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him.
    I can’t keep the sarcasm from my voice. “I don’t see how we can discuss anything as a family: the whole family isn’t here.”
    There’s a heavy pause.
    I sit down. “Sorry,” I say.
    Mom finally looks at me properly. “Oh, dear Lord. What happened to your head?” She moves towards me, inspecting the damage even though I hold up my hand to keep her away.
    “I fell,” I say. “By tripping. Like normal people do. Nothing strange, so don’t even ask. The school nurse took care of it. I’m fine, really. It’s just a big bump.”
    Mom rips off the checklist. The same list of questions as to what the nurse did or didn’t test every time anything ever happens – dizziness, eyesight, hearing, memory ... She’d make Dr. Hong proud.
    When she’s finally somewhat satisfied, she moves back to the head of the table and launches into her talk. “Your father and I discussed the ... details of our separating this morning.”
    That was only this morning that Dad came? It seems like so long ago.
    “We’ve decided that you’ll both stay with me, at home, during the week. You’ll spend Friday and Saturday nights with him.” She holds up her hand, silencing Sam. “Nothing will change except for that. Your dad won’t be living with us, but everything else will stay the same. You can still go to St. Anthony’s. You’ll still get an allowance. Life won’t change that much.”
    Sam and I look at each other. Yeah. Right.
    “Now.” Mom sits down. “Did you want to talk about how you’re feeling?”
    We’re silent. Then I open my mouth. I need to know. To make sure. “Why?”
    “Well, because talking about how you feel just might—”
    “No. I mean why did Dad leave?”
    Mom’s eyes fill with tears. “Because I ... I’m not ... he’s not ... we’re ...” She sighs. “It’s complicated, Sylvie. I don’t know what to say.”
    So no one says anything.
     
    Dinner that night is quiet. Mom asks us about school, but there isn’t much to tell. It’s the same torture as last year, all over again. All we say is “fine.” We sit in silence eating our cremated kale casserole until we can escape to our rooms.
     
    I’m at my desk dragging ink across vellum when Dad calls. Sam talks to him first, then knocks on the door and hands the phone to me. I consider hanging up right away, but instead I say, “What do you want?”
    “Hiya. Just to see how you are. See if you have any questions about the arrangements.” Dad’s voice is soft and low.
    “Yeah. I’ve got a question: why did you go?” My stomach twists. I know the answer.
    He kind of moans and I can picture him on the other end rubbing his hand over his face. “We’ve talked about this, Sylvie. I told you that when you’ve been with someone for a long time you have to keep working at it.”
    “So work at it.”
    He moans again and exhales loudly. “Yeah, well, sometimes it’s too late.”
    I get up and walk to my bedroom window. It overlooks our front drive. There’s an oil spot where Dad’s car should be. Sadness smacks me so hard in the chest, I can’t breathe for a moment. When I do, it hurts. “Just try it with Mom again, Dad. I’ll pick up your shoes. She won’t have to. I’ll even eat your All-Bran for you while her back is turned.” Then I lie to him like I did to Dr. Hong, my voice breaking. “There haven’t been any more incidents, Dad. I’m okay. Really. You and mom can try again.”
    He’s quiet and then says, “Sylvie, it’s not about you. Honestly. And I don’t want to try anymore.”
    All the sadness I’ve been feeling, all the guilt, bunches into an angry ball. “Well maybe I don’t want to try, either! Maybe I don’t want to see you on the weekend and pretend everything is all right.”
    “Sylvie—”
    “And it’s your fault there aren’t any more chocolate bars in the pantry. I’m too skinny to be eating rice cakes!”
    “Sylv—”
    But I hang up. I press the END button as hard as I can and then I