I shook my head and tried to keep my tone friendly. “Sorry, sir. Insight only goes so far.”

After a few moments of silence, Nathan cleared his throat. “Well, Adrian. What is it you wanted?”

Adrian took a sip of his martini. “Oh, did you just notice I was here? I thought you’d come to see Sydney.”

I sank into my chair a little. This was exactly the kind of situation I’d wanted to avoid.

“Why must every question yield some difficult answer with you?” asked Nathan wearily.

“Maybe it’s the kinds of questions you ask, Dad.”

This pub wasn’t going to be big enough to hold the rapidly increasing tension. Every instinct told me to become invisible, but I found myself speaking anyway.

“Adrian’s in college,” I said. “Taking art classes. He’s very talented.” Adrian shot me a questioning—but amused—look at that. Some of his pieces were quite good. Others—especially when he’d been drinking—looked like he’d accidentally spilled paint on canvas. I’d helpfully told him so on a number of occasions.

Nathan looked unimpressed. “Yes. He’s done that before. It didn’t last.”

“Different time, different place,” I said. “Things can change. People can change.”

“But often, they don’t,” declared Nathan. The bartender returned to take our lunch orders, though none of us had even looked at the menus yet. “I’ll just order for us all, shall I?” Nathan opened the menu and scanned it quickly. “Bring us a platter of the garlic butter mushrooms, the goat cheese fondue, the bacon-wrapped scallops, and the fried oyster Caesar salad. Enough for three on the salad, obviously.”

The bartender made a couple of quick notes and was gone before I could even say a word.

“Heavy-handed much, Dad?” asked Adrian. “You didn’t even ask if we minded you ordering.”

Nathan looked unconcerned. “I’ve eaten here before. I know what’s good. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

“Sage won’t eat any of that.”

This really would be easier, I decided, if they’d both just pretend I didn’t exist.

“Why ever not?” asked Nathan, looking at me curiously. “Are you allergic to seafood?”

“She only eats healthy stuff,” said Adrian. “Everything you just got is dripping in fat.”

“A little butter won’t hurt her. You’ll both see that I’m right. It’s all good. Besides,” Nathan added, pausing to sip at his water. “I did order a salad for the table. Lettuce is healthy.”

I didn’t even attempt to point out that no amount of Romaine was going to make up for fried oysters or Caesar dressing. I wouldn’t have had a chance to speak up anyway because Adrian was on a roll and—I noticed with some surprise—halfway through his martini.

“You see?” he said in disgust. “That’s exactly how you operate. You assume you know best for everyone. You just go ahead and make these decisions, not bothering to consult with anyone, because you’re so certain you’re right.”

“In my vast experience,” said Nathan coldly, “I am usually right. When you too possess that kind of experience—when you can actually claim to be an authority on, well, anything—then you can also be trusted with important decisions.”