“Are you going to take a shower?” she asks, carefully turned away from me.

“Yeah.” When I get back, the room is dark.

“I don’t see why we have to do this,” Joe grumbles.

“If the kids are going to go on this trip, then we should all get together and plan this,” my mother replies, voice resolutely calm. The house crackles with tension. Due to some inexplicable bump in their relationship, she and Joe have been at each other’s throats all week. They make little, jabbing, needling comments until one of them goes ballistic. Minor irritations are blown up into dispositional disasters. Meanwhile, Talise’s mood blackens each day. We spend a lot of time holed up in the attic where the constant squabbling doesn’t reach. Usually.

“It’s none of our business if her parents don’t want her to go.” Wait, are they talking about Spencer? “We don’t have to organize everything. It’s not our responsibility,” Joe insists.

 Frustration seeps into my mother’s tone. “Don’t be selfish. Can’t you see how much this means to your son?”

“Aiden can fend for himself. You just want to be the center of attention,” Joe accuses, tearing through the cabinets for another bottle of wine. Talise would probably kill me if I mentioned that she’s kind if like Joe. Both of them seem to enjoy opening and slamming things when they’re upset.

“I what?” Composure shattered, my mother whirls on Joe, her skirt swishing. Ben and I are unfortunately trapped in the kitchen with them, and we each begin to shuffle to doors on opposite sides of the room.

“I’m just saying that you always want to have people over. It doesn’t matter that I want a quiet night if you have other plans!” Joe shouts.

I slip into the dining room.

“Well, you didn’t seem to have a problem when I called the Carlins yesterday!” my mother protests crossly. I wish the two of them  would go visit a desert island somewhere and never come back. It would be for the greater good of the world if they did. Joe bursts into the dining room, wine in one hand, eyes rolling. (I’m telling you, certain traits run in the family, especially eye-rolling.)

Oh, great, my mother’s coming too.