Later that evening, I"m humming and bouncing around the kitchen, searching for a snack. Trying to forget about other decisions I should be making.
The red apples in the glass bowl on the counter look yummy. "Dad, you want peanut butter and apples?"
He looks up from the mail he"s reading at the kitchen table by the windows. Dad’s blond hair is rumpled, and he’s still in his work khakis and blue shirt. His outdoor work gives him a deep tan this time of year. He has a broad frame and a rough-and-tumble appearance. "No thanks, pumpkin, I"m good."
Mom breezes in. "Gen, we need to discuss a few things about dance and band, now that the three of us are actually here together." She pulls a chair out. "Have a seat."
I stop humming and slowly walk towards the table. We’ve never had a family di
