I follow Nate to my dad's table and take a seat when he pulls out my chair. Dad leans in to speak over the music. "You missed the hors d'oeuvres."
"I bet they were boring," Nate says, standing behind my seat.
We might have missed the appetizers, but the main courses on large silver plates look mouthwatering. I grab my fork and dip it into a flaky fillet of fish smothered in a creamy white sauce, then offer a bite to Nate. He bends over my shoulder to taste it, and lets out a moan.
"Black cod in miso sauce," he announces, squeezing his butt onto my tiny chair.
The lady seated next to us glares at him and turns away. Nate doesn't seem to notice her reaction as I feed him another bite, along with some greens on the side.
"You don't mind if I sit here, do you?" he whispers in my ear, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
"Not at all." I don't mind sharing my food with him either.
Nate grins, flags down a waiter, and orders us some wine. Then his attention shifts to Dad's half-eaten bread roll. He reaches over to grab it, but Dad frowns at the intrusion.
Ignoring Dad's glare, Nate snatches the roll. "You've already had your bread, doctor! This one's Abby's."
I can't help but laugh at how shameless he is! It seems Dad can't either. Dad chuckles, giving me a knowing look over his glasses before turning to talk to Dr. Pitri.
Nate tears off a piece of bread, dips it into the sauce and feeds it to me. I struggle to stifle my laughter and chew while he devours my food, finishing half my plate in a heartbeat.
Letting out a satisfied grunt, Nate leans back, causing our chair to squeak in protest. I keep chuckling as I polish off the rest of the food, washing it down with a generous sip of chilled white wine. A waiter approaches to ask if we need an extra chair, but Nate shakes his head.
Meanwhile, two seats away, Dr. Pitri is grilling my dad about giving speeches. Dad's shoulders tense as he grips the butter knife, unable to meet the dean's gaze.
"Just read the last line, Shepherd," Pitri insists. "Offer a few words of encouragement for the patients' families."
"They are not here." Dad's voice tightens with panic. "This crowd would like to raise a fund. My words won't mean anything."
Suddenly, Dean Pitri turns to me. "Convince him, Abby."
Touching Dad's hand, I straighten my posture. "Dr. Shepherd came here as you requested, Doctor Pitri," I say and I'm trying really hard to keep my voice at a respectable level. "You know he doesn't handle pressure well."
"Just a few words! Mention the university. Give some recognition to our faculty. Or fine... Simply say thank you for being here tonight!"
Dad sighs and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Nate leans forward to touch his arm. "You don't have to."
Dad rubs his temples. "I... I can lecture hundreds of students, but I can't give speeches. I didn't even speak at my wife's funeral. Someone else had to read the eulogy. My Nobel acceptance speech was a disaster. The dean knows I'm not cut out for this! I don't see why he's insisting."
Nate sets down his wine glass. "I think what the dean wants is just an acknowledgment, Dr. Shepherd—to show that you're here and proud of your achievements."
"Yes!" Dr. Pitri cries. "Thank you."
"I can't..." Dad whispers.
"You know, acknowledgments come in different forms," Nate says. "After the dean's speech, you can nod, wave, smile, or raise your drink... How does that sound?"
All heads turn to Nate for a while, then to Dad's widened eyes. Dad's staring at Nate as if he's just proposed the craziest thing he's ever heard.
"You don't have to," Nate assures. "But if I know my brother, who is an asshole by the way, he'll turn the spotlight to you after the dean's speech. And people will expect a reaction. It's best to be prepared."
Dad's jaw drops as his eyes dart around, seeking for a place to hide. I land a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. "We can leave before the speeches—" I start saying, but it's too late... The music fades, and a waiter leans in to whisper something into Dean Pitri's ear before escorting him to the stage.
A short applause... Then Roman's voice fills the ballroom. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen..."
I turn to Dad. "We can still leave."
His hands are clenched around the tablecloth now, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. I quickly pat them with a tissue.
"It's okay, Dad. Whatever you want," I mumble. "We'll do whatever you want."
Dad lowers my hand from his face and looks up at Nate. "I think I can nod. I just don't know when. I can't hear anything. I can't focus. I—"
Nate rises from his seat to sit at Dean's now-empty chair, and glues it next to Dad's. "I'll let you know," he says, pointing at the stage. "When the spotlight hits you, just close your eyes. I'll tell you what to do."
Dad glups. "I'll nod," he says, gripping Nate's arm. "I can nod."
I stare at the two men sitting next to each other with my jaw hanging open. I don't know what's happening, how they've become best friends, or when I got sidelined. I'm glad I did, though. If it were up to me, I'd take Dad, escape and never look back. Then I'd drive home and curse all night while he locked himself into his study.
Dean Pitri is nearing the end of his speech now. Nate slides the drinks farther down the table and pats Dad on the back. I want to trust Roman at this point—to believe he wouldn't pressure my dad and settle with the dean's speech... That he isn't entirely lost in his ambitions; he values people and their limits.
But suddenly, just like Nate said, the ballroom falls silent, and stage lights shine on our faces.
"Close your eyes," Nate whispers. "Good. Now nod. Just move your head up and down. You can smile too. Excellent, Dr. Shepherd, you're doing great."
The ballroom breaks into applause as Dad keeps nodding with an awkward smile.
"You can wave too," Nate suggests, pushing back his chair to stand. Dad follows suit, gripping Nate's arm for support. "This is fantastic, doctor. Keep waving. Just focus on the light. The people around us don't exist."
Dad opens his eyes as he continues waving. And then, suddenly, he chuckles. My head twitches. Is he enjoying this? He is looking straight into the light with a genuine smile, standing tall and proud.
Nate pats Dad's back again, then joins the crowd in applause. I shut my hanging jaw, wipe the tears rolling down my cheeks, and rise to my feet to join in. To everyone else in the room, Doctor Shepherd is the brilliant scientist who found the cure for Alzheimer's and Dementia. But to me, in that moment, he is Dad. My dad. Despite his flaws, insecurities and fears, he's the one, solid rock I can rely on in this world.
As the lights finally shift away, Dad's hands fall to his sides in a shy manner. "It wasn't that bad," he says, sitting next to me.
I chuckle and wrap my arms around him. "It was great. You were great." My eyes meet Nate's glowing greens, and I mouth him a silent thank you.
Nate bites his lip, then leans into Dad's ear while holding out a hand to me. "Doctor Shepherd. I'm going to dance with your daughter now."
Dad's still smiling at his half-eaten plate, fiddling with the cutlery. "Sure. Yes," he mumbles, but I don't think he's heard anything.
I plant a kiss on Dad's cheek, then take Nate's hand and follow him to the dance floor.