I played with one of the buttons on his shirt. “I don’t want to bore you with my problems. I feel like I’m always complaining to you.”

“Stop.” He lifted my chin. “You never bore me. And it’s not complaining—I asked. Is everything okay?”

“She’s okay. She just broke a rule I have about social media—she’s not allowed to have it, but I found out that she created an Instagram account and posted a bunch of pictures of herself.”

He looked slightly terrified. “What kind of pictures?”

“Nothing risqué. Mostly just her face in full makeup, lots of pouting selfies. And her bio said something like, ‘I’m just a girl who wants to feel beautiful.’”

“Oh.”

“But it won’t help to have her mother scream at her that she is beautiful.”

“Probably not.”

“I know it’s nothing a million other teenage girls aren’t doing, but I don’t like it. And I hate that she’s hiding it from me. I want her to feel like she can talk to me about anything.”

“Are you thinking this has something to do with the divorce? Like she’s acting out to get your attention?”

“No, I don’t think it’s that. I think it’s more like . . . like she’s lacking something and she thinks likes on Instagram are going to deliver it. The divorce left this giant hole in all of us where our family used to be, and we’re all trying to deal with it in different ways. Whitney’s trying to cover it with makeup, Keaton is trying to stuff it with junk food, and I’m . . .” I groped for words.

“Trying to fill it with a big dick?” He frowned. “Sorry, that was totally inappropriate.”

I laughed. “But not entirely inaccurate. I do think what we’re doing is helping me get over some of my issues. But I’m an adult. Whitney is still a child. And she’s in such a fragile state right now, one mean comment might destroy her. And people can be horrible on social media. I just want to protect her.”

Henry pulled me in close and held me tight. “I know. And I shouldn’t make jokes. You guys have been through so much.”

I rested my cheek on his chest and wrapped my arms around his waist, wishing I could take the warm strength of his embrace with me when I left here tonight. “Thanks for being here for me. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. You’ll figure this out. Whitney doesn’t strike me as the type to use defiance as a weapon.”

“She isn’t. She’s a good girl. I think she’s more . . . insecure than defiant.” I took a breath. “And I get that. God, do I get that.”

He rubbed my back but didn’t say anything.