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Papa takes a seat on the stage and is offered a guitar from one of the guys. His fingers move around the strings as he tunes it, and then, with a nod to the band, he starts playing. Mama groans, shielding her face. “Everywhere we go he has to embarrass me.”
I look over at Mama, and her sour face has softened. She wears a silly smile as she stares longingly at my father.
Before, I would have been mad, but something has changed in me. I have made peace with my past and no longer feel angry. “No,” I say, and I walk away.
He sits upright. “It’s just stuff,” he says. “The main thing is, we are all okay.”
I keep asking Papa if this is real. Then I ask him to pinch me so I know for sure. “I’m not pinching you, because you’ll cry and tell your mother.” Instead, he pulls me into a hug, and I rest my head on his chest.
