Michelle McGill-Vargas

In photo (l. to r.) the author’s father, sister, and herself at Daddy Date Night 1993

Tina Andrews listened to the excited banter in the gymnasium, her mouth a tight line across her face. The thump of generation-old music beat against her chest amidst the scent of rubber and chlorine.  At her table, four teenage girls and their respective fathers chatted about the massive centerpieces: an explosion of red and gold balloons with a sprinkling of matching confetti and miles of scissor-blade spiraled ribbon. Tina glanced over at her dad, Daniel, as he sat quietly in a dark suit and tie, rocking side to side like some church deacon enjoying the Sunday morning choir.

“Let’s dance,” Daniel said, like he’d experienced an Ah-ha! moment.

The scraping of his metal chair across the tarped floor jolted Tina like fingernails on slate. She swallowed her bite of cake, the once sweet buttercream…