“You can’t say that if you’ve never even tried. You’re so fixated on Reid. Always. From the time he picked up the clarinet. It became a competition—who could do scales the fastest, who could sight-read a song better, who would be first chair. You’re a teacher. You saw Reid’s potential. I get it. But you never saw me struggling to measure up. I’m sorry. I know I messed up. I get it. It was one hundred percent wrong. But if you want to understand why, it’s because I’ve been fixated on Reid too—my whole life—because of the clarinet. Because of you.”

A lifetime of complicated Dad Feelings reverberate off the kitchen cabinets.

My heart pounds in my chest.

I can’t believe I said all of that out loud. Finally.

Dad frowns, but when he speaks all he says is, “So you’re trying to say this is my fault? You never accept responsibility.”

I shake my head. Of course he still doesn’t get it. But I don’t let up.

“This is me taking responsibility. For blaming Reid when it was really always about us. I wasted so many hours on an instrument I never loved because I thought it was, like, the key to spending time with you. Music came first. If I played music, I’d come first too. But then Reid started playing and I was no longer worth your time even if I played.”

Dad frowns. “That’s what you believe? Don’t be—”

“Dramatic?” I finish.

“Ridiculous. Seriously, Natalie. That’s not fair.” Dad swallows. “It’s different. Music isn’t a hobby for Reid. It’s his life. He wants to make it his life and I’m the only one who wants to make that happen for him. You can’t imagine not having a support system. Your mother and I, we’ve made it clear that we support whatever makes you happy. You don’t know what it’s like doing it alone. You just don’t.”

My bottom lip trembles but I will not cry, I will not.

“My parents were… a lot like Leonard and Rebecca, actually. At least, when it came to me applying to Berklee,” Dad says. He rarely talks about his parents, who were both surgeons who passed away when I was too little to remember them. “Same stance. You can do music, but on your own. Even if the intentions are good, it hurts.”

“You’re still missing the point. You always miss the point.”

Dad frowns. “Okay. Enlighten me. What is the point?”