He laughed, then kissed my cheek. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
And with that, he got into his car and drove away.
I spent the next two hours pacing my living room. At one point, I considered calling him. At another, I considered driving to the venue myself.
I did neither.
Then, shortly after nine o’clock, my phone rang.
It was Evan.
The moment I answered, I could hear voices in the background. Applause. Music. Conversation. “How’s it going?” I asked.
There was a pause. Then my son laughed. The sound was warm and genuine. “Mom,” he said, “you should see their faces.”
And that’s when I knew something extraordinary had happened. According to Evan, the ballroom looked exactly the way you’d expect a class reunion venue to look. Round tables, string lights, a cash bar in the corner, old yearbook photos projected onto giant screens.
People who hadn’t spoken in years suddenly acting like lifelong friends.
The moment he walked through the doors, several conversations stopped. Not all of them. Just enough for him and everyone else to notice. Some people looked surprised, others looked confused, and a few seemed uncomfortable.
One former classmate actually glanced toward the registration table as if expecting someone to stop him.
Nobody did.
Evan simply smiled, wrote his name on a blank tag from the registration table, and walked inside.
For the first few minutes, he mostly observed.
The same groups had formed almost immediately.
