I don't realize I start to drift off to sleep until I hear someone say something mid-sentence. My mind's too groggy to focus on it. On top of that, all I can think about is Idris.

I gently run my hand through his hair, listening to his even breaths. I can't believe his parents actually threw him out just because he talked back and defended me. I don't care how disrespectful they found him. They shouldn't have thrown him out. They shouldn't have done a lot of things, but especially not this.

I don't think there's anything I can do for him except be here. But I don't even know if that's enough.

With the anger coursing through me, my mind starts to clear, and I pick up on the voices a little more clearly. I tilt my head back and see the porch light streaming in through the open windows. The voices are distant, but I know one of them belongs to Dad.

Guess he's having a hard time sleeping, too.

I don't think much of it, but then I hear Grandpa's voice drift in from outside, too. Weird... I don't think they've ever talked this late before. Or even really by themselves. Or in hushed voices.

I know it's not any of my business, but it's not like I can move. I don't want to risk waking Idris up, and if they suspect I'm awake and hearing all this, they'll stop talking. Which might be a good thing sometimes, but something's telling me to keep quiet right now.

"Briar really is your daughter," I hear Grandpa chuckle. "I thought I would find her down here with Idris."

"She's really caring," Dad says. There's a slight pause before he adds, "And if that makes her my daughter, that makes her your granddaughter."

"A little bit. Your mom was caring, too. And she was a lot more considerate about a lot of things than I could ever be."

Dad doesn't respond right away, and that pretty much confirms what Grandpa said about himself. Then: "Did you ever think about throwing me out?"

I inhale, my hand pausing in Idris' hair. It doesn't take long for Grandpa to say, "No. Never. I would never have thrown you out." Oh, good. At least he's not exactly like Idris' parents then... I don't think he's ever proven himself to be like them this summer... "Did you ever think I would throw you out?"

"No." Exasperation floods Dad's voice. That only ever happens when he thinks something is obvious. "Of course not. I didn't think you'd throw me out just because you were disappointed in me."

"I wasn't disappointed—"

"Yes." I hear a creak and it sounds like Dad walks a distance away. He always needs to move when he has pent-up energy. Like me. "You were disappointed in me, Dad."

There's another creak and another set of footsteps. "Gareth, I wasn't. I was just worried about your future."

"Oh, please," Dad sighs. "You weren't just worried about that. You were worried about me not listening to you. If it was just about my future, you wouldn't have told me I should spend more time in reality instead of getting caught up in things that ultimately don't matter when it was what mattered the most to me at the time. And I'm not talking about reading and writing. I'm talking about every little thing I did that wasn't exactly what you wanted." Dad takes a deep breath. When he talks again, his voice comes out a little calmer but not any less urgent. "Every time you said something about how I dressed or what I did for fun or who I hung out with or my thoughts on anything, it only made me want to read and write more, so I could forget that you didn't understand how important it was for me to have that escape from... you."

There's a tense moment of silence, and I almost expect one of them to come through the front door and walk away from the conversation. But then I hear Grandpa sigh. "I didn't realize you thought like that."

Dad barks out a bitter laugh. "How else would I think when it felt like you didn't want to support or understand what I needed to feel sane? That's why I try to go along with whatever Briar wants to do. Even if that meant letting her stop performing."

"You mean you stopped supporting her."

No. Not at all... Right? At least I never considered it Mẹ and Dad not supporting me. Not when they went along with whatever I said I wanted to do. That was all that mattered to me. And it's not like they stopped asking me about performing altogether. They pushed a little but not as much as Grandpa was doing all summer.

"She told me and Thera she didn't want to perform anymore," Dad argues. "I hardly think that counts as not supporting her."

I hear the porch swing creak again. Then, Grandpa's voice: "Doesn't it? You've seen the way she looks every time she plays an instrument or sings or acts. She clearly loves it."

Dad sputters for a second before going quiet. Another creak and a sigh. "Yeah. She does love it. But I didn't want to force her to do anything in case..."

"You came off like me?" Dad doesn't respond, and that's answer enough. "Do you want to be here this summer, Gareth? I don't think I ever asked you that."

I hear Dad blow out a breath, and I see the shadow of his head peak into the living room, swaying back and forth with the porch swing. Dad doesn't say anything until the shadow pauses on the wall.

"I do want to be here," Dad finally says. "But I told myself it was more for Briar to get to know you and because Thera insisted... Then, Briar met Idris and we started learning about his parents. And after hearing him say all the things I used to say at that age... It felt terrible hearing it from an outside perspective. I understand it, but I wish I didn't."

The shadow turns slightly, and the porch swing squeals. Dad lets out a breath. "I don't know how to feel about having a teenager make me realize that I was awful to you."

"Gareth," Grandpa says, his voice gentle. "You weren't awful to me."

"I wrote an entire series about how I found you controlling."

I have to cover my mouth with my hand to muffle my laughter. I don't even think I should be laughing, but I can't stop myself either. I wait for one of them to come in and catch me eavesdropping, but I don't hear footsteps. Instead, I hear Grandpa laugh.

"To be fair, it was written well," he chuckles. His laughter dies, and he says, "You're a great writer, Gareth. I would've known that from the start if I wasn't so stubborn. I would've known a lot of things about you from the start if I wasn't so stubborn. So I don't think you were awful to me. I think you were just retaliating because I was awful to you." The porch swing creaks and the shadows on the wall move again. "I shouldn't have argued with you so much or told you that you weren't capable or that you shouldn't have done something just because I didn't like it."

"No, but at least you didn't throw me out like Idris' parents."

"I would never. I don't even know how they could've done that to him."

"Me neither." I let out a breath, shutting my eyes. Now I know Dad will never throw me out of the house. I've always known, but it's good to know for sure. "Do you think Idris will forgive his parents for that?"

Grandpa offers a humorless laugh. "I'd be impressed if he could. But I wouldn't blame him if he never does."

I don't know if the implication of whether Dad will ever forgive Grandpa is there or if I'm just imagining it. But I hold my breath anyway, running my hand through Idris' hair as I wait for Dad's response.

"I know you're sorry," Dad finally says. "I've known that for a while now. And I'm sorry for not making the effort. Especially when you weren't even that bad of a parent." To be fair, compared to Idris' parents, I feel like most parents are in a good spot. Including Grandpa. "And especially since you've been trying to fix things between us."

"I'm still really sorry," Grandpa sighs.

"It's okay," Dad says. There's a pause before he says with more conviction, "It's okay."

I should be happy to hear the sincerity in Dad's voice, but instead of warmth, I feel a heaviness in my chest. Because if Dad forgives Grandpa, that must mean he has changed. And I don't know if I can keep saying that he's controlling in the way he keeps pushing me to perform. My stomach starts to churn from the thought of it.

Why am I such a horrible person that I want to keep thinking that Grandpa is terrible? It's not even like I'm against performing that much anymore. But... I feel like I need an excuse to not perform. Just in case.

Grandpa and Dad continue their conversation, turning their focus on Idris. Something something something about hoping he has a moment like theirs with his parents and how they hope he's okay. I hold Idris close, shutting my eyes. I couldn't agree more, but all I can think about is how Dad and Grandpa made up and what that means for me.