I try to picture my dad in the front row. It’s hard to see though, but maybe because I’ve only let him see my responsible side.
I’m hardly ever the rebel one. And really, singing “Fly Me to the Moon” isn’t that edgy.
I swallow past the nerves, then say, “I’ll do it.”
That earns me the hottest kiss of my life.
* * *
In the morning, Chloe takes off with her dog, and I’ve got just enough time before I need to head into work to make the call. I pace in the kitchen, amped up on coffee. I grab my phone and stab my dad’s contact name, and the phone rings.
This shouldn’t be hard. Really, it shouldn’t. I’d like to settle these annoying nerves all the way down.
But when he answers with a, “Hey, son,” the nerves fly back up my chest.
I’ve always wanted to stay in the lines, stick to the plan, be anupstanding guy who maintains boundaries. Like he taught me. Will this change how he sees me?
“Hey, Dad,” I say, wishing my stomach weren’t flipping like a goddamn pancake. But…fuck it. Sometimes you have to dive in. Besides, the whole town is going to know soon. What’s the difference?
Because he’s your dad.
Here goes nothing. “I’m performing a song at the town fundraiser this weekend. Want to come?”
There’s silence for a few seconds. Then a clearing of his throat. “You are?”
He sounds perplexed. Shit.
“Yup. The guy who was supposed to do it broke his leg, so Chloe asked me…and anyway, yes I am.”
“Huh,” he says, sounding almost amused. “I always did think you were good at singing in the shower.”
I stop in my tracks. I guess my secret habit wasn’t such a secret. “Thanks,” I say dryly.
“I’ll be there. Can I bring Latanya?”
“Sure,” I say, giving him the details.
“Great. I can’t wait.” He blows out a breath, then says genuinely, “Thanks for the invite.”
“You’re welcome.”
I hang up, relieved. After I leash Mister Dog so he can come to work with me, I dictate a text to my sisters, inviting them as well. Then my mom too.
It’s not like I’m telling them about Sam. It’s just me performing. And it’ll be fine. Really, it’ll be fine.
* * *
The show’s in three more days, and after another rehearsal on Wednesday night, I’m ready. This one is a full-cast rehearsal, so it doesn’t end the same way as Monday’s. Shame. But I’ll live.
“Meet you later?”Chloe mouths from the piano.
I nod a yes, knowing she needs to stay to wrap up a few issues with her mom.
As I make my way along the aisle, her mother catches my attention. Seated elegantly in the second row, she’s regal and bold, her blouse a muted shade of gold, her rhinestone glasses shiny. Her boyfriend is next to her.
“Sawyer,” she says, her voice commanding.
For a brief second—no, several—I think I’m in trouble. For what, I have no idea. But it feels that way.
