“I understand.”
“He moves around.”
“That’s fine. Throwing popcorn at other guests and repeatedly kicking their seats is not.”
“He wasn’t throwing it.”
Tamika remained calm.
“I watched from the side entrance before coming over.”
Silence.
“He was.”
The father stood.
“Then why don’t those two move?”
He pointed at us.
That was when Owen spoke.
“Because we’ve been waiting seven months for tonight.”
His voice wasn’t loud.
But it was steady.
Everyone nearby became quiet.
“My father has dementia,” Owen said. “He lives with us. We haven’t had a night alone since February. We hired a trained caregiver tonight. We reserved these seats weeks ago.”
He looked toward me.
“My wife has popcorn in her hair and soda on her clothes. She has asked you politely more than once.”
Then he looked back at the man.
“So no. We’re not moving.”
The father stared at him.
