“You sure everything’s okay?” I tried again, pouring cereal for her the same way I had since she was four.
“Dad, I’m fine,” she said. “Just nervous.”
“You? Nervous? You gave a speech to three hundred people in eighth grade without blinking.”
She gave me a smile, but it never reached her eyes.
“This one’s different.”
I let the subject drop. Raising her by myself had taught me when to press and when to give her space.
At every school event, from the time she had been small enough to need help seeing the stage, she had always slipped her arm through mine.
“Save me a seat in the front,” she said, kissing my cheek as she headed toward the car.
“Front row, every time. You know that.”
We drove to the stadium past my old high school, the same place Hailey now attended.
