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“Mom, where’s the party?”

“It’s you! I’m celebrating you coming home. I’ve started making these charcuterie boards for parties, and they’re so fun. Snack, you must be hungry.”

Lucien and I both sit on the stools, and I watch as he eagerly fills a plate. My mother stands on the opposite side of the island, watching us with a smile that makes me slightly nervous.

“So, Lucien, were you in the same year as Cameron at St. Silas?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lucien says politely.

“Whit,” my mother corrects him with a maternal smile.

“So you’ve known Cam for a long time.”

I give her a warning look. “Mom⁠—”

“Well,” she says, glancing away with a mischievous smile, “I’m glad Cam has close friends. Everyone needs someone.”

I dart another warning look at her, and Lucien chokes a little on a grape. My mother wanders over to the window, and I’m grateful for the reprieve.

“Oh, here’s Dad with the dogs,” she says.

The back door that leads to the mudroom opens, and I can hear the familiar sound of fur shaking and the metallic clink of dog collars, followed by the clomp of boots. Three golden retrievers bound into the kitchen, their tails wagging frantically, their tongues hanging out.

They head straight for me, jumping against my legs. Angus licks my jeans, and I can’t help but smile. Their black nostrils open and close with heavy sniffs, reminding me of the way seals breathe when they breach.

I scruff the fur around their necks and rub their ears. Sawyer jumps up and rests his paws on the stool, trying to lick my face, and I kiss him on the head.

“Sawyer! Down!” my father commands.

I haven’t greeted him yet. I turn, and he’s standing on the other side of the island next to my mother, watching Lucien and me with a curious expression. But he’s smiling, and he looks more relaxed than I’ve seen him in years.

“It’s good to see you, son,” he says.

“Hi, Dad.” I turn to Lucien. “This is Lucien.”

I watch Lucien’s reaction carefully. He calmly reaches across the island with his palm extended for a handshake. I’m so nervous I can barely breathe. My father extends his hand and shakes with Lucien, and the way his shoulders settle, I can see he’s impressed.

“Lucien, what do your parents do?” my father asks.

Jesus Christ, Dad. Fucking nosy. I hold my breath.

Lucien answers easily, without missing a beat. “My family started a pharmaceutical company that my father helps run. My mother is a homemaker. We live in Charleston.”

“Oh wow,” my father says. “We love Charleston, don’t we, Whitty?”

My mother smiles. “Oh yes. I love the architecture of some of those houses in the older part of town.”

“I do too,” Lucien says. “My family home is on Church Street. It was built in the 1850s, Greek Revival.”

“Gosh!” my mother exclaims. “How fantastic.”

I listen to the easy conversation between the three of them as they talk about Charleston and then the ocean. Lucien asks about the beach, and my mother launches into a description of the path and the stairs. The conversation flows naturally, and I feel some of my anxiety ease. Lucien is charming, effortlessly so, and my parents are eating it up.

One of our golden retrievers, the red one named Ruby, has positioned herself against my stool, and I continue to rub her head. I love dogs, but I didn’t get much time with animals while I was away in Scotland. The familiar warmth of her fur under my hand is comforting.

My mother takes out some Pellegrino and offers it to Lucien and me. We both accept, and she pours herself and my father some rosé.

I look at the alcohol, and my mother knows exactly what I want. “Drink your water, Cam. You can drink when it’s legal,” she says with a laugh.