The gym was packed.
Dads everywhere. Dads in work clothes who’d clearly snuck out of the office. Dads in sweatpants. Grandpas with canes. A few uncles. A tall man in a construction vest with his son sitting on his shoulders even though the boy was clearly too old for that.
I found two seats near the middle. Caleb went to sit with his class at the front, by the stage, the guitar case at his feet.
I sat down. The chair beside me was empty.
A man came down the row and stopped. “Is this seat taken?”
“Yes,” I said, too quickly. Then I felt stupid. “I mean… no. Sorry. It’s not.”
He sat down. He was maybe forty, with a sunburned neck and a kind face. His daughter waved at him from the front row, and he waved back with his whole arm like she was getting on a plane.
