Mortified, I waited for Alicia to play the normal one. Baby strapped to her chest, she said, “We could sign an autograph, if you’d like.”
“That would be… oh my God!”
AJ handed us some markers and we signed their rucksacks.
“Are you off to Miragelite, too?” Barry asked.
“Oh my God, yes! We will see you! I cannot believe this is happening!” One brimmed.
Dad’s English was still spotty—even after years playing in the NHL—but he understood more than he let on. He followed this, a proud smile on his face over my newfound relevance.
He chuckled, “You’re famous—again.”
I snickered. “It makes me uncomfortable. I still don’t quite believe it.”
“Well, your mother would be proud,” Dad said.
It hit me in the feels. If anyone would have lived to see me perform at this festival, it would be Mum. She’d have been dancing the entire time—her feet unable to stop no matter her health. The day she lost her “dancing feet” was the day we knew it was over. For her, losing that ability was the end in the same way losing my ability to sing or play guitar might upend all I lived for.
“Why are you bothered?” Dad asked.
“Because I’m in my early forties being sent into a place I don’t feel comfortable. I wasneversupposed to be the lead singer in an alt-pop group, Pappa.”
“Yeah, well, look at you. You are. Chin up. You aren’t a loser. Be grateful.”
I snickered at his curt pep talk. My parents couldn’t have been more different growing up. Pappa was the hockey coach. Mama was the sweet, kind one. They divorced and I ping-ponged between the UK and Norway throughout high school. It sucked, but now I was grateful I’d gotten used to this road life. I supposed they’d always been that way.
“Sure. Okay, Dad.”
“You will know I am right someday. Hopefully before you are too old to be happy!”
“Dad, I am happy,” I laughed. “I promise.”
“You are lonely,” he said in English, loud enough that anyone could hear. “Don’t be a denier.”
I wasn’t lonely. I’d been with Betty only days before. Even now, I sat with my phone about to text her. I wanted to deny my loneliness, but worried I wasn’t ready to let Dad in on my secret. I didn’t needmoreopinions. Of course, Alicia was there to do the work for me. Nothing with the band stayed secret for long.
“Oh, she’s not,” Alicia sat and shifted Jonas.
Dad raised his eyebrows. I glared.
“What? You’re loved up and you’re texting that woman all the damn time. He’s going to find out.”
Dad got that much.
He perked and spoke Swedish, “A girl?”
“Far, a lot may have changed but I still don’t date men,” I explained in my mother tongue.
He ignored me, demanding of the band, “And how is she? Is she Swedish?”
“She’s close, but no,” Barry snickered. “Norwegian.”
“Prettier than your daughter has any right to date,” Bea confirmed.
I glared, but did not deny her truth.
“She hits above her weight,” he said in clear-as-a-bell English, patting my back heartily.
