“I most certainly do,” my father said. “As our Alfred Lord Tennyson was wont to say, ‘I hold it true, whate’er befall;/ I feel it, when I sorrow most;/ ’Tis better to have loved and lost/ Than never to have loved at all.’ All by way of saying I was just telling Gaelic here better luck next time. And filling him in about the little lady’s and my upcoming nuptials. Given that we’re in the family way and all.”

I backed up so I was standing out of Galen’s line of vision, made a cut sign with my finger across my throat, mouthed Ix-nay on the baby daddy talk.

My father ignored me. He threaded his fingers behind his head, leaned back in his chair. “Just when you think love is behind you, you find it again. It’s richer. More satisfying. Like a fine wine.” He unthreaded his fingers and took a long sip of John’s wine.

Galen rolled John’s wine around in his glass, took a measured sip.

My father ran a hand through his white mane. “Make sure you leave your address, flutter bum, so the missus and I can pop a birth announcement in the mail to you.”

Galen pulled his phone from his pocket, started searching. “Hmm. It says here that flutter bum actually means a good-looking boy.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” my father said. “One of the biggest surprises in life is that flutter bummery doesn’t last forever.”

I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, so I couldn’t quite think of anything to contribute.

“Casserole, anyone?” I said. I turned on the oven, grabbed the top foil-wrapped rectangle from the pile in the freezer, shoved it in the oven.

“All my girls are good cooks,” my father said. “Thank the good Lord.”

The kitchen door swung open and a gust of cold air blew in along with a few dry leaves. Johnny and Polly followed, Johnny’s arm draped protectively around Polly’s shoulder.

“Somebody was supposed to wait for a text,” I said.

“What are you doing here, Galen?” Polly said. “I told you, stay out of my life.”

Johnny reached his hand out to Galen. “Johnny Hurlihy. Poppy’s fiancé.”

Johnny and Galen shook.

“What?” Polly said.

“It’s okay, babe.” Johnny patted Polly gently on her baby bump. “I think our secret’s pretty much out there by now anyway.”

My father shoved his chair back, lurched to his feet. “Get your hands off my Miss Polly.”

Johnny stepped in front of Polly. “She’s not yours, Dad. You’ve got underwear older than her, for Chrissakes.”

Galen looked back and forth between Johnny and my dad as if he were watching a slow game of pickleball.