I take another sip of my coffee instead of answering him. “I should actually get going,” I tell him, setting my cup down.
“Of course.” We both stand, our cups full and barely touched. My coffee has steam rising from it, and the condensation on Everett’s glass is still frosty, no beads of water dripping down it quite yet, showing how fleeting this exchange was. “I’ll walk you out.”
I lead the way, Everett following a step behind me. I feel his hand graze over my lower back, something I think is instinct. But he quickly moves it away, as if he’s realizing it shouldn’t be there.
“I’ll reach out to Eric if there are any updates,” I tell him as soon as I reach my car. “And I’ll talk to that gallery for the artwork. Set up an appointment.”
“Call me,” he tells me casually. He gestures a quick nod to my bag, reminding me that I now have his number. I have a way to reach him.
He stoops down to reach for my door handle and opens it for me. We’re quiet as I step in, securing my bag in the passenger seat, and I look up at him with a grateful smile.
“Thank you.”
He nods in response and closes the door behind me. And he doesn’t walk away. Instead, he stands there, watching me as I pull out of the parking lot. I see him in my rearview mirror until he disappears when I turn out on the main road.
* * *
“Mommy!” Sadie squeals, her voice echoing off the walls inside the main building at the School of Creative and Performing Arts. Her body crashes into me, and I feel a conflicting wave of bliss and melancholy.
“Hi, baby.” I pull away to take her in. It seems she’s grown even bigger in the short weeks we’ve been apart. She’s no longer my little girl. No longer that four-year-old toddler, still mixing up her words and throwing tantrums over more hugs and kisses from her mama and dada. “Are you nervous?”
“Nope,” she says confidently. She links her arm through mine and guides me to the main auditorium where other parents are slowly making their way to their seats. “Is Dad here?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her, searching over the room. “Did he not call you?”
She shakes her head. “He said he was coming though.”
“Well, he must be stuck in traffic.”
Sadie suddenly waves wildly at a small group of kids her age, all gathered near the stage. “I have to go, Mom. The rest of the band is here.”
“Break a leg, Sade.” She gives me one last hug before sprinting to her friends.
The seats in the large space start to fill. I finally find one in the middle, two seats sitting side by side. I don’t know why I do it. Maybe after fifteen years of being married to the same person, it’s hard to break the habit of consideration. Always making sure my husband is taken care of whether it be a fresh pair of socks when the dirty laundry pile is getting too big or saving a seat.
The lights dim, signaling the start of the show, and still no Leo. The seat to my right still sits empty, and I get a few judgmental glares as people look over the available spot before heading to the back of the auditorium to the standing-only space. Frustration starts to bubble inside of me. What could possibly be keeping Leo from seeing his daughter’s first showcase?
I catch Sadie walk onto the stage. She takes her spot on a small stool in front of a keyboard while the rest of the members of her newly formed band take their spots. One in front of a microphone stand with a guitar slung over their shoulder, and another behind a drum set. The entire room stills as Sadie, her mouth settled in front of a mic propped in front of the keyboard, makes introductions.
“Thank you all for being here,” she says, her voice a little shaky and nervous, though she refuted any anxious nerves a mere ten minutes ago. “We are Ultraviolet here to perform ‘Brilliant.’”
Music sounds immediately as Sadie presses her fingers on the keyboard. The three band members on stage start to sing at the same time, their voices harmonizing evenly in a fluid way that makes me wonder how they found each other. Those nerves in Sadie’s voice disappear instantly, and I see her fall into her element. I forget about Leo being late, about how disappointed she’ll be once she finds that her dad isn’t here. About how many more moments like this will add onto the slabs of letdowns she’ll have to suffer as she gets older.
She’s a woman up there, using the power in her voice to express herself. She grew up right before my eyes, and I feel my nose start to sting with tears. She grew up despite my urges not to. For her to stay my baby forever. She grew up regardless of the rift drawing the two people she looks up to the most apart.
As soon as the band finishes, I clap. I cheer and holler, and I see Sadie blush from the attention inside the auditorium. They all bow, their hands linked together at the edge of the stage, before walking off. I reach into my purse for my phone to text Leo, to let him know he missed his daughter’s performance, when I see a new message from him.
Leo
I got caught up at work. Tell Sadie I’m sorry.
I resist the urge to groan. My frustration turns into anger, and I’m reminded of the Leo I’ve always known. I should’ve expected this.
“Is this seat taken?”
I look up to see a woman, her hopeful eyes urging me to answer her as set changes are made on stage for the next performance. “No. Go ahead.”
* * *
