I take it all in, the buttered popcorn, the shrill rise of voices, the scrape of folding chairs all clattering until it rattles in my chest. It isn’t just the noise. It’s the weight of what this place means. Parents, kids, families. And me, walking into Beckett’s world for the first time since everything blew up.
Parents squeeze shoulder to shoulder on metal chairs, phones already held high. The whole place hums with anticipation.
Red construction-paper chains loop from the ceiling, and a lopsided Christmas tree leans near the stage. My palms sweat as I scan the rows.
I spot Janie sitting with her parents, Blake, Cile, and their kids. Beckett squirms between her and Margaret, tugging at his plaid shirt.
I hover at the end of the row. Blake sees me first, his jaw tightening.
Janie turns, her face unreadable. No smile, no wave. Just a small nod at the empty seat beside her father.
I take it, every muscle so taut I could pop.
“Hi.” My voice is low.
Margaret gives me a polite smile. “Evening, Warren.”
Hank shakes my hand and nods his head. He never shakes my hand. Okay, I've got this.
"Go on, Becks. You need to get up there with your class."
He kisses her on the lips and climbs over everyone before running up to the bleachers.
Janie keeps her eyes on him until he safely finds his teacher and is ushered onto the stage. “He’s singing secondrow, stage left,” she says to me without looking, pointing with her eyes.
I watch him move into place, antsy, rocking side-to-side. He cranes his neck to make sure we all see him. He waves so hard the kid beside him staggers.
My chest cracks wide. I lift my hand, quick, before the teacher snaps her fingers for quiet.
The lights dim and the music starts. A chorus of off-key voices belts out “Jingle Bell Rock.” Beckett sings louder than the rest, his head bobbing, his eyes darting between me, his grandparents, his cousins, and of course, his mom.
Janie whispers, barely audible. “He’s been looking forward to seeing you all week since I told him you were coming.”
I can’t take my eyes off my son. “Thank you for calling me,” I murmur back.
Through the next songs, I laugh under my breath when he forgets the hand motions, my throat tightening when he shouts the words like he’s performing for a stadium. The sound system squeals once, kids giggle, parents clap along.
When the last note fades, the room erupts in applause. Beckett bows low, nearly toppling over his untied shoelaces, then barrels off the stage. He launches into me with a force that knocks the breath from my lungs.
“Did you see me?” His arms cinch tight around my waist. “Did you hear me?”
“Every note.” I lift him high, spinning once before setting him back on his feet. “You were incredible.”
His grin is so wide it makes my chest ache. “Come to my classroom. I made something.”
“Beckett—” Janie’s voice cuts in, warm but warning. “We need to?—”
“Please, Mom? Just for a minute.” He bounces in my arms, face glowing with hope.
Her sigh is long, resigned. She glances at me, a flicker of conflict in her eyes, then nods once. “One minute.”
Beckett darts off to hug his grandparents, his aunt, his cousins. He waves like a conquering hero before latching onto my hand. His small fingers tug me toward the back hallway, determined.
Janie falls into step behind us, her expression unreadable. And suddenly it’s just the three of us, slipping away from the noise, as if the rest of the world has faded out.
THIRTY-FIVE
Janie