I looked down at the charcoal Prada suit I wore, smoothing a hand over the front of the jacket. “I like this one.” And, I didn’t add, I packed at two in the morning under a drunken sex haze.

“Blue would have been more appropriate for tonight.” She was practically vibrating with nerves. “This one makes me think you’re heading to a funeral.”

Dad handed her his cocktail and she downed it with a shaking hand before walking away again.

“Well, that was fun,” I said and Dad laughed.

Chloe joined us—clearly a bit exasperated from dealing with her father—and we made a circuit of the room, greeting everyone who had come early in the week and reacquainting ourselves with old family and friends. A little while later, my mom called to let us all know that dinner was starting and we moved back to the dining area.

I located the place cards with our names near the center of the room. Chloe sat on my right, her dad next to her. My dad had apparently taken Frederick’s advice because Chloe’s aunts—Mary and Judith—were seated together nearby, slapping the table and cackling up a storm. Chris . . . Bull made his entrance as we were all taking a seat, shouting my name and lifting his can of beer—and requisite cozy—in my direction. His eyes moved over Chloe slower than should have been humanly possible, after which he gave me a thumbs-up.

I made a mental note to call a friend of mine at the IRS and have him audited.

I was only kidding. Mostly.

Dinner consisted of seared salmon and heirloom tomatoes, potato puree, and basil beurre blanc. It was perfect, and made it almost possible to tune out the conversations around me.

“Are you kidding?” Bull yelled from across the room at an elderly second-aunt on my mother’s side. “You must be kidding me. Eagles fans live their life feeling like they never get the credit they deserve. You want attention and praise? Win a goddamn game, that’s what I’m saying!” Bull took a giant gulp of beer, swallowed, and semi-stifled a loud belch. “And another thing—you’re old, I bet you know the answer to this: why the fuck is Wheel of Fortune still on? Did you know they have a goddamn website where you can dress up Vanna White? Dress her up like she’s some sort of fucking paper doll. Not that I know from experience, mind you.” He made a point to meet the eyes of everyone unlucky enough to be seated at his table, whether they were listening or not. “But what the fuck is that all about? And I’ll tell you what, she might not be getting any younger, but if I could find someone as hot as that woman to walk around the lot, motioning to the cars like she does on the TV?” Here he made a dramatic flourish with his hand, the other one cocked on his hip as he motioned to the empty space next to him. “I’d make a goddamn fortune.”