“My father made me the man I am,” Ken says after a beat of silence, without turning around. “He didn’t allow me to be soft. He made sure I knew exactly how to get along in life. He could be hard to please, but it was only because he loved me.”

This is the most I have ever heard Ken say about his father, and although I think he means what he said to be positive, I’m hearing a hard undertone. When he finally faces me, his expression is aloof and cold.

“Do you want me to go talk to him?” I gesture at the ceiling.

“Will it make a difference?” Ken sounds snide. Derisive. He runs a hand through his hair, cutting his gaze from mine. He shakes his head. “Never mind, Jewelann. Forget about it. I’m going out for a run. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

I wait until he leaves before I knock on Eli’s door. Of course I have to knock again, harder. When he opens it, his headphones are around his neck. From the doorway, I can see his laptop open on the desk. I recognize the header of the forum site I saw before that he’s been browsing.

“Can I come in?”

He steps aside with a sweeping gesture that’s not an actual welcome. More like an acquiescence. When I sit on the side of his bed, he slips back into his chair and closes his laptop.

“Dad says you didn’t want to keep hiking with him.”

He sighs, shoulders hunching, before spinning to face me. “He wanted to hike for like, miles. I mean, miles, Mom. He doesn’t get it. I don’t want to spend all day walking.”

“You like it when we go out,” I begin, but his expression stops me.

Eli’s scowl reminds me of Ken. Nature, nurture, or neither? “He talks about himself all the time. He never listens to what I have to say about anything. He makes fun of anything I tell him I like. He has this entire picture of me that’s not anything close to who I am. You know what I mean. He does it to you, too.”

I do know what he means, but it’s upsetting to hear that Eli does. “Your dad …”

“If you’re going to say he means well, just don’t.” Eli shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets.

“He has a different idea of how things work. That’s all.”

“Yeah, an unreal idea.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t have a good time.” It’s the best I can think of to say.

“I wish he was more like Christian,” Eli says, and I freeze.

“… What?”

“Dad. He’s not like Christian. When I’m hanging out with Christian—”

“Hold on,” I say. “Since when did you start ‘hanging out’ with Christian?”

He shrugs. “He was heading into his place when I was getting home from school, and he asked me to help him with some stuff. So I did. And then we hung out a little bit. Sometimes I go over there after you go up to bed.”