Anjali stands on Simon’s feet. Her hands wrap around three of his fingers. As the song plays on the loud speakers, he dips Anjali from one side, then the other. He pulls her into the air and sets her back on the ground and pokes her in her sides until she giggles more than she dances. He wouldn’t dare to enter the dance floor on his own, but his love for his daughter overshadows his dislike of public spectacle.
When the song ends, Simon leans down to her ear and points out where the cake and other sweets have been put out. “Why don’t you see if there are any brownies or cupcakes over there? We can sneak out some to have later on,” As she skips across the hall to the table, Simon’s eyes never leave her side. However, he does take the opportunity to get a drink for himself ( just water, nothing alcoholic for the time being -- he isn’t that bad of a role model to cause a scene at someone else’s wedding ). At thirty-seven, dancing with a four-year-old takes its toll. But not so much that he keeps all his judgements to himself. He bears witness to a younger man who seemed make a creative...attempt at formal attire, except the color of his coat didn’t match the pants, the bowtie hadn’t been properly knotted, and even from a distance, Simon could tell that everything was about three sizes too big.
“Did he get dressed in a dark closet?” His mutters are meant for himself alone...until he turns and sees Aish at his side also getting a beverage. He doesn’t have to question if she shares his thoughts. “You know, I do know how to listen,” He teases just before taking a sip of his water. “I’m obviously far from a fashion expert, but I do know a bad look when I see one. Who do you think the worst dressed one is here? The woman with the bright yellow dress that looks like a banana? Or the man who can’t tell the difference between black and navy blue?”
