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“Yeah,” I say, rolling up the program once more and focusing on the stage that is now dimming under the stage lights.
The excited voices die down to a whisper, and the shuffling of bodies becomes louder as everyone gets into their seats, preparing for the show to start. I’ve been to many concerts over the years, and each one has exceeded my expectations. It’s a melancholy feeling to know that this will be one of the last I will see.
Someone cursing a few chairs down draws my attention, and I watch my dad shuffle over legs and feet, stepping on a few on his way to the empty seat I saved for him.
“Excuse me, sorry, pardon me,” he says, making a scene as he finally reaches the seat.
“So sorry I’m late,” he says as I remove my purse from the seat so he can sit down.
“Always making a grand entrance, I see,” Georgie says, poking her head from around me.
“Fashionably late,” Dad says proudly.
“Bridge game run over?” I ask.
“No, Lake,” he says sternly. “If you must know, Alba McKinnely brought over cookies just as I was leaving, and I didn’t want to be rude and rush her.”
“Alba, huh?” Georgie says, raising her eyebrows. “Is she cute?”
“Georgie!” I scold.
“Cute is not an adjective I would use to describe someone in their seventies,” Dad counters back, sitting with his back stiff against the auditorium seats.
Georgie makes a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat.
“She still has all her own teeth and doesn’t need a walker,” he clarifies.
“So, she’s cute,” Georgie says.
My dad rolls his eyes, peering around me to meet Georgie’s eyes. “Yes.” He smiles.
I sigh audibly while Georgie snickers.
“Benjamin has a girlfriend,” Georgie teases.
“Shhhhhh,” someone says from behind us, and Georgie turns abruptly to scowl at them.
“Anyway,” she says, pushing the hair off her shoulder.
“I do not have a girlfriend!” Dad denies.
“Okay, the show is about to start. We can discuss this Alba later.” I eye my dad speculatively.
The lights flicker as last-minute arrivals come through the door.
“You didn’t save a seat for your sister and Laura,” my dad whispers, if you can call it that.
“Dad let’s not get into this now,” I say, annoyed.
“Noelle’s her niece,” he counters, as if I don’t know that. “She should be here.”
I groan.
“I don’t understand the two of you,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Your mother would disapprove.” He shifts in his chair.
“Playing dirty,” I mutter.
“I do what I want,” he leans over and whispers.
