“That’s the kind of party I would gladly attend.”

I laugh at the image of Henry at my dingy old neighborhood pool with all the teenage lifeguards who I thought were so hot but in reality had bacne just like me. “See, parties aren’t all that bad. And hey, you met Sabrina at a party. Aren’t parties sort of a way of life in the circles you run in?” Of course I wish our relationship wasn’t playing out on this TV show, but even if all this was stripped away, our lives are still worlds apart. The elite NYC parties Henry grew up attending are just one example of that. Maybe I should be more thankful for our little reality television bubble.

“Exactly why I hate them,” he says. “And I met Sabrina because I’m always looking for the person who can help me escape the party. The person who wants to take a walk or—”

“Go back to your place?” I ask playfully, but fully serious.

The corner of his mouth turns upward devilishly. “I guess that too…Back when I had time to meet people and I wasn’t trying to dig my family’s company out of the Mariana Trench.”

“Nice. A marine biology reference.”

“Cape Cod Marine Biology camp. Third grade through sixth grade.”

“Sleepaway camp?” I ask. “First boarding school. Now sleepaway camp. That’s rich-kid shit.”

“Well, you gotta dump your kid somewhere while you’re trekking across the globe bouncing from one ayahuasca retreat to the next.”

“Whoa. I didn’t realize Lucy went that hard.”

“Yeah, she’s real hip until the camp nurse is calling because her son broke his arm trying to dive out of a tree because he thinks if he just believes hard enough that he’s an astronaut, gravity will cease to exist. The only adult sober enough to talk was my mom’s assistant’s assistant, and he thought my name was Carson.”

“Okay, I have a lot of questions, but how does anyone get Carson from Henry?” I wish so hard that I still had my dad in my life, but at least when he was alive, he was the kind of dad that Father’s Day was made for. “What about your dad?” I ask. “He’s still around, right?” I remember seeing the picture of the three of them in his office, and it felt so far off and distant that I almost wondered if he was even still in Henry’s life.

He nods. “Roger Mackenzie is Lucy Mackenzie’s number-one fan. He hates clothing, and to this day, she sets an outfit out for him every morning. His parents died when he was young and still living in Edinburgh, so he took what inheritance they’d left him and moved to New York. He fell in love with my mom on the subway before he’d even made it to his hotel. They haven’t spent a night apart since. Neither of them really had family, so they were and are everything for each other.”

“That’s a good love story,” I say.

“It’s no Blockbuster meet-cute.”

I smile.

“I think usually when people have kids, they prepare for their lives to change. Sometimes they leave the city or give up going to the bar on weeknights, but my parents had no such intentions. They just kept on…living. And brought me along when they could and then shipped me off for boarding school when I was old enough. The first one was just outside of London. No one really knew what to make of the half-Scottish, quarter–Puerto Rican kid from America. Anyway, if it’s possible to be the third wheel with your own parents, that’s me.”

“That’s not fair,” I say. “It’s like…the one place you should always belong.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever said this out loud, but sometimes I think I proposed to Sabrina just to say I’d found my person. I’d found my family without them…. But now suddenly, they need me. And how do you say no? I couldn’t. I guess I need them too in a way.”

I reach across the table and take his hand, offering him the comfort of shared silence.

“I bet you have shitty-parent stories too,” he says, watching our linked hands.

Not really. Even though I could think of a few, they would all involve my teenage angst over Erica trying to assert herself as my mother. That was a rocky transition, to say the least, but guilt twinges in my stomach as I remember all the things I’ve kept from him. He knows my parents are dead, but after all he’s shared, I feel so wrong lying about Erica. “My stepmom is…She’s there for me when I need her. Not perfect, but she tries. And my mom and dad…It’s not that I think dying made them some kind of saints, but I miss them. Especially Dad…even when he was at his worst…which was rare.”

He swallows and bites down on his lip, thinking for a moment. “I think that’s love. The real stuff. When you love someone at their worst. When you believe they can be better.”

“Is that…Is that how you feel about your mom?”

He sighs. “She’s better now. Calmer. She doesn’t treat me like as much of a set piece as she used to, but sometimes I wonder if that’s her actively changing or if it’s just age wearing her down. Or maybe, in the end, with the show and me taking over the company…maybe I’m more her set piece than ever before.”

“That’s not what I see,” I tell him. “I see a person who’s there for his family in their hour of need, even when they might not deserve it. And despite your parents’ best efforts, I think you turned out pretty great.”

“So says my therapist and Jay.”

“I like Jay,” I tell him.

“Oh, they really like you too. I’ve got the text messages to prove it.”

My eyes turn into saucers. “You have a cell phone? You’ve been holding out on me this whole time!”

He snorts and fishes it out of his pocket for me to see. “Oh, it’s definitely one of those old-people ladybug phones. This thing doesn’t even have a color screen. I’m actually a little embarrassed to be holding it in public, but Jay would just tell me that’s my toxic masculinity talking, or ageism or something.”

“Jay would be right,” I say, taking it from his hand. And sure enough, the phone is a little red walkie-talkie-looking thing with two tiny antennas you can actually pull out for better reception. “This thing looks like a relic.”

“You should see how long it takes me to text on that thing. It’s honestly not even worth it, but I told them that if they wanted me to do the show, I had to be able to get in touch with work.” He takes the phone back from me and puts it back in his pocket. “This was Beck’s idea of a compromise.”