Page 6 of The Last Road Trip

Despite all the stress from today, I smile. I almost tell him, “thanks for saying thanks.”

Sitting back down, I glance at the table of food. My breath catches.

The mac and cheese bowl now sits almost empty in the center of the table, a thin ring of yellow clinging to its sides. On Buck’s plate is a mountain of mac and cheese—at least a cup and a half—sitting beside two small pieces of salmon pushed to the edge. The twins have matching heaps on their plates, Coris already digging in while Maren pushes hers around with a fork. Even Gary has a generous portion next to his fish.

I look down at my empty plate, then back at the nearly empty bowl. There’s not even a single serving left. Nothing but a spoonful. No one says anything.

Christine reaches across, picks up the bowl, and scrapes the last bit of mac and cheese onto my plate. She sets the bowl down and meets my eyes across the table, her expression careful. A bite, maybe two, if they’re small.

“Thanks,” I say, the word coming automatically.

I want to remind them that I made that mac and cheese because they forgot my allergy. I want to ask why no one thought to save me a proper serving. Why it feels like I’m constantly being forgotten.

The words die in my throat. Twenty-five years of marriage has taught me what happens when I make waves. Buck gets defensive. The twins roll their eyes and side with their father. I end up apologizing for being upset in the first place. I’ve always held the belief that if everyone else says you’re the problem, then you’re the problem. Three against one, and I’m always the one.

So I reach for the salad tongs instead and fill the rest of my plate with greens.

Across the table, Buck takes a swig of his beer. “Good fish.”

They fall into conversation. I’m not in the mood, but if I stay quiet, Buck will jump to remind me how I’ve been begging to talk all day.

The moment a natural lull hits, I seize my opening.

“So,” I say, setting down my fork. “Gary, how’s the new position at your accounting firm?”

He gives me his full attention. “It’s good. Busy, but good. The commute’s better than the last place.”

“That’s great,” I say, leaning forward. “Are you working with the same clientele?”

“Medical equipment, yeah. They’re expanding across the U.S. Means a lot of late nights, but it’s rewarding.”

“How about you two?” I ask, turning to the twins. “Coris, when does your summer class start? And Maren, did you hear back about that internship?”

Coris shrugs, pushing a piece of fish around her plate. “Week after next. Just basic requirements. Nothing exciting.”

“It’s biology,” I say. “You’ve always loved science.”

Another shrug. “It’s just to get the credit.”

I turn to Maren. “And the internship at Archer Financial?”

“I got it,” she says, not looking up from her plate. “Start Monday.”

“That’s wonderful!” I say, the warmth in my voice genuine. “You’re following in your Uncle Gary’s footsteps.”

“Yeah. Just filing and stuff, but I might get to shadow sometimes if things are slow.”

“I’m so proud of you,” I say, and I mean it.

Her face softens. “Thanks, Mom.”

Across the table, Buck sets down his beer with a soft thud. “Speaking of work,” he says, turning to Gary, “you hear about what happened at Marty’s last week?”

The conversation shifts into Buck and his brother trading workplace stories. I sit back, watching Buck’s face. Away from the moment when I sat on his knee, he’s different. His voice has warmed. He’s making jokes, not at my expense, but talking like a normal person at a normal dinner. It happens like this sometimes. These moments when the weight lifts, when Buck remembers how to be the man I married.

Christine offers more salad. I refill glasses. When the conversation lags, I’m the one who picks it up by asking about Gary’s next fishing trip, about Christine’s book club, about whether the twins have thought about getting a pet for their new place.

“The shelter always has cats,” I say to Maren. “You could foster first, see how it goes with your schedules.”