Everett
Four Days Before The Grand Opening
Four days before the grand opening, and Lavender Creek feels like it is holding its breath.
Everywhere I go, someone asks about the theater. What movies we are opening with. What it looks like inside.
The truth is that the building barely resembles what it had been when I first bought it.
Fresh paint. New seating. Restored woodwork. Updated lighting. The list goes on.
But the bones are the same. And that is the whole point.
The theater has always been part of this town’s heartbeat. I just wanted to bring it back to life. But that wasn’t the only thing on my mind lately.
The ranch house looks exactly the same as it always has. White siding. Wraparound porch. The old wind chimes my mom hung twenty years ago still clinking softly in the breeze.
Standing at the bottom of the porch steps, I realize that this conversation is going to be heavy. I’ve avoided it for almost two weeks. Not because I didn’t trust my parents, but because once I say it out loud to them, everyone in my life knows.
Emily. My daughter.
Opening the creaky old door, I step inside and toss my boots to the side. Walking through the house, I head to the kitchen where I assume my parents will be. Mom is always in the kitchen baking or cooking, Dad is usually sitting at the table, talking to Mom or reading the paper.
I was right, Dad is sitting at the kitchen table with his reading glasses low on his nose and a newspaper spread out in front of him.
He glances up. “Hey, son,” he says, looking back down at the paper.
Mom turns to me. “Hey, sweetie, I am making Dad a decaf coffee. Would you like one?”
I nod. “That would be great, Mom, thanks.”
I sit down across from Dad, resting my forearms on the table. He folds the newspaper slowly, like he can sense this isn’t just a casual greeting.
Mom sets a mug in front of me, and one beside Dad. “You seem a little tense, Everett. Is everything okay?” Mom asks.
I exhale slowly.
“A week ago, my ex from LA called, do you remember me talking about Sydney?” I turn and ask my mom.
“Yes, I remember you were quite serious about her.”
“She called multiple times, actually,” I continue. “I ignored her at first.”
Dad frowns slightly.
I tell them everything. The missed calls. The texts. The moment I called back. Sydney telling me I have a daughter.
Mom’s hand flies over her mouth.
“A daughter?”
“Her name is Emily. She’s three.”
Dad leans back in his chair, absorbing the information.
“That’s a lot.”
“Yeah.”
