I nodded. My face was on fire with embarrassment. Why do they both do this? Being here always made me feel like everything about me was inherently wrong, like I was endlessly failing.

Was it them or was it me?

That was the question I was constantly trying to answer. The post-parents’-divorce therapy question: Was my dad doing something damaging to me, or was this my own reaction to the way I felt about him?

My dad chomped on his food loudly. Opened another beer. Nope, it was definitely him, not me. Right now, at least. I didn’t even like when he drank. He was always on my mom’s case about drinking, and the moment she moved out, he started having beer with dinner. Every evening.

Kael quietly thanked Estelle for helping him make his plate. I was starting to think he was enjoying himself. Either that or his manners were impeccable. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

“I’m not that hungry,” I told Estelle when she passed me the gravy boat. My stomach gurgled, proving me a liar.

“Don’t be a child,” my dad chided, then smiled at me, in a sorry attempt to soften his words. “I’m sure it’s cold by now, but you should still eat.”

And there it was. I was surprised he hadn’t mentioned my late arrival ten times already.

“I’m not being a child. I’m just not that hungry. I had a long day. Part of the reason I was late.” I hated bickering like this, but my father brought out the worst in me. Especially when the subject was my brother, and now that there was an audience, I felt even more pressure.

“You have some growing up to do, clearly,” he said, with a sip of beer in his mouth. God, he pissed me the hell off.

I wanted to tell my dad off, to count on my fingers and toes all the ways he was wrong—that he was a horrible father and example—but nothing came out. I just sat there feeling shame. I couldn’t even get excited over my brother’s arrival because my dad was obviously going to make it a point to knock me down every time I tried to get up.

“Both of my kids need to grow up.” My dad looked at Kael, but Kael either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because his eyes were on me.

“I wonder where we get it from,” I snapped, under my breath.

“Where are you working now?” my dad asked me.

“Same place as last Tuesday,” I said, wishing I hadn’t driven so I could have another glass of wine.

Kael didn’t say anything, but the very, very tiny lift of his top lip told me he liked my response to my dad.