“DAD, WE need to get going,” I told him nervously through the door. It had taken me weeks to convince him to come for a visit. “The curtain doesn’t wait for anyone.”
“Are you sure about this?” Dad asked as he stepped out of the bathroom in his suit. I adjusted his tie for him and smiled.
“You look great, and of course I’m sure about this,” I said.
“I can’t get over the fact that you’re dating Beckett Huntington. After all he put you through in high school.” I loved my dad and didn’t expect him to understand, at least not right off the bat. He needed some time and a chance to see that Beckett wasn’t the same person he’d been in high school.
“I had trouble with that too. But, Dad—” I turned around. “I’m not the same as I was then either. There’s a lot less of me. That’s why I wanted you to come for a visit. I’ve been dating him for more than two months, and he loves me.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed. “You’re sure about that.”
I chuckled. He and I had had similar conversations multiple times over the past weeks. “To be honest, I had a hard time believing it too. But through all my fears, he was there. I even pushed him away and he came back. He thinks I’m hot, Dad.”
“Too much information,” he said, putting his hands over his ears with a grin.
“I know, but do you have any idea how long I waited for someone to think I was attractive?”
“You were always attractive,” Dad said firmly, and I loved him for it, then and now. He’d always had faith in me. “But I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said as I hugged him.
“Now about this apartment…. It’s so small.”
“It’s New York, and I have the patio area.” A space my dad had enjoyed for most of the previous evening. Fall was approaching, and I needed to figure out what I was going to do with the furnishings. Probably cover everything and put the cushions and rug in plastic bags. That should work. Beckett and I had talked about either getting a place together or him moving in here, but we hadn’t made any decisions yet. Though I suspected the people he’d been living with were ready for him to move on—not that he’d been spending much time there.
“I get it,” Dad said. He kept looking around as though he would find a door to another room at any moment.
“Let’s go. We need to walk to the corner to get a cab.”
“Is Val coming with us?”
“No. He has a date tonight.” Val was still seeing Lars, and they seemed to be getting along. Lars was very nice. Val said they were taking things slowly, which was a change, but he said the whole mess with Rod had made him realize he needed to act differently if he wanted a different result. I couldn’t argue with him. “Val has seen the play already.”
I had wanted my father to come for opening night, but he already had plans.
“Then let’s go.” Dad headed for the door. I grabbed my keys and locked the door before leaving the building. We strolled the short distance to the curb, and I had no difficulty hailing a cab. Ten minutes later I paid the driver as we got out. I texted Beckett that we had arrived.
“The line forms along the sidewalk,” a large man said, marshaling the crowd of people there to see the play. Beckett’s play was a huge hit. Nearly every performance had sold out to the last seat, and the run had been extended two additional weeks. Shows were lining up for Beckett, and there was even buzz around a Tony nomination.
One of the doors cracked open, and I saw Beckett poke his head out. “Charlie, they’re with me.” He turned and ushered us into the lobby, the doors closing quickly behind us.
Beckett hugged me immediately. “I can’t stay long. I have a few things I have to do to get ready.” Beckett released me and turned to my father. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Gowan. I’m glad you could make it.”
A young man came up and quietly said, “Mr. Huntington, we’re opening the doors in two minutes, and you’re needed backstage.”
“Thank you,” Beckett said. He turned back to us. “I made reservations for after the show.”
“Isn’t there a wrap party?” Dad asked.
“We’ve been going so hard for so long that we decided to do it on Tuesday when we can take a little more time to celebrate.” Beckett turned. “I’ll see you after the show.” He hurried away, and I motioned Dad to the bar, figuring we might as well get a drink.
The doors opened and the crowd filed in. Excitement filled the air as more and more people packed in.
“This is my second performance. I couldn’t let the show close without seeing it again.”
“I heard they are going to make a movie,” my dad said.
A woman bumped me gently as I guided my dad out of the way and toward one of the ushers. We were shown our seats and sat down, sipping our drinks, as the theater began to fill.
“He seems very nice.”
“He is, Dad. Beckett went through a lot of what I did, just differently.” I sipped my beer and glanced over at Dad, who shrugged. “All I’m asking is that you give him a chance.”
“Of course I will,” Dad told me. We grew quiet as the theater filled and the excitement built. I loved this part of any performance: the anticipation. Finally, the lights flashed and then dimmed and the curtain lifted.
Just like when I’d come to the performance on opening night, I sat riveted to my chair. The play was wonderful, and I couldn’t take my eyes off Beckett. I watched the play, but whenever he was on stage, he captured my attention and my gaze refused to wander to anyone else.
By the time the curtain fell, I was breathless and blinking away tears of joy and pride.
“That was amazing,” Dad said from next to me as we stood, adding to the standing ovation. Tingles ran up my spine as I watched Beckett take his bow, the applause increasing. When the curtain went down for the last time, my hands and arms ached. The theater grew quieter and then filled with overlapping conversations as it emptied.
“We can stay behind,” I said to Dad as I texted Beckett about where we should meet him.
In the lobby, he answered, and I led Dad out to where the bar was being put to bed and the souvenirs were getting packed away. This was the end, and it felt like it. The theater would go into rehearsals for a new show, and this one would pass into memory.
“Pay,” I heard float over the work noise, and I guided Dad to where Beckett waited in dress pants and a simple white shirt, looking simply amazing.
“You remember Kendall,” Beckett said, and I thought my dad was going to plotz right there. He loved Kendall’s movies, so I knew this was a treat.
“Did you like the show?” Kendall asked my dad while Beckett slipped an arm around my waist.
“Yes. It was great. You were both wonderful,” Dad said.
I leaned my head on Beckett’s shoulder. “It was just as amazing as opening night,” I said. Dad and Kendall were talking, so I took a few minutes to bask in Beckett’s glow and heat.
“So what’s next?” Beckett asked me.
“I’ve fielded a lot of offers, and we can review them on Monday and lay out a path,” I told him quietly. “There’s even the possibility of a movie.”
“I have to meet Johnny for dinner,” Kendall said, shaking hands with all of us, Beckett last. “I know we’ll be working together again.” Kendall said good-bye and left the lobby.
“Can you go?” I asked Beckett.
“Yes. They said we need to get our things tomorrow. I just want to eat and then go to bed.” Beckett kissed me with a hint of exactly what he wanted.
Dad cleared his throat. “Should I get a hotel?”
Beckett and I shared and look. I wished I’d thought of that. “No, Dad. We’ll be fine.”
After leaving the theater, we walked to where Beckett said he’d made his reservations. It was French and had a longstanding theatrical tradition.
“So, I have to ask. Do you really love my son?” Dad asked Beckett. I tripped slightly on the sidewalk, and Beckett caught me, keeping me from falling.
“Dad…,” I scolded.
“I want to know, and the best way is to hear it from him.”
“Yes, I do,” Beckett said. We stopped at a corner, waiting for the light to change so we could cross Eighth Avenue. “You saw all the excitement and energy of tonight. I love it and can’t imagine doing anything else, but I’d give all of that up for Pay. The attention, the applause, the thrill of being on stage.” The light changed, and we crossed with the others who had waited. “All of that is less important to me than he is.”
Dad said nothing, and when we reached the other side, Beckett guided me out of the crowd while Dad moved on toward the restaurant.
“Did you mean that?” I asked.
“Yes,” Beckett whispered, and I was speechless. “You are everything to me. The audience, the praise—all of it pales in comparison to the way you look at me.” Beckett kissed me, pulling me into his arms.
Now that, I knew, was love.