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These pick-ups have gotten easier as my kids have grown into sort-of-adults; at least I no longer need to see Jane. Now the biggest challenge is sort of getting everyone home at around the same time so I don’t need to do three separate trips to the airport. My travel agent, thank heavens, is on the smarter side and does it for us.

Fallon is the first to arrive, always; even at birth he was first. It’s like that set a precedent for the rest of the kid’s life — first at everything. “Dad.” I get the ‘I’m cool now’ half hug, pat on the back, as he comes through the arrivals door with more luggage than any woman would have.

“How was your flight?” I ask him, as he slips his backpack off and dumps it at his feet.

“Full of students, and the flight attendant was pretty hot.” I swear sometimes I had no hand in raising them, their mother failed dismally. “What time is Tala landing?” He checks the Rolex I bought him for his eighteenth birthday.

“She’s ten minutes behind you, and Lycan will be here in about twenty minutes. You can grab a coffee if you’d like. I'll wait here.” I don’t want to miss any one of them. I won’t live it down.

“Nah, I’ll wait.” My eldest son stands beside me, fidgeting on his phone. The thing is glued to his hand. I think over the past generation, smartphones are now just an added limb. They couldn’t put them down even if they tried to. At least they occasionally use them to call or video chat with me; it makes the distance between us a little shorter. “I can’t believe we’re spending the summer in the city. You didn’t plan a trip this year.”

“I’m retired, I don’t need or want to vacation with anyone’s children. I booked you lot two weeks away at the end of the summer. I will vacation in peace on the other side of the equator when it’s cold as balls here again.” Fallon just shakes his head. In the past I would have tried to cram in a family trip; I am just not in the mood for it this year. They don’t want to hang out with me anyway. At least while they’re in the city, I see them breeze in and out occasionally. Tala has entered the polo-cross season, so it seemed like a good idea to stay home this year. My kids are clearly thrilled at the idea of stay-cationing in New Jersey.

“Dad!” Tala shouts, making people stop and stare. She runs, dropping her bags, and jumps into my arms. Daddy’s girls are always that way, even at twenty, she still makes me feel loved. “Dick.” She smacks her brother upside the head when he doesn’t greet her. “Where’s Lycan?”

“He’ll be here in about ten minutes.” I check my watch. This went pretty well, not one flight delayed. “And he’s brought his girlfriend so be fucking nice, you two. This is not a challenge.”

“Now it is.” Fallon winks at his sister; they might be triplets, but they’re all so different.

“Behave, you two. I am not having an entire summer of bullshit and fights,” I threaten knowing full fucking well I’m going to have a summer full of fights because the perfect trio hates a fourth wheel. It always ends in mayhem. It’s their twenty-first birthday this summer, and planning an event for them is going to be hard enough without adding another person to the mix. I couldn’t exactly say no when he asked though; she’s a nice girl. His mother approves, and I dare not stand in the way of that. The last of my kids strolls through the terminal like he’s in no hurry to get anywhere. His girlfriend is holding his hand and smiling at him. Young, stupid love. Poor sod, she’ll rip his heart out and eat it in a year or so.

“Lycan. Hurry the fuck up,” Fallon hollers across the terminal like he’s an ingrate, not my Ivy League educated son. I don’t bother to say anything because it gets Lycan’s attention, and they start moving faster. I am about done standing here, I need a coffee and something to eat. And Lord help me the strength to get through summer with these three.

“Dad. Hi. This is Emily, my — my girlfriend.” Lycan greets me with a nervousness that’s not like him at all.

“Hello, son, and hi Emily, nice to meet you.” I hug my son and stretch out a hand to shake hers. “Can we get going now? Everyone’s here,” I say, grabbing Tala’s bag for her.

My troupe of twenty-year-old monkeys follow me to where the car is parked, already bickering at one another and acting like they’re their own traveling circus. I could have sent a driver, but I actually missed them.

It’s a tradition; we have been eating here since I moved to 9 on Hudson, after my divorce. The Cart House has been where we eat almost every family dinner together. There's just far less of them these days. I remember getting the side eye for bringing three kids into a place like this; now they’re grownups. They behaved better at age ten.

Once we’re settled at a table and drinks are ordered, their chatter calms down enough that I can ask a question.

“How’s your mother?” I ask. I know she went to see them all during the semester. She has a busy summer; she doesn’t need them around.

“Engaged again, some douche-canoe with a fancy car,” Tala says. “His pecker must be small.” Lycan snorts with laughter, and Fallon stays quiet. He’s his mother’s child and that’s okay. The new guy probably has a Forbes cover, and a small pecker, my ex-wife was and always will be about money.

“Nice, when’s the wedding?” This is wedding number four since she left me, that’s four in ten years. Must be a record.

“We’re not invited. He doesn’t have kids—” Fallon sounds bitter about it. “It’ll be sometime in the summer.” My son's face is enough for me to know it’s time to change the topic.

“So, Emily, did you two meet at school?” Lycan’s girlfriend turns a deep shade of plum as she blushes and chokes on the soda that she wasn’t done swallowing. Not at school then.

“We met at yoga,” she says, and my son gives her a look that says shut the fuck up.

“So on a dating app then?’’ I know all their secret codes; they think I’m stupid.

“Dad.” Tala kicks me under the table.

“What? I know you all Grindering and what-what.” They all erupt in laughter.

“Grinder is for gays, Dad.” Tala shakes her head at me.

“Whatever, it’s all just asking for an axe murderer to show up on your doorstep.” I watch the crime channel. I know stuff.

“You know that the chances of actually getting axe-murdered are incredibly low,” Fallon, who I have no doubt has facts to back it up, says.