Hope slipped off her heels and tip-toed into the living room one hot summer night. Crap. 12:23 a.m.— she'd missed curfew by over twenty minutes. After a lot of begging, she'd finally convinced Miles to extend it to midnight a couple of months ago. She was about to turn sixteen, after all.

She breathed a sigh of relief that no one seemed to be awake. Her brother Jack was sleeping over at a friend's. Lola had no doubt fallen asleep early again, baby number three on the way and all. And Miles had probably just gone to bed with Lola.

Maybe Hope could get away with missing curfew, just this once. Oh god, her coat reeked. Hope prayed Lola and Miles wouldn't make out the scent of weed and nicotine on it. Better throw it in the wash.

She took a second to try and think straight. She'd never really been stoned before like this, but she thought it would have worn off by the time she got home. She'd only taken like, two hits. Whatever, she could just sleep it off and her parents would never know... right?

"You're late."

"Oh, ummm, Dad," Hope said, startled by the sight of Miles in the hallway. "I was just at Kate's birthday party and we all kinda lost track of time, so..."

"Well, don't let it happen again." Miles stared at her for a second, focusing on her eyes. Shit, Hope thought. Shit, shit, shit.

But Miles just shook his head, even grinning a little. "I'm glad you're home safe," he said, walking towards the kitchen. "The number of teens getting into car crashes these days is really... high."

"Huh?"

"Oh! Do you want a brownie?" Miles said. "Your mom baked this afternoon. You know how much your mom loves baking."

Okay, this was weird. "Um, okay?" Hope shrugged. She took the brownie from her dad and gobbled it up almost immediately. Shit, munchies were definitely a real thing.

Miles still had that weird grin on his face. "So, I'm in charge of dinner tomorrow night. I was thinking maybe pot roast."

Hope shook her head, still feeling too out of it to have a conversation like this. "Sure, that's... yeah, pot roast. Sounds fine." She blinked her eyes a couple of times, trying to get the feeling to go away. She was tired and a little paranoid. "Uh, I'm going to bed. I'll... see you in the morning. Dad."

But Miles blocked her from going up the stairs. "Hope," he said. "I know you're stoned."

"Uh? I... I don't know what you're talking about."

"Red eyes, serious appetite, kind of paranoid? Yeah, I can tell. You're baked."

"Please don't ground me!" Hope said frantically. She felt like crying all of a sudden, even though Miles hadn't even raised his voice at her. "I... I promise it won't happen again. Really, I only took a little hit. Just don't ground me or reduce my cell phone plan... please!"

Miles almost laughed. "When have we ever grounded you?" Sure, he and Lola disciplined behavior like all parents, but things like grounding weren't really their style. Once when Hope was a kid, Lola took her favorite toy away as a punishment for talking back, only to give it back to her after just thirty minutes because it "felt too mean." They weren't pushovers, but they didn't like to be unnecessarily harsh on the kids either. They liked to consider themselves cool parents, even if Hope begged to differ.

"I dunno," Hope said. "But Dad, please don't tell Mom? She'd totally make fun of me forever. Or she'd be like, really mad. And uh, she can be kinda scary when she's mad." Lola and Hope were practically best friends, but that didn't mean Hope wanted to tell her mom everything.

"Ha. Yeah, tell me about it."

"Please, pretty please? Don't tell. I promise I'll never do it again," Hope tried, flashing those puppy dog eyes she'd always used when she was little. Maybe they'd still work on her dad now.

"Hope, I'm not mad," Miles said. He even chuckled a little. "Trust me, I did way worse at your age."

Hope breathed a little sigh of relief. "Yeah, Aunt Frankie and Uncle Hunter told me all about your stoner days."

"Yeah, I had my fair share of blunts. But..." Miles scratched his head, his expression turning serious again. "I did a lot more than just smoke, Hope. Before your mom came along, I was in a pretty bad place. And I got into stuff that could have killed me."

Hope froze. "What do you mean?"

"Well, junior year of high school, I... I started popping pills. Nothing too serious at first, but then I started doing anything I could get my hands on. Molly, Xanax, coke... even horse tranquilizers." Miles sighed. "Your mom and I have always been pretty open with you and Jack about everything, but there's some things I've just... never been quite sure how to talk to you about."

Hope didn't see her dad get like this very often— all serious and nervous. She could tell certain things from his past were painful for him to talk about, like Grandpa Hollingsworth especially. She'd known her dad had struggled with some kind of substance abuse when he was younger, but she didn't know how serious it had been. She felt kind of rotten now for just waltzing in stoned like this. "Dad..."

"It was a long time ago," Miles said, patting Hope's hand. "I don't mind talking about it. But to tell you the truth, I've always been kind of scared you kids would, well... inherit my addiction." He sighed long and hard.

"I'm sorry, Dad... I... I shouldn't have tried—"

"Relax, Hope. It was just weed, right?" Miles said. Hope nodded. "Well, I'd rather have you do that than come home drunk, honestly," Miles chuckled. "Er, don't tell your mom I said that."

Hope breathed a sigh of relief. "So... I'm not in trouble?"

"Let's just say I'm giving you a get out of jail free pass tonight," Miles said. "It's late. Just go get some sleep."

"Okay."

"Hope? One more thing."

"Yeah?"

"You know you can talk to us about anything, right?" Miles said. "I'm trusting you to stay away from harder drugs, but if you ever struggle with anything... just come talk to me. I'd always rather know."

Hope nodded. "Okay, Dad. I promise." She gave him a hug, suddenly feeling grateful that she had the parents she did. Even if she didn't tell them that very often.

Miles smiled a little, ruffling his fingers through her hair the way he used to do when she was a kid. "You look just like your Mom when she was your age, you know," he said. He chuckled. "Even the same hair."

"But mine is lavender," Hope insisted. "I've seen Mom's yearbook photo... hers was blue. Big difference."

Miles smirked. "And you're just as stubborn too." He cleared his throat. "Now, go to bed. Stoner."

Hope hung her mouth open to say something, but just shook her head instead. "Aren't you coming upstairs too?"

"Uh, no," Miles said. "Sleeping on the couch tonight. Your mom kicked me off the bed— said she was having leg cramps." He made a face. "I think she just wants it to herself."

"That's what you get for having another baby at your age," Hope tsked.

"33 is not old!"

"Sure it isn't. Dad, c'mon. The other day you thought Hastygram was still a thing."

Miles just laughed. "Goodnight, Hope."

"Night, Dad," Hope smiled. She stumbled up the stairs and collapsed into bed, still a little high.