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I straighten in my seat as we pull nearer to them. “They’re going to judge me for being with you too.”

Sunny pats my leg. “From what you told me, they judge you about everything. Just add it to the list of things they know fuck all about and move on.”

I nibble at the skin at the side of my thumb. “You make it sound easy.”

“And you’re making it harder than it needs to be.”

My stomach flips at the thought of what is about to happen. “We’re mere minutes away from a social collision.”

“You got food you were going to make them? Or do you want me to run to the store while you get them settled?”

“A home-cooked meal would be a winner. I have nothing in the fridge, so something fast.”

Sunny grins. “I’ll come up with something that will have them full and out of the house in ninety minutes.”

Having seen my face as we approach, my father climbs out of his highly polished Mercedes. “Make it sixty and you can do anything you want to me tonight. Except anal.”

“You don’t like anal?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried it. But my butt is clenched so tight, right now, there is no way it would be accepting of your…”

“Girth?” Sunny offers.

And that makes us both laugh, although, mine is that nervous kind of laugh where the other option is to cry.

Dinner, however, is a far less jovial affair once Sunny returns from the store. He starts chopping things in the kitchen as my parents and I sit at the dining table in the open-plan space.

“Cameron has been asked to present his research in Geneva next month,” my mother says between sips of the red wine they brought. “And the United Nations are considering him for an advisory position.”

I look over to Sunny, who is mid-chop of a pepper. There’s a dishtowel over his left shoulder, and he looks like a hot chef. He told me that he was making dinner and that I was to sit my pretty ass down.

My mother was appalled because it messed with gender expectations I was raised with. For all my mom is a brilliant woman in her own right, she was always the one to take care of hosting anything that happened in our home. I’m not even sure my dad knows how to turn the oven on, let alone pull a meal together.

The scent of beef and onions and spices fills the space and makes my stomach rumble.

“As a reminder, Cameron is my brother,” I tell Sunny.

My father looks to Sunny for probably the first time since he sat down. “Brett, our other son, has had another paper accepted.”

“Don’t know what that means, but I assume it’s impressive,” Sunny says.

“You didn’t go to college, I take it?” my mother says, but her tone suggests she already knows the answer.

“I’m impressed you think I might have,” Sunny says. “Barely finished high school. But I did hit trade school. Got my ASE Master Automobile Technician quals. Welding credentials too. And can strip and rebuild just about any engine you got.”

My mom’s nose wrinkles, as if she’s disgusted by the very mention of engines.

“Well, vocational qualifications certainly have their place,” my father says.

“And university clearly isn’t meant for everyone,” my mother adds.

I have never raised my voice at my parents. It’s not how I was raised and would probably inflame an already smoking situation, but I’m tempted to, now.

My father looks to me. “Della always loved school. She began reading independently before kindergarten and was the only child we knew who cried because it was the summer break.”

Sunny glances up from beneath his long hair and smiles at me. Not a polite smile, but a genuine one that reaches his eyes. “I can believe that.”

My mom sighs. “She could have done anything.”