It wasn't "I love you." It wasn't "I accept you." But from Richard Langford, it was something close.
"I will," I said. "Thank you, Dad."
He nodded and cleared his throat. "What your mother said about bringing him back."
"Okay."
"And tell him—" He paused, then continued. "Tell him the shirt looks better with the top button undone. He looked like he was being strangled all night."
I laughed. A genuine laugh. "I'll tell him."
Tristan walked us to the elevator. The hallway was quiet, devoid of the other residents who probably made a point of avoiding the Langfords.
"Not bad," he said. "For a first family dinner with the secret boyfriend."
"He's not a secret anymore."
"No. He's not." Tristan stopped at the elevator and pressed the call button. "You know Mom's already planning Christmas, right?"
"It's April."
"She has spreadsheets, Toby. Color-coded spreadsheets." He grinned. "You're not getting out of holiday dinners now that she knows he exists."
"I can handle holiday dinners."
"Can Vance?"
I looked at the man beside me. He was still slightly stiff and uncomfortable, but there was a change in his posture now. He looked almost like he belonged.
"He can handle anything," I said.
"Yeah?" Tristan glanced at Vance. "Even your cooking lessons?"
"I've been teaching him proper technique. He's a fast learner."
"Proper technique? The man survived on MREs and field rations. Now he's learning French cooking methods?"
"Italian, mostly. And yes."
Tristan laughed. "Love makes people do strange things."
The elevator arrived, and we stepped inside.
"Hey, Toby." Tristan caught the door before it closed. "I'm glad you found him. Really. You seem... like yourself for the first time in a long time."
"Thanks, Tris."
"Same time next month?"
"You're pushing it."
"I'm persistent. It's a family trait." He punched my shoulder through the gap. "Take care of yourself. And take care of him. He looks like he needs it."
"He's tougher than he looks."
"Good. Because if he hurts you, I know people who can make him disappear."
"That's not funny."
