Page 65 of Dad Next Door
I handed him my phone. “What do you think?”
He looked at the screen and grinned. “I love this song. You don’t know how many times I listened to it on a loop after my divorce was finalized.”
“It’s the perfect breakup song. I love how it’s empowering people to take hold of their futures instead of reminding them to be sad about something that’s over.” I stood and moved so I was a few feet behind him. “The acoustics in here are perfect, but this is the sweet spot.”
He flipped so he was sitting in his chair backward.
“Whenever you’re ready, maestro.”
Grinning, Tristan tapped on my screen. “Flowers” by Miley Cyrus began to play.
Not holding back, I gave Tristan an over-the-top performance, complete with cheesy choreography and using random items as microphones.
He was howling with laughter by the time the song faded out. Exactly what I hoped would happen.
“Oh my god,” he wheezed, holding his stomach. “That was the best thing ever.”
“Thank you, thank you.” I bowed theatrically. “I’ll be here all week.”
He clapped. “Bravo. Bravo!”
I did a little Elvis-inspired dance, then added some jazz hands and pretended to tip my hat at the audience while doing a goofy walk, like I was being played offstage.
“Your voice is incredible,” Tristan said when he’d recovered. “I’ve heard you sing pop, blues, jazz, rock, country, alternative, and even heavy metal, and each genre sounds like a completely different voice. How is that possible?”
“Training. And being a natural chameleon helps. Kelly Clarkson is another example of someone who can sing anything, and she doesn’t get nearly enough credit for her range. She’s one of the most versatile vocalists I’ve ever heard. Freddie Mercury is another. My dad is a die-hard Queen fan, and I spent my childhood listening to their albums with him.”
“I love Queen. I used to sing Bohemian Rhapsody to Leo when he was a baby in all the voices to make him laugh. With baby-friendly lyrics, of course.” He smiled fondly. “And Kelly Clarkson is amazing too. I’ve been a fan of hers forever. If I was a singer, I’d never let her cover one of my songs because it would be hers from then on.”
“Hard same.” I grinned. “So, am I doing an encore or sitting my ass back down?”
“Definitely an encore.”
“What do you want to hear? Another breakup power song? A cheesy boy band ballad? Something from a musical? Your wish is my command.”
“Something from a musical.”
“Done. Do you have a favorite show or song?”
“I saw Les Misérables when it came to Seattle years ago. I loved it.”
I grinned. “That’s one of my favorites too. I played Jean Valjean in my senior showcase. Which song?”
“Um, ‘Bring Him Home’ is my favorite, but?—”
“‘Bring Him Home’ it is.” I crossed over to him and put my hand out for my phone.
He passed it to me. I went to my karaoke app and found a piano version of the music.
When it was cued up, I made my way back to my spot. “Ready?”
“Ready,” he said eagerly.
Pulling in a deep breath, I started the music. The opening bars of the song brought me back to the last time I performed it on stage. I let the memories wash over me and slipped into the role of Jean Valjean as I sang for him.
Tristan never took his eyes off me, his expression full of wonder. I put everything I had into the song. I wanted to show him not only my training but also my passion for the stage and performing.
By the time I let the last note fade out, adding some extra vibrato just to be fancy, Tristan’s eyes were damp.