“I don’t like ungroomed snow,” I say.

“You’d hate Callum, then,” Jack says. “He’s a tree skier. All about moguls, freshly fallen snow.”

Right. Because I care what Callum thinks. Who the hell even is Callum?

“A real prima donna, my kid is,” Dad continues. “You haven’t even gone in the water at all today, Taters.”

“Not feeling it,” I say through gritted teeth.

He reaches over and slaps my stomach so hard it jiggles. “I take it back about that freshman fifteen. Is that why you won’t go in the water?”

Oh god, no. Please don’t.

He leans closer to Jack. “He’s always been ashamed of his baby fat. Wears a shirt in the pool. Will you tell him there’s nothing wrong with putting on a little weight? It’s probably that happy relationship weight, am I right? As long as it doesn’t get bad again. He used to look like a potato when he was a baby.”

He laughs, and it’s the worst sound in the entire world.

Jack pivots his body uncomfortably away from him.

“Did he tell you he had an”—he uses air quotes for extra douchey impact—“ ‘eating disorder’? I thought college dining halls put laxatives in their food to avoid food poisoning. I read that on Facebook once.”

“Dad, please, stop.” My voice is shaking.

“Oh, come on, I’m joking.”

“That’s not a joke.”

“Laxatives, Chase? Give it up already. That’s not an eating disorder. That’s a really shitty decision.” He starts laughing. “Get it, shitty?”

I hold my breath as a tear spills down my cheek. This always happens. It starts as a joke and then spirals because he thinks he can just say whatever he wants.

“That’s not right, Mr. Arthur.” Jack rises to his feet. “With all due respect, I’ve sat and listened to you dig at Chase all day, and this is really harmful.” He’s trembling, clearly not used to speaking like this to a father figure.

Dad looks like he was slapped. “I—I—”

Jack’s chest rises and falls rapidly. All he says is a stern, clear, “You would be lucky to know the Chase I do,” before hesitantly placing a hand on my back, urging me to walk away—to be the bigger person. I want to add more to what Jack said, but it’d probably get us kicked out of the hotel if I open that Pandora’s box. Plus, I’m tired. So fucking tired.

We turn and leave my dad behind.

Jack stands on the other side of the elevator, his eyes not focusing on anything. I can almost hear his thoughts—my fears—tumbling around his head: I can’t believe I just spoke like that to Chase’s father, and I touched Chase’s back in such a public space, and This family is fucked up, I can’t do this.