The air is heavy and uncomfortable when conversation pauses—weighted with awkwardness I’m contributing to. I have no idea how I feel about Gray right now, so I’m far from a neutral mediator. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since he showed up at the hospital three days ago.

And then Juliet asks Gray what he did today.

“I surfed,” he says.

None of us miss Henry’s quiet scoff.

“Not really any waves this morning, so I mainly just sat there. Doing nothing.” The last two words are emphasized with the reminders of past conflict and purposeful accusation.

If this were a sitcom, it would be my cue to look around with exaggerated confusion and ask, Did I miss something here?

The Phillipses’ large dining room suddenly feels tiny. Tension swirls in the air-conditioned air and expands.

“That sounds nice, sweetheart.” Juliet makes a valiant effort to break it.

“You ever going to do something, son?” Henry asks. “You could be making a difference, just like Evie.”

I really wish I could be left out of this conversation. For lots of reasons.

“Noah landed the Danbury contract today,” I blurt.

He texted me the news earlier. The new development going up downtown was a coveted contract for his architecture firm, one he wasn’t expecting to play a part in.

“That’s fantastic!” Juliet exclaims.

“Yep.” I nod, then glance at Gray. It was the first thing that popped in my head to say. Too late, I realize my attempt at distraction could be interpreted as a dig or an agreement with what Henry is saying. “He’s really excited.”

“Tell him congratulations from us,” Henry adds.

Gray stiffens beside me.

“I will,” I reply weakly.

We finish dinner.

“Why don’t you two head out onto the porch?” Juliet suggests when all our plates are empty. “I made a pie for dessert. We should eat out there and enjoy the weather while it lasts.”

I agree, since Gray hasn’t said more than four sentences all night and is showing no signs of becoming more verbose anytime soon. “Sure, sounds good.”

Juliet and Henry disappear into the kitchen. I stand and walk out onto the screened porch, leaving Gray sitting alone at the table. The screened porch is about half the size of the formal dining room. One end holds a couple of wooden rocking chairs while the rest of the space is taken up by wicker table and chairs. String lights cast a soft glow. I walk over to the periphery and stare out into the dark night. I can’t see anything past the screen.

“Pretty impressive they didn’t run out of compliments for you the whole dinner. My parents are usually stingy with them.”

I turn to watch Gray approach me with his hands shoved in his pockets. My first thought is that his opinion means more to me than his parents’, but I don’t share that truth.