When Mark was done she picked up her fork and looked at Allison.

“Other than the unpleasantness with Marcie, how was your day, Allison?”

She insisted on conversation at the table, a habit she had gotten from her mother, God rest her soul. Mother Gibson had followed her Air Force husband around the world, often ending up alone with the kids in some God forsaken wilderness like Minot, North Dakota. Often the only conversation she could have was that with her children.

The kids had learned. A simple “Good” or “Bad” would elicit parental disapproval of the most extreme kind. So Allison swallowed her bite of broccoli and frowned, trotting out the prepared speech.

“I think I did okay on my chemistry test…”

* * *

When dinner was done, all the kids in bed but Allison, who was doing homework, the dishes in the dishwasher and Mark back watching television, Barbara went over to the couch and sat down.

“Mark,” she said, softly, “I need a break.”

“Huh?” Mark said, looking away from a rerun of Friends, then back at the TV.

“I need a break,” she repeated. “I’m going away for the weekend.”

“What?” he asked, looking over at her again. The station changed to a commercial and she now had his undivided attention.

“I’d like you to pick the kids up tomorrow,” she said. “And take the Expedition in the morning, I’ll take the Honda. I just need a short vacation.”

“Who’s going to cook supper?” he asked. “And Allison asked me if she could go to the dance tomorrow. I said yes. Who’s going to pick her up?”

“I said no,” Barb sighed. “Because I knew you’d ask that question.”