"Your boy's holding up well."
"He's not my boy."
"He's absolutely your boy. Look at him. He's terrified, but he's still there, taking whatever Dad's dishing out." Tristan handed me a glass. "That's either love or insanity."
"Maybe both."
"Usually is." He clinked his glass against mine. "I like him. For what it's worth."
"It's worth a lot."
"I know." Tristan took a sip. "He's good for you. I can see it. You're different now. More yourself. Less like you're performing a role."
"I was performing a role. For years."
"I know that too." His voice softened. "I should have seen it sooner. Should have made it easier for you to talk to me."
"You couldn't have known what I wouldn't tell you."
"I'm your brother. I should have known anyway." He shrugged. "But we're here now. And your security guard is currently surviving a conversation with Dad, which means he's either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid."
"Brave. Definitely brave."
Across the room, my father clapped Vance on the shoulder. Briefly, awkwardly, but unmistakably. Vance's expression didn't change, but I saw his shoulders drop slightly.
"Well." Tristan raised his glass. "Welcome to the family, I guess."
"He's not family yet."
"Toby." Tristan gave me a look. "He drove two hours to have dinner with our parents, let Mom hug him, and just survived Dad's version of a shovel talk. He's family."
Vance made his way back across the room toward me. When our eyes met, his expression shifted, the fear giving way to relief.
"Yeah," I said. "I guess he is."
We left around ten.
My mother hugged me at the door for a long time. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright.
"I'm proud of you," she whispered. "For being brave. For being honest. For finding someone who sees you."
"Mom..."
"I know I didn't make it easy. I know I pushed you toward things you didn't want." She cupped my face in her hands. "But you found your way anyway. That takes courage."
"I had help."
"I know." She glanced past me to where Vance stood by the entryway, waiting. "He's good for you. I can see it in how you carry yourself, how you smile more, how you actually seem... happy."
"I am happy."
"Then that's all I need." She kissed my forehead. "Bring him back. Don't be a stranger."
"I won't."
My father's goodbye was gruffer. He shook my hand, then pulled me into an awkward, one-armed embrace that lasted exactly two seconds.
"Send me those plans," he said. "The cottage project. I want to see how you handle the preservation details."
