontation with random people like this. Like, really hate it. I’d rather suffer through just about anything than potentially start an argument with someone.
I clear my throat and say, “So, I have something to tell you.” Leslie and her husband, whose name is still a mystery to me, watch me expectantly as I formulate a way to tell them the unfortunate news.
“Leslie, I may have happened upon Joey eating cupcakes…that’s plural. Three to be exact,” I say. I pause, hoping that would be enough for them to spring into action.
“Okay,” she says and then begins to turn back to her husband.
“Are you aware that he was just wandering around the reception on his own?” I ask, and she turns to give me a death glare. She doesn’t say anything. I think she’s waiting for me to continue. “My friend and I have been trying to keep an eye on him ever since he started going a little crazy.” Still nothing. “The cupcakes have pink icing on them,” I say, adding the final nail in the coffin. Leslie’s eyes momentarily widen before going back to normal. Good, she understands what that means. She glances at her husband and turns back to me.
“Thank you so much for keeping an eye on him for me. Brock and I rarely get time together because he travels so much for work. Let me know if you need anything,” she says. I’m speechless. My mouth is gaping open like a fish gasping for water. This woman knows what Joey’s like with red dye in his system. She’s the woman who has banned him from consuming it. She’s his mother, for crying out loud. And she’s now pretending like everything is fine. They’re cuddled up together, swaying again. Apparently, they have no plans to retrieve their son.
I turn and walk back to where I left Seth and Joey. I don’t know what to do now. I guess I’m on Joey duty for the rest of this reception. I didn’t want to be a hero tonight, but “some have greatness thrust upon them.” That Shakespeare guy really knew his stuff.
I love Jameson and Millie, so I guess I’m doing this.
As soon as I open the door to the hallway, I’m greeted with the beautiful sound of Joey screaming like a banshee. He’s running up and down the hallway like the crazed maniac he is. Seth jumps to his feet and mutters, “Thank you, Jesus,” under his breath. The door closes behind me, and he watches, waiting for it to open up again and reveal Joey’s parents coming to take him away. His face falls when he realizes there’s no one coming to save us.
“Where are they?” he asks in his deep, serious tone. That voice doesn’t come out often. He’s usually cracking jokes and being the life of the party. But when it does, it makes me weak in the knees.
“They thanked me for watching him and continued gyrating on each other,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. Joey runs past us, and we both cover our ears to block out the high-pitched shrilling. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and he’ll lose his voice soon. Or better yet, maybe he’ll run into a wall and knock himself out.
“I don’t understand. You told them how he’s acting, right?”
“I told them he had red dye, and they know what it does to him.”
“And they aren’t coming to get him?” he asks in complete bewilderment. I’ve never seen Seth look so forlorn. It looks like he’s going to burst into tears any moment now. I wouldn't judge him if he did. I might join him. We can just create our own party for basket cases out here in the hallway. Anyone in need of an emotional breakdown is welcome to join us.
“You can go back to flirting with your posse of admirers out there. I’ll keep an eye on the little hellion,” I say as I sit on the floor in my pink bridesmaid dress. It’s a beautiful dress. I hope it doesn’t meet its doom at Joey’s hands.
Seth takes off his suit jacket to reveal that he’s wearing suspenders, and my nerdy heart does a little flip-flop. How many times can it do that before I need to be concerned about having some kind of heart condition? I didn’t think this man could be any more attractive, but he’s proving me wrong.
He sits beside me, with our shoulders and thighs pressed against each other, and begins to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Getting a little more comfortable,” he says as if it should be obvious.
“No. I mean, why aren’t you going back to the reception?” I clarify for him. We shouldn’t both be stuck here. One of us should get to enjoy what’s left of the evening. Seeing as he was the one mingling and having a good time before, while I was on the verge of a snooze fest, he should be the one to escape this torture session.
“I can’t leave you alone with him, and there’s no one I would rather hang out with, anyway,” he says. I look up at his face, utterly confused by the last part of that statement. No one he’d rather hang out with than me? He’d rather be with me, Hannah Stuart, than with the flock of single women out there? Millie’s friends who drove in from her hometown all seemed to be interested in him, and several of them are very pretty. I’ll never be able to compete with girls like that. I pretend I’m not jealous, and maybe if I tell myself I’m not for long enough, it’ll be true.
But right now, he’s looking into my eyes like he’s looking for the answers to the universe, and I don’t know what to make of that. I thought I could let go of the little bit of hope I was holding onto, but he’s making it impossible when he says things like that and looks at me like this.