Page 148 of Every Silent Lie
“Really?”
“Really, Camryn.”
“Okay, how many have fluttered their lashes?”
He shifts on his chair, uncomfortable. “A few.”
My eyebrows jump up. “A few?”
“Most of them.”
“Hot single dad,” I muse.
“Except I’m not single.” He leans in and kisses my cheek. “Am I?”
“Keep it PG,” I mumble, nudging him back to his own personal space.
“Shut up.” He grabs my hand and squeezes as a man in a pair of bottle-green cords and an obscene Christmas jumper walks onto the stage and introduces himself as Mr. Gantree, before reminding parents taking photos is prohibited but they can purchase pictures from the school website when the appointed photographer uploads them.
I take a deep breath and cling to Dec, not quite believing I’m here, that I’ve put myself in this box of triggers. But then I look at Dec sitting next to me, and I can believe it. He glances at me, concern a constant on his face, some for me, and some for Albi, who’s about to make his acting debut. “I’m okay,” I assure him, trying not to let my chest inflate as I take a deep breath and return my attention to the stage. “Concentrate.” I don’t want his worry for me to distract him from such a monumental moment as a parent.
My eyes widen when an octopus wobbles onto the stage and starts to set the scene for the audience, not that we could have missed the big boards with waves and coral reefs painted on them.
“This is Christmas Under the Sea,” Octopus declares, as a piano is wheeled on and Mr. Gantree takes the stool, starting to play. And we watch in fascination as Santa’s elves that, for the sake of this production, are actually clown fish, all huddle onto the stage and start singing I-don’t-know-what. Father Christmas is a merman, and his reindeers are dolphins.
I lean into Dec. “This isn’t a nativity play as I know it.”
“Me neither,” he murmurs. “Where are the three wise men?”
“Are you religious?”
“Not even a little bit.” His posture changes, his body sitting up straight, and I look back at the stage when I see Albi waddle on, looking so bloody proud of himself. I don’t know who to watch. Albi or Dec.
Albi whips out a scroll and lets it roll out, the paper hitting the floor. “The naughty list,” he declares sternly, and all the sea creatures gasp.
“Nailed it,” Dec says, resting back in his chair.
I smile, leaning into him. “Which one is Petal?” I ask.
“The jellyfish,” he whispers. “She better not sting my boy.”
I chuckle and settle, finding Albi on the stage again. His grin is as wide as his face.
And it’s magic.
For the rest of the play, I sway constantly from sad to elated. Smiling happily and smiling sadly. I study each and every kid on stage, compare Noah to them all—height, size, hair, speech, cheeks. At one point, when they all burst into an interesting version of Winter Wonderland that involved changing most of the lyrics to fit the production, I thought I might have to step outside, watching them all sing with utter gusto, like their lives depended on it, keen to show their mummies and daddies how well they’ve done. But, honestly, I didn’t want to miss Albi. And I definitely didn’t want him to see me get up and walk out.
As soon as the curtains close, everyone stands and a raucous applause breaks out, grown-ups clapping and whooping, so many proud faces in the house. I take it all in. Numb but not. I know what it must feel like, this feeling filling the room, and it’s the best in the world. Utter pride and love. Dec’s feeling that now, and I am too, to an extent.
The curtains slide open, and I make sure Albi sees us clapping for him. His grin makes him even more edible, so I give him a thumbs up that he tries to return but can’t because of the giant pink velvet mitts on his hands. “What are you doing for the rest of the day?” Dec asks as he leans into me, talking just loud enough for me to hear over the continued applause.
“I might have to shower at some point.”
He looks down his front, to the sweatpants and hoodie. “We can shower later. Want to come on a date with me and Albi?”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
