A tornado of air-kisses and pleasantries follows. I hand Gemma the flowers and present I got for her—an assortment of handmade soaps and candles—and she puts it aside, next to a pile of wrapped gifts. We all retire to the dining room for dinner. Dom and Joe heatedly discuss the new gym equipment that was installed in their building. Brad has ordered pizzas and chicken wings so Gemma doesn’t have to cook. He makes the obligatory dad joke about how he worked hard to prepare this meal. We all say grace on Gemma’s request and dig in.

Joe and I exchange glances as Gemma tells us about her sixtieth-birthday surprise. Brad took her to watch ballet, which he hates, and to a yacht club restaurant—which he also hates because “no one should pay ninety bucks for a lobster in Massachusetts, goddammit.”

Joe laughs. “No one should pay a dollar for a lobster.”

“But maybe love is simply putting up with the other person’s bad judgment and questionable taste in order to keep them,” Brad contemplates aloud. Joe’s foot brushes mine under the table. I don’t know if it’s accidental or not, but I do know I definitely shouldn’t have felt that shiver.

Dom reaches for my hand. “What does it say about me that I think Lynne’s taste complements mine?”

“That you’re pussywhipped?” Joe asks flippantly.

“Language in this house!” Gemma roars, but she is laughing.

“Happy wife, happy life.” Dom wiggles his eyebrows.

“Putting the cart before the horse, I see.” Joe tears into his chicken wing. Like a savage. Just as I suspected. Mom’s never wrong. Which is why I’m weirded out by how Dom eats chicken. It doesn’t go with his mild, sweet nature.

“I’m a horse now. Awesome,” I mumble, feeling the tension building at the dinner table and trying to diffuse it.

“Listen, man, I love you. I will die for you if need be. But.” Dom salutes Joe with his beer bottle graciously. “You’re just jealous because I’m out of the game and don’t have to go on Tinder anymore.”

“You’re right on one account.” Joe takes a pull of his Guinness. I cough out my drink, mutter a weak apology, and lock myself in the bathroom for a quick session of clutching the sink and hyperventilating. I stare at myself in the mirror, shaking my head.

“Of course it’d happen to you, Ev. Of course.”