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“Arianne! Over here!” Rhys waves at me.
Thank God the man is so tall. He’s impossible to miss.
I wave back.
“Let’s go, gang,” I tell my parents, Phoebe and Oscar.
We make our way to our seats. Rhys’s girl, and Blythe and Erik—Beckett’s parents—are already there. Beckett’s cousin Jagger and his daughter Bree are with them. So are Levi Aldridge, his very pregnant wife Jules—she’s expecting their second child—his older brother Linc and his wife. Linc is a renowned stage designer. Levi was Linc’s business partner until he had to focus all his attention on another successful company he helped Jules launch. They’re also part of Beckett’s entourage and responsible for the set design for tonight’s concert.
We greet each other, exchange warm hugs and find our respected seats.
“Talk about being close to the stage,” I tell Beckett’s mom.
“It doesn’t get better than front row seats,” Blythe says. She’s sitting to my right. Beckett’s dad is seated a little further down the row flanked by Jagger and Rhys.
I open my mouth to respond, but my mother precedes me.
“Not unless you’re sitting on stage,” she says. She’s sitting to Blythe’s right. “Blimey.” Mom clamps her hands over her mouth and her eyes widen as her face turns a bright shade of red.
“Mom, are you okay?” I ask.
“She is.” Dad, who’s sitting next to her, responds on her behalf.
Mom averts her gaze.
Her coloring is still a concern.
“Dad, she doesn’t look okay,” I tell him.
“She just needs to keep quiet. That’s all,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“Honey, it’s impolite to have a conversation over people like that,” Dad says. “Your mother and I raised you better than that.”
What’s gotten into him?
“The concert is upfront… not down here.” He points to the stage.
“Okay,” I say, nodding, but still not getting it.
He tears his gaze away from mine and fixes it on the empty stage to drive his point.
Mom gives me a tentative side gaze.
My parents have officially lost their marbles.
“Don’t be so hard on them. We’re all excited,” Blythe says when I’m still staring at my father’s determined profile, perplexed.
I accept her explanation with skepticism.
My parents have worked very hard their whole lives and I understand concerts are a novelty, but something about them is off. They’ve been having these hush-hush conversations since they arrived in LA two days ago. Actually, their strange behavior started when I called them to let them know about tonight. Mom worships Cello2Cello. I flew them in so we could spend time together and attend the concert. Imagine my surprise, when they insisted on staying at a hotel instead of staying with us. Mom blurted something about not wanting to cram our space. No matter how many times I insisted, she turned me down flat. Dad wouldn’t budge either.
I turn to my best friend who’s sitting to my left. “The Buchanans are acting strangely,” I tell Phoebe in a pronounced Scottish accent.
“Och, leave ’em be,” she says in a farcical Scottish brogue.
“If ya say so, lassie.”
