But instead, she was surprised to feel sad.
Everyone there knew Helen as the mom with the sign.
They knew Conrad as the dad in the song.
The “Told You So” guy.
Standing there on her big night, she tried to summon all the feelings that had gone into the song, the memories she’d thrown into it like kindling. There was the time he marched her guitar out to the garbage can after a fight. The time he told her he wouldn’t help with college if she planned to study music. The time he didn’t show up to the sixth-grade talent show. The application for a business program he left on her pillow in high school. The pride he took in Asher becoming manager at the bank. The indifference when Greta told him about her own achievements.
He wasn’t on board with any of this. She knew that. In a way, she even took a sort of pride in it, wearing his disapproval like a coat of armor. It was meant to steer her off course, but instead it only made her work harder all those years. It made her try more, care more, play more. It gave her something to push against. It just hadn’t occurred to her until that night that without all that friction, she might not be where she was. She might not be who she was.
But it was already too late for them.
Her mom had insisted on a toast. “To dreams coming true,” she said, beaming at Greta as she lifted her glass. “I always knew you could do it.”
They both turned to Conrad, who held up his beer a little awkwardly. “Congrats,” he managed, and for once, he sounded sincere. But later, when it was time for her to play, she noticed him standing stiffly in the back, and when she segued into the first notes of “Told You So” and a huge cheer went up in the room, he bent his head to Helen, then slipped out the door.
Now the sun moves behind the clouds, and her dad’s face darkens along with the sky. Behind him, she can see the crags in the glacier, ragged and hollow. Farther down the beach, the rest of the group is still busy exploring the ice cave, their voices thin in the distance.
“You wrote that song about me,” Conrad says, his eyes flinty, “and then expected me to come to the party and smile about it? How was I supposed to feel?”
“Proud,” she says. “You were supposed to feel proud. That was a huge night for me. It wasn’t about you.”
He laughs, a humorless laugh. “You made it about me when you decided to release that song.”
Greta stiffens. “Art is about telling the truth. And expressing how you feel. That’s all I was doing. It isn’t personal.”
He gives her a look like Come on, like they both know that isn’t true. “You wrote a love song for your mom,” he says. “And I get that. Believe me, I do. If I had the words, I’d write one too. But what you wrote for me…it was more like a battle cry. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”
“Dad, you act like you’re blameless in all this,” she snaps at him. “Like that song came to me out of thin air. Maybe if you’d been more supportive—”
“I bought your first guitar!”
“I know,” she roars back. “That’s why it hurts so much. Because I loved it, and at one point, so did you. And then somewhere along the way, you decided my dreams weren’t practical enough, and you stopped cheering me on. I was twelve years old, and I was good, but rather than be in my corner like any sort of normal parent, you discouraged me. And when that didn’t work, you just took yourself out of the equation entirely. Do you have any idea how that felt?”
“No,” he says, and for a second, she thinks that’s it. He scrapes at his chin, his mouth a thin line, his eyes on the sky. But then he turns back to her with such a flat, pained look that she feels her stomach go tight. “But I do know how it feels to worry about money. And I wanted you to be realistic.”
“To give up on my dreams, you mean.”
“To find a more sensible pursuit.”
“To settle.”
He sighs. “To start thinking in a more stable direction. I’m not going to apologize for that.”
“You know what the worst part is?” she says coolly. “That it never occurred to you I might be successful at this.”
Conrad kicks at the gray silt, his toe leaving an indent. “What do you want me to say? Other people’s kids—they get real jobs. Jobs with benefits and security. Jobs that make sense to me. I know how to give Asher advice on managing a team and how much to put in his 401（k）。 I’m happy for you that you’ve made it this far in a tough business. I am. But your life doesn’t look the way I thought it would when I imagined what you could be.”