I chew my bread and bite back the urge to smile. Honestly, you can’t pay for this sort of entertainment. I’ve never seen Gray put on the spot before. He usually just ignores questions he doesn’t want to answer.

“What was it?”

I perk up for a whole new reason. Is he going to make something up? Manufacture some moment where our eyes locked across the middle school cafeteria?

Gray shifts in his seat. Clears his throat. “Oh. Just…you know, lots of little things.”

“Like what?” Marnie homes in on Gray’s vague response like a human polygraph machine. There’s nothing but eagerness in her nosiness. She’ll never have the chance to interrogate her son about the woman he’s dating.

I never met Sam. His name hasn’t even been spoken tonight. But I can feel his presence hovering in her hopeful questions, searching for the light in life rather than its darkness.

I think Gray hears it, too, because he actually answers her. “Well, the neighborhood we live in did all these celebrations growing up. Most of it was stupid. Caroling at Christmas and leprechauns for St. Patrick’s Day. The only event I ever enjoyed was the Fourth of July. There would be a big cookout in the afternoon, and then everyone would set up chairs in the street to watch the fireworks. Anyway, one year—I think I was in seventh or eighth grade—they passed out sparklers. Once the fireworks started, that’s what everyone was focused on. Everyone except Evie. She ran around the front yard, waving those sticks around the whole time. Every time one ran out, she’d light up a new one right away. I missed the whole show and watched her instead.”

This time, when Marnie swoons, I have to resist an urge to do the same.

“Oh my word, isn’t that just the sweetest story? I—”

“Can I get you folks any drinks or appetizers?” A waiter appears beside the table, cutting Marnie off.

His timing couldn’t have been better. I drop my eyes to my menu, which I haven’t even glanced at, and everyone else does the same. The paper gives me a necessary excuse to hide my expression. I don’t want anyone at this table scrutinizing my response to Gray’s patriotic little anecdote. Now, I wish he had spun some ridiculous story—the less believable, the better.

Because that moment he described, about the sparklers? He’s not making it up. It happened. I can remember it clearly—the humid air, the fizzle as the coating burned away, the explosions in the sky. But I don’t remember him—had no idea he was watching.

Were there other moments I missed?

Was my interest in him not as pathetically one-sided as I thought?

Does it matter either way?