Dear Timber,

Sorry I haven't written as often as I promised. I know you were expecting me to lose touch eventually, but I'm still dedicated to you I swear. Anyway, I want to know exactly how you've been feeling. Dad says he kissed you the other night. He said he felt silly afterward, like all the signs seemed pretty obvious after everything was out in the light. I want to know what you felt afterward. Did you like it? Did you feel awkward? I bet you felt a little awkward, thinking about how he's my dad and all. Are you ok?

Oh, he says you can move on now, or something. Like, he gave you closure, right? Is that true? Can you really move on now? That's fantastic, if it's true, I'm so happy for you! And it's not just because you hit on my dad, really. But he is like, fifteen years older than you.

You need to tell me, I need to know you're really ok!
Write back soon!
Minty swirl.

I thought it was from my mom until I opened it. I didn't read the address, but when she said "dad" it became clear. I smile, happy that she actually called him "dad" instead of "Churner," like last time. Then I sigh... she has no idea how much damage this letter has caused. My father may never accept me again.

Of course, I can't tell her how badly she messed up. What kind of friend would I be if I blamed it all on her? It's not her fault, only my father's. He overstepped, and because of him now he's got one less son.

I dreamed again. Really, though, I'm mostly surprised I fell asleep.

Anyhow. I was in the pizza place in Manehatten. Pearl served me nothing; invisible pizza. I looked at her and she didn't have a face. Her shape was there, but it was like a layer of plastic was molded over her head. I dig in to my imaginary pizza when suddenly I'm looking at myself inside the Statue of Liberty. My essence is floating over the sea, but I see myself inside. I'm alone.

Then I hear a shout. It's more of a crashing sound, and I'm falling. I see my quill, drawing a slanted line, curving around me. I hear the crashing shout again, look up and see my father's infuriated face. I reach out for the line being drawn by my all new quill, but it's just out of reach. I look at my father's massive face above me, opening its mouth. I shut my eyes and cover my ears, but I hear it anyway.

Thunder cracks and I'm suddenly awake sitting upright in bed. Through the little window leading outside I see lightning illuminate a torrential downpour. I'm grateful for the waterproof cellar for a second, then renig the feeling once I realize I'd be giving credit to my father.

I wouldn't actually be giving him credit; he didn't build the house. His parents built it. They're both dead now, and if he's anything like they were he won't live any longer than they had. I'm not fazed by the thought. If anything, it uplifts me. Which is despicable of me.

The sun's coming up soon, and I've got to go to work soon. Hold on…

My parents were talking again. I turned my light off as soon as I heard them then went to listen again. It wasn't a fight. My father actually sounded, I don't know... defeated? He really sounded sad.

"I'm losing him June," my father began.

"Yes, you are," she tells the bold truth, which is good. "But more than that, you're pushing him away."

"I don't want him to..." he doesn't finish. “I don't know what I want for him.”

"You love him," mom says. "You want what's best for him. In these past days, you've let your own parents control how you feel about how he's acting. You're treating him the way you were raised, but it's not right."

"But, I raised him—"

"You've raised him fine, but he's still growing. He has a dream he wants to fulfill and you're holding him back. You always wanted him to carry on your name, and you were upset to find out he can no longer do that. But Mill, you have four other wonderful sons. Dale and Picker are still here for you, but you're shutting them out by trying so hard to fix Timber. Let it be."

My mind is boggled. Did I really hear that? I have no idea, because the next thing I remember is waking up in my bed.