My mom looks up at the stars and then at my dad. “What was that dock party we went to sophomore year? Do you remember, Port?”

“Probably not if we were drinking these that night. I think we’re going to need the kids to come pick us up to take us home.” He pulls out his phone along with a pair of reading glasses. “I’ll call Noah. Marina can ride with us, and Noah can drive the other car home.”

I chuckle because they’d rather have a newly licensed sixteen-year-old drive them home than their wild child twenty-year-old son.

Lark’s dad sits forward in the patio chair, and says, “You can always crash in the back bedroom, Lark’s old room.”

My mom waves him off. “No. No. We can’t impose like that. It’s no problem for the kids to come get us. It’s only twenty minutes down the road.”

She doesn’t catch it, but I do. John stiffens and looks away, taking another swig of beer to cover up for whatever came over him. I imagine it’s what Lark warned me about—don’t mention the estates.

Turning her attention to Lark, she asks, “How long have you been with Larry’s Catering?”

Like father, like daughter. Visibly tensing, she turns a cup of water around in her hands. “Two years, but as of yesterday, I’m a free agent again.”

John’s attention is caught, and he turns it on Lark. “What does that mean?”

“I quit yesterday, so I’ll be looking for another job next week. I’m just taking a breather for a few days first.”

Her dad’s brows pinch together, and he shifts in his seat. “How are you going to pay rent? It’s coming up quick.”

“I have enough saved to cover the next month.” She glances at me in her discomfort of the spotlight. I reach over and offer a hand, though she knows where I stand on the matter of where she lives. She takes my hand.

“And after that? You’re dipping into your savings.”

Lark’s posture remains unchanged with no defensive pretenses. That’s my girl. “Don’t worry, Dad,” she says, “I’ll find another job.”

My mom says, “If you’d like me to ask around—”

“I appreciate that, but it’s not necessary.” Her cheeks are flushed. Embarrassed is my least favorite hue on her. Post-orgasm is a different matter altogether.

Occasionally, I’ve caught my mom sneaking peeks at Lark. I can tell my mom approves of her. From Lark’s welcoming way of speaking to everyone as if they’re the most important person in the room to her intelligence, drive, and ambition to her kindness, she’s easy to love.

I’ve been bucking against the system for so long that it feels good to finally have peace in my life, my parents’ approval, and our family getting close again.

“Why did you quit?” my attorney father asks, but his voice is calm, even sympathetic. I don’t love that he asked, but I don’t think Lark needs me to save her, either.