Matt looks up. “That was work.”
“And this is homework.”
“It’s summer,” Matt says.
“Then I guess neither of us needs our phones at dinner.”
Silence. The waitress appears with appetizers. The moment passes. But it doesn’t disappear. It sits under the table between us, invisible and heavy.
Matt’s phone buzzes three more times during the main course. He doesn’t pick it up, but his eyes track to it each time, and by the third buzz, Aidan has gone quiet. Not upset-quiet. The other kind. The resigned kind. The kind that saysI’ve seen this before and I know what comes next.
“Dad,” Millie says. “Aidan was telling you about the hermit crabs.”
“Right. Sorry. Go ahead, bud.”
“It’s fine.” Aidan pushes a shrimp around his plate. “I forgot where I was.”
He didn’t forget. He gave up. Everyone at this table knows it except Matt, who picks up his fork andsays, “This fish is incredible, isn’t it?” like the conversation simply moved on rather than collapsed.
Dessert happens. Aidan recovers slightly because dessert has healing properties when you’re eight. Millie eats her key lime pie in small, precise bites, saying nothing. Jenna has her arms crossed, phone put away, watching her father with the same evaluating stare she gave him at the dock.
Matt pays. Tips well. Holds the door open for all of us.
In the parking lot, he crouches down and hugs Aidan. “Best day, buddy. We’ll do more tomorrow, okay? We still have stuff on the list.”
“Okay, Dad.”
“Love you, bud.”
“You too, Dad.”
He hugs Millie. Millie hugs back, but her arms are looser now than they were yesterday. Already adjusting. Already recalibrating how tightly to hold on.
Jenna accepts a side-hug. One arm. Brief.
Matt turns to me. “I was thinking—tomorrow I could take them to that aquarium up the coast. Make a whole day of it.”
“That soundsnice.”
“And maybe...” He hesitates. Runs his hand through his hair. “Maybe you and I could grab coffee sometime? Talk about the schedule, co-parenting stuff?”
“What specifically?”
“I want to be more involved, Em. I know I’ve dropped the ball. I want to do better.”
He’s standing in a parking lot under a streetlight, saying all the right words, and I want so badly to believe him. The girl I was at twenty-three—the one who saidyesto this man because he seemed steady—she’s still in there somewhere, still hoping he’ll become the person she married him to be.
“We can talk,” I say.
He smiles, gets in the rental car, and drives away.
Aidan falls asleep on the short drive back to the marina. I carry him to bed. Tuck him in. Stomper goes under his arm. The list is still in his pocket, folded and refolded so many times the creases are going soft.
Millie is already in her pajamas when I check on her. Book open. Lamp on. She looks up.
“He tried, Mom.”
“He did.”
