Besides, Elizabeth’s assessment is dead-on. It’s been good for Jonah to have a friend, any friend. My son is making smart choices. He came home this summer to save money and take extra classes, for crying out loud—composition or something like it at Stony Brook, where Elizabeth teaches—and he’s staying with me, for once. Jonah’s not a screwup. He’s just hard to read, despite being my own flesh and blood, because even though he’s half me, Vanessa shifted his balance when she got custody. Primary custody. Adultery is good ammo, after all. She hated me, and she hated Elizabeth even more. She hates us both a little less now, though. And Jonah is a little less complicated these days. He has someone to hang out and listen to music with like a normal college kid. I should encourage this normalcy.

The boys change records, shifting from reggae to funk. A cool breeze reminds me that I’m only wearing boxer shorts. Goose bumps travel across my arms and legs. I down the last of my drink and feel sleep calling, but before I can answer, the guesthouse door opens. A blast of volume disrupts the night’s calm. Great. The neighbors will call our HOA to complain in the morning.

“Night, man,” Jonah says, and Nick replies with something I can’t hear beneath a rush of bass and horns. Then the door closes, muffling the music once again, and Jonah is shuffling through the grass with his head down. Even from my perch at the deep end of the pool, I smell pot as he passes the shallow end. He never looks up. He doesn’t see his old man sitting in the dark in his underwear, holding an empty highball glass, watching. He just goes inside and, mercifully, forgets to lock the door behind him, so I’ll be able to get back inside without making a scene. Lucky me.

A George Clinton track ends. Earth, Wind & Fire begins. Through glass, I watch Jonah climb the stairs and disappear on the landing, and I allow a minute for him to brush his teeth and take a leak, then I head inside too.

Jonah

I brush my teeth, take a leak, and roll into bed. So that wasn’t a total disaster: the party, the small talk. I warned Nick that this night would fall somewhere between corny and mortifying, but the music wasn’t half bad, and those teriyaki skewers were legit; plus, Dad barely acknowledged me in his speech, which is a major upgrade from what I’d expected, which was that he’d embarrass the shit out of me, so that’s cool.

My stupid headphones are downstairs, way too far at the moment, so I stomach silence and check my phone to make sure Kayla didn’t text.