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“The prodigal son returns.” The biblical reference was said in jest, and I’d spent enough years in college to get used to the Bible being referenced casually, but it still struck me how offended my parents and their friends would be by the joke, which was aimed at Brett and offered by the amiable-looking man, who was wearing a shirt with the Three B’s logo on it.

“I don’t know about that, Mr. Lessand. My buddy Turner and I are just here for winter break.”

I could hear the lecture about the true meaning of the story of the prodigal son in my head as I shook the hand of a man who could never possibly be offended by a causal biblical reference.

“Hello, buddy Turner. Welcome to the Three B’s.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s just Turner.” I smiled, and we all laughed.

“Oh, there are no ‘sirs’ here, just Turner. I’ve been trying to get this one to call me Martin since he graduated high school, so we’re starting you off right.” He held his hand out again.

“Nice to meet you, Turner,” he prompted.

“It’s nice to meet you, Martin.” I shook his hand, looking at my friend, who laughed.

“See?” Martin moved his gaze from me to Brett as well. “Was that so difficult? Your mom’s here already, Brett. Leila, look what the Grinch dragged in!” Martin called out, pointing toward the back corner of the restaurant, to a table obscured by the bar. “I think Dalton took off with Austin, so you two better go keep your mom company. I’ve got an app platter on the way. What are you guys drinking?”

Brett ordered a beer, and I threw in a, “Me too, please.”

Martin glared at me until I understood his meaning. “Me too, please, Martin.”

“Attaboy. Go have a seat. I’ll grab those beers and send your dad over if he ever pulls himself away from that office of his.”

This time he glared at Brett, and Brett responded, “Thank you … Martin.”

Martin let out a cheer and raised his hands in the air as he walked away from us and toward the bar.

We sat down with Mrs. Garner, and I could see Brett’s brother with another young man, presumably the Austin that Martin had mentioned, hovering over a jukebox.

They were looking our way until they noticed me looking back, then quickly averted their eyes to the machine in front of them. Dalton whispered something in Austin’s ear, and Austin turned, catching me still staring. His eyebrows shot up, and he turned back around, leaning in to whisper to his friend, his hand clasped around Dalton’s upper arm.

Austin pressed a few buttons, and a song about loving someone for a thousand years filtered through the speakers. Dalton punched his friend in the arm. From where I was sitting, it looked like it might have been hard enough to sting. Austin rubbed the spot and looked like he might retaliate, but Martin interrupted their teenage shenanigans.

“Austin, Dalton. Can’t you find something a little peppier to play? It’s the holidays!”

“Peppier? Really, Dad? That’s the word you’re going with? Whatever.” The boys laughed and went back to smacking each other in the arm, more lightly than Dalton’s first hit and with increasingly waning energy as they continued to chuckle.

“Get over here, you two knuckleheads.” Martin sounded more exasperated and amused than frustrated or angry as the boys approached him.

Brett nudged my elbow, and I realized I hadn’t been paying any attention to him or his mother. “What are you thinking so hard about?” he asked.

I smiled and apologized.

“Sorry. It’s just that my parents were pretty strict. I would have been in trouble for goofing off like that in front of them, and for talking back. It just hits me sometimes, how different the world is.” I was surprised by the honest response that I hadn’t held back and worried that I might have insulted Mrs. Garner. I glanced back at the two friends, avoiding her gaze, to see Martin hand his son a platter of food and Dalton a stack of dishes and silverware.

I could sense Mrs. Garner and Brett watching the boys approach as well.

Mrs. Garner responded kindly.

“Oh, well. Boys will be boys and all that. And those two, they’re practically brothers, with how much time they spend together.”

Brett scoffed, and I looked at him questioningly as his mother responded, “What? Is Austin not Dalton’s best friend?”

Brett jumped in. “Mom! You have got to stop comparing them to brothers. It’s gross!” He leaned my way conspiratorially. “Those two are the unambiguously gay duo.” Turning to his mom, he continued, “I know you think they’re best friends or whatever, Mom, but Dalton is fifteen now. He’s gonna start thinking about dating soon, and …” Brett trailed off, but he waved his hands in the direction of the two teenagers walking toward us, still laughing at each other, still sharing a whispered joke.

“Brett, since when do you worry about Dalton’s … dating life?” Mrs. Garner asked in a lowered voice.

Brett waved at the boys again. “Look at him, Mom. Look at both of them. Dalt must have grown a foot since I left for college this semester, and Austin’s sporting that ridiculous peach fuzz! Turner, back me up on this. I can see a little bit of muscle on Shorty’s biceps. I think the swimming is paying off for him. Am I right, T?”