Three soft knocks sound from my door, cutting through the music piping from my ear buds. "Go away, Dad. I really don't want a lecture." I roll over on my bed to face away from the sound of my door opening.

"It's just Mom, Lizzy."

I flip around, ear buds ripped out in the process. "Mom? What are you doing here?"

"I can't have a conversation with my daughter? I feel like we haven't had a chance to talk, you being so busy with Nutcracker and all." She sits on the edge of my bed. "So what's up, girly?"

I roll my eyes. "You know what's up."

"Dad, huh?"

"Yeah, he's just so... ugh!"

"He's protective."

"I know! It's so annoying!"

"He does it for a reason, you know. He does it because he loves you."

"Well, it doesn't feel like he loves me. It's like he wants me to be miserable."

Mom sighs and twists her fingers through my ponytail. "I think it's time to tell you a little more about your father's past."

I raise an eyebrow. "His past?"

"He didn't exactly have a model childhood."

"Yeah, there's no way you can have a model childhood living with Uncle Sully," I joke.

But Mom doesn't laugh. "This is serious, Lizzy. He was born in a slum to an abusive father and suicidal mother."

My eyes widen in surprise. "He...? Are you kidding?"

"No." She shakes her head sadly and motions me over to sit next to her.

"But what about Uncle Sully?"

"He didn't come into the picture until your father was 15 years old."

"That's... I-I had no idea." I put a hand over my heart. "I feel so terrible. I didn't know he was... Oh god, I'm such a terrible daughter. I need to go apologize."

"No, no, no, don't do that. The reason he doesn't tell anyone is he doesn't want to be treated any different. He was never planning on telling you, but I thought you deserved to know."

I nod and allow her to put an arm around my shoulder. "So, how did he and Uncle Sully meet?" I ask, curiosity re-sparking after the shock wore off.

"That's a long story."

"Well, I'm free for the rest of the night." I smile and turn up the charm.

Mom matches my smile. "God, you look just like your father with that smartass smile." She sighs again. "Fine, I'll tell you..."

"Dad, are you serious about not letting Lizzy do ballet?" Victor asks, climbing into bed.

"That's not your concern," I scold lightly. "You focus on your go-kart."

"It's a robot, Dad. That's way cooler than a go-kart."

"Can I drive your robot?"

"No."

"Then the go-kart sounds pretty cool to me."

"Do you know how much harder it is to build a robot? Anyone with two thumbs and half a brain can build a go-kart."

I laugh and consider ruffling up his hair. I restrain myself, though, because he told me he was too old for that a few years ago at one of his last soccer games (practice started getting in the way of his robotics and science club meetings). It nearly ripped my heart in two when he ducked away from my hand. "Dad?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Don't be mad, but I'm not gonna be a historian. I'm gonna work at NASA."

"I'm not mad, Vic. I think that's awesome."

"Then why are you mad at Lizzy?"

"I'm not mad because she's not pursuing a history degree. I'm worried she won't be able to provide for herself."

"You don't think she's good enough?"

"No, she's great. She could totally be a professional."

"Then why are you worried?"

"I..." Why am I worried? "Wait a second, you're trying to trick me, you little sneak. You ask too many questions."

I put my arm around his neck and pull him into a noogie. Victor laughs and says, "Uncle Sully says you constantly asked questions. It drove him crazy. I figure I should do the same. It's only fair."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get some sleep, scamp."

"Goodnight, Dad."