Excuse me,” I whisper.
I’m awkwardly shuffling in front of people who are comfortably seated, ready to watch their child’s play, because I’m rude and late to see my niece.
But it’s not my fault, I was trying to wade through a lobby that made me feel like I full-on time traveled back two months.
There was a banner that saidA Night of Lovealong with every single possible heart decoration this city had to offer.Someone got a helluva after-holiday discount.
But truth be told it made me think of Oliver, of the night we spent together and the day we met. I laugh to myself, apparently Valentine’s Day is lucky for us.
I wish he was here.
“Sorry,” I blurt out as I step on the foot of a woman who’s already scowling at me.
She smiles back tightly as she says, “Okay.”
Yikes. That felt a lot likego play in traffic.
My sister glares at me, making me shrug, but she’s the one who got seats in the middle of the dang aisle.
The moment I reach her, she grabs my arm, tugging me into my seat and almost ripping the sleeve off my shirt.
“Okay, okay . . .” I hiss.
But she narrows her eyes. “You’re late.”
I motion to the stage just as three little children peek their heads and cherub cheeks out from behind the curtain. “It hasn’t started.”
She rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh. “Whatever, I’m glad you’re here. I would’ve killed you if you’d have made me explain your absence to my child.”
“Listen here, missy. I would walk on hot coals for that kid. I’d never miss this ... but I can’t lie, I was caught up in la-la land for a minute.”
“Byla-la land, do you meanOliverland?”
I smile. She does too. But I’m the only one that knows la-la land actually means I got caught up sending a very curated pic of my cleavage to encourage a lengthy FaceTime later. And I know it’s lengthy. God bless 4K.
My sister waves her hand. “Only you would have a long-distance boyfriend who was supposed to be a one-night stand.”
I laugh. “True. We’re weird, but it works.”
“Until you fall in love ...” she snarks, but I don’t look at her.
Because I think Iamin love with him. It wasn’t fireworks or explosions, but I do feel rattled all the way down to my bones.
I’m about to admit that to my sister, but the lights begin to dim.
“Oh, it’s time,” she rushes out, shoving a program into my lap. It’s got little Cupid arrows all over it. That makes me smile.
I give her an excited look before turning my attention to the stage. The curtain doesn’t rise, but the spotlight turns on and a man suddenly walks from the side of the stage.
Polite applause rings out as my sister’s shoulder touches mine, and she whispers, “Director of the program.”
I nod, opening the program to try to squint to see his name. But instead of him, I see my niece’s withwaitress #1next to her name. She was so cute telling me in her little six-year-old voice that she was playing afoodperson.
“Welcome to the San Francisco Children’s Theater—”
An older gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair wearing a navy blazer/T-shirt combination stands looking out from the stage.
“We’re so happy to see so many familiar faces in the audience. It’s always nice to see kids come back, year after year, to hone their craft here at the theater. But I have to be honest, this year is bittersweet.”
