They really truly are so damn adorable.
They sing three songs, pantomiming along to the lyrics—quite horribly, I might add—waving to their parents, guardians, family from their place on the state. One little boy has his hands up his shirt and appears to be itching his belly; another is waving to someone in the crowd.
There’s a little girl with her face buried in her hands, making me wonder why we put everyone through these programs.
Kindergarten out. First grade in.
Jack sits up straighter in his seat, neck craning for a visual on Skipper as she marches proudly onto the stage, lavender dress swinging to and fro, her dark hair in two French braids that hang down her back. White socks up to her knees. White dress shoes.
It’s an outfit better suited for an Easter brunch or a summer wedding, but this is the outfit she chose and nothing was going to change her mind. She knew Jack was coming today and dressed to impress.
Her little beady eyes do nothing but scan the crowd for a peek at him.
Skipper shields her eyes as she looks for us, blocking the spotlight glare.
Jack stands and waves, not caring one iota that he is blocking the view of everyone behind us, apologizing as he sits down, “Sorry.” He waves at a few people in the back rows. “Sorry, that’s my daughter up there.”
More whispers, this time more fervent.
The couple in front of us turn in their seats at the man who had the audacity to stand up to get his daughter’s attention, the man putting his hand on his wife’s arm just as she’s about to say something nasty to Jack.
I catch his eye and give him an apologetic smile, but I think it’s cute that Jack is so excited and enthusiastic; he’s not been to one of these events before. He’s never had a daughter before, this is all new and he deserves to hop out of his chair to wave.
Dammit!
Let the man live his best life!
Skipper sees her dad, waving back enthusiastically, bouncing on the heels, ready for action. She’s being silly, showing up and singing loud, has the four of us cracking up at one point.
Jack continues to hold my hand. He also continues to wave, surreptitiously sneaking them in now and again, no shame. Dang he’s enjoying this.
The little stinker up on stage does the same. She thinks she’s being sneaky, but she’s up in front of an audience where anyone and everyone can see her.
When it’s over, there won’t be an opportunity for Jack to say hello, goodbye, or to hug her—she’ll go back to class, and I’ll go back to work, and he’ll head to the airport, and this will be a blip on our radar of memories that pass in the blink of an eye.
The lobby is a crush, some people noticing Jack’s presence and ignoring it, others pointing, others saying hello and shaking his hand—mostly men, of course.
The principal comes over and greets us and for the first time, Jack introduces himself as Harper Halbrook’s dad.
Harper Halbrook’s dad.
He sounds so proud, the words leaving his mouth with zero hesitation.
We haven’t told her yet, and my mind shifts to Mom Mode, worried that the principal will tell her he met her dad. Or one of her classmates will ask if Jack Jennings is her dad and confuse her.
She’s smart; I wouldn’t put it past her to put two and two together and confront me about it—after all, she’s asked me several times before and she has Jack on the brain.
Considering Jack flew all this way to be here for two hours, we only have time for a hour or so before he has to get to the airport and return his rental, so he follows me home.
Parks in the driveway, hands at my hips when I punch in the keypad on the laundry room door, lips already at my neck. He lifts me then, picks me up and carries me upstairs to the bedroom, kicking off his shoes along the way.
Shirt comes off; mine and his.
I wouldn’t call it frantic, but it’s close—two people who know they’re going to be parted but only just found one another after too many years. It’s sad and blissful both at the same time.
I’d worn a cute dress today knowing I was going to see him; it’s long sleeve and roughed with two sides down my hips. Probably too sexy for a school function but I have few opportunities to flirt with him and I’m taking each one I can get.
Jack doesn’t fuss with the particulars; he pulls the darn things straight off me, lobbing it to the ground. Kneels at my feet to unbuckle my cute wedges.
When he stands I unbutton his polo shirt. Belt buckle.
Jeans.
Remove his sunglasses with a laugh. “Do these actually work as a disguise for you?”