The first twenty minutes were brutal, the way civil dinners go brutal. Nobody said anything wrong. Nobody said anything real either. We talked about the restaurant, the menu, the weather shifting toward real autumn, and whether the bread was sourdough or ciabatta. It was ciabatta. We discussed it for six full minutes.
Linda asked about event planning. I described the Wellstead-Hong wedding I’d just finished. Two hundred guests, an outdoor venue, a last-minute rainstorm that forced the cocktail hour inside.
“What did you do?” The question was genuine. She was a problem-solver. Ellis had inherited that.
“I commandeered the hotel ballroom, moved every table in fourteen minutes, convinced the DJ to switch his set to indoor acoustics, and told the bride it was planned all along.”
“Was she fooled?”
“No. But she appreciated the audacity.”
Linda’s mouth curved. Not a full smile, but close. A crack in the cream blazer armor.
Greg said nothing for another ten minutes. Ate his pasta methodically, watched Ellis watch me, watched me pretend not to watch him watching.Somewhere between the main course and dessert, he set his fork down.
“Ellis says you make him laugh.”
The table went quiet.
“I try.”
“He also says you’re the first person who makes him feel like he doesn’t have to perform.”
I kept my eyes down. Looking at Ellis meant losing it.
“That’s… that means a lot, sir.”
Greg was quiet for a moment. His fork turned once in his hand. Then, without looking up: “Ellis called me after. Said he owed me honesty. That he’d been wrong to wait so long.” A pause. “He was. But I had more time to get there first. I didn’t.”
Nobody spoke. Ellis’ water glass caught the restaurant light.
Greg picked up his fork. Resumed eating. The marine biologist had concluded his study. Except the specimen he’d been assessing wasn’t me.
After dinner, walking them to their car. Greg drove despite everything. Linda touched my arm.
“This is new for us.” Her voice came quietly, while Ellis and Greg had some private exchange ten feet ahead. “I want you to know that. Not an excuse. Context.”
“I understand.”
“We love our son.”
“I know. So do I.”
The words came out before I could filter them, and I watched her face process them in real time. Surprise, then something softer.
“I can see that.” She met my eyes directly. “I saw it at the table, the way you watched him. Like you’re…” She struggled for the word.
“Terrified of losing him?”
“I was going to say proud.” She squeezed my arm once. Brief, deliberate. “We’d like you to come out to the house sometime. Sunday dinner, maybe. When you’re ready.”
My throat tightened. I swallowed hard.
“I’d like that.”
Ellis appeared at my side, radiating nervous energy. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” Linda kissed her son on the cheek. Gave me a nod that landed like the beginning of something.
