Henry is silent.

Dad is silent.

I am silent.

“It is legitimate hatred,” Fitz stresses, unable to handle silence longer than five beats. I appreciate the backup, because the second option makes my brain short-circuit.

Henry pinches the bridge of his nose. “That is all so beyond the point. Nat, I know ninety percent of the time Reid’s editorial suggestions equate to Boiled. But there’s merit to this one.”

I don’t even know what to say.

I expected Reid to swoop in, to attempt to put his stamp on Melted in this unfamiliar format. But I believed when that moment came, I’d have backup. Reid would be outnumbered.

Instead… I am the outnumbered one.

Everyone agrees.

It’s over.

“We… can work out a compromise.”

It is painful to relent out loud. It feels like handing Reid a win in front of everyone. But Danica is right. There are stakes. I have to swallow my pride so we can move forward and ensure that Melted is a success so that maybe everything can go back to normal next year. Reid starts fleshing out the details of the ensemble plan while I sit in silence and process the reality that this is pretty much my worst nightmare. I know I’m not being objective. I know that if this suggestion came from literally anyone else, I’d be open to it. But I can’t be. Seeing how receptive my friends are to Reid’s suggestions is like watching him ask Madeline out all over again.

And to say that didn’t end well is a massive understatement.

Cool it with the dramatics.

The weight of my father’s words don’t hit me until I’m in my bedroom, alone, attempting to decompress after a stressful rehearsal. But decompress, I cannot. Not when these words become a loop in my brain. It is so hypocritical. If Reid or my dad are stressed about anything music related it’s because they are passionate. When I am stressed about a musician who has a history of co-opting everything that is mine, I am dramatic. Is my passion, my vision, less valid because it’s not artistically in pursuit of anything greater than a high school drama club?

Because that is bullshit.

Cool it with the dramatics.

I can’t let it go. I shouldn’t.

But I will. I always do. If I open up about my Melted feelings, how difficult co-anything with Reid is, how deeply I’m afraid that this partnership and my dad’s involvement is going to end the same way the clarinet did, he’ll cry Switzerland.

So it’s, like, what is even the point?