“Yup,” Benji said, already grinning. Dogs and children loved my boyfriend. It was a simple fact.

“How was the drive?” Luke asked my father.

“Too much traffic on the bridge,” Theo said.

“Oh, that always happens around quitting time,” Luke replied. “Everyone trying to get back home on the island at once.”

I bit my lip, not wanting to correct him. A bridge was a bridge. Right? “We should go in,” I said instead. “They fill up fast here.”

“They do,” Theo agreed.

“It’s the snobbier tourists,” Luke said. “They think this is the only place that makes anything for their refined palates.”

I didn’t look, but I was pretty sure my father and Theo exchanged a glance, hearing this. I said, “Well, my palate isn’t refined, but I love the olive bread.”

No reply from anyone. We all started walking to the restaurant, Benji falling in beside me and taking my other hand. I was not sure what this sudden burst of sibling affection was all about, but it was kind of sweet. Plus, there was safety in numbers.

The hostess, a high school girl with visible tan lines, smiled at us as we came in. “Welcome to the Reef Room! Five for dinner?”

“I’m not eating, just getting takeout,” Theo told her, then turned to my father and Luke. “Nice meeting you both.”

“And you as well,” my father said. “I’ll keep an eye out for the finished doc.”

“Do that.”

Then Theo waved and was gone, going into the half-filled bar. As the hostess gathered menus, then led us to a large booth by the window, Luke leaned down to my ear. “What’s the story with Girl Jeans?”

Of course this was the first thing he noticed. “I met him doing vips the other day. He’s down working for some filmmaker.”

“Ivy Mendelson,” my father said from behind us. “She’s a very talented director.”

“Who likes the chicken satay here,” I added. The hostess smiled widely at me. Not for the first time since we got here, I wished I had more gum. “Let’s sit down.”

I slid in by the window, and before I knew it, Benji was beside me. Which left Luke to join my father on the other side. It was like the oddest of double dates.

“I want a shrimp burger,” Benji announced, without even opening his menu.

“That’s my boy,” Luke said, holding up his hand for a high five. They slapped. “They have good ones here. Not too bready, light on the cocktail sauce. Skip the onion rings, though. Too thin.”

Now my father looked at him, as if not sure exactly what kind of species he was. “Luke’s kind of an expert when it comes to shrimp burgers,” I explained.

“The key is the size of the shrimp, the amount of breading, and how much mayo is in the slaw,” Luke added. “You have to get all three right, and then . . . perfection.”

Benji laughed. “I like anything fried.”

“Agreed,” Luke said. “I had fried Oreos at the fair last year. They were great.”

My father looked over at the bar, apparently missing Theo already. “You had a burger at lunch,” he said to Benji. “I think you’d better go with salad and a lean protein now.”

“But I want a shrimp burger.”

“Benji.” There’s was the slightest edge to his voice. “Salad and protein. Get fish or chicken. Not fried.”

I felt a nudge in the middle of my shin, but didn’t look up to meet Luke’s eyes. I could imagine his expression without the visual. Between this and Girl Jeans, we were not off to a good start. Benji, for his part, looked on the verge of tears.

“The chicken satay is good,” I told him. “That’s what I always get.”

Luke was looking at me, I knew, as this was an outright lie. Thankfully, a beat later, he said, “She’s right. It’s pretty awesome.”

“So, Luke,” my father said suddenly, folding up his own menu. “Are you off to college this fall as well?”

“Yes, sir. To East U. Just like Emaline.”

Luke was the most-good natured person I knew, but even without that, it was clear from his tone and expression this was just an honest, polite answer to the question. From my father’s face, however, you would have thought he’d reached across the table and punched him. His face reddened, he coughed, then quickly looked down at his menu. You brought it up, I thought. Don’t ask if you can’t handle being told.

For a minute we just sat there, in a silence that felt heavy like a blanket. On the one hand, I got some satisfaction that the subject at least made him uncomfortable. But then the awkwardness became excruciating. Please, God, I thought, let us talk about something else. Anything.

Apparently, God was listening, as right then I heard a cell phone trill, the melody oddly (and irritatingly) familiar. It was “The Mexican Hat Dance.”

I looked at Luke—who was known for terrible ringtone choices—but he shook his head. It couldn’t be my father’s. Could it? Then Benji pulled something from his pocket.

“Not at the table,” my father said automatically.

“It’s Mom, though.” For a moment they just looked at each other, Luke and I in the periphery. Then Benji answered. “Hello? Yeah, hi. No, we just sat down to dinner . . .”

My father turned around in his seat, scanning the room. “Do we have a waitress here?”