By coincidence, my parents are staying at the same hotel, separate rooms, of course, but on the same floor. Go figure. It's like their brains are still working the same wavelength. It's sort of cryptic if you think about it. They'd been together so long, they adopted similar likes and thought patterns, though they have little left in common.

It's the evening after Hartley's burial, and we've decided to have dinner together at a restaurant on Chartres Street: Mom, Dad, Henry, and I. Conversation is stilted, each of us shifting uncomfortably in our chairs, careful not to say the wrong thing. But so many topics feel taboo that it's hard to know what to say and what to steer clear of.

This is the first time in a few years that we've been out of the state together and the circumstances aren't ideal, but it's nice having us all here. It would be even nicer to share the magic of the French Quarters with them, but I'm not so sure if that's in the cards. I can tell Mom's tense by the way she's crossing and uncrossing her legs beneath the table, and Dad is attempting small talk but she's shooting him down at every turn.

"So, why did you decide to drive here instead of fly?" Dad asks her as he dives into his crawfish étouffée. "It would have been a lot faster."

Mom doesn't bother looking up from her shrimp gumbo and rice. "Because it's cheaper, and I'd rather spend my money on less frivolous things. Besides," she adds, pushing her dark hair behind her ears. "There's nothing wrong with driving. We were going to come out here to pick up Gwen anyway. And this way, we got to see some of the country. Isn't that right, Henry?"

Henry takes a colossal bite of his hot dog. "We saw someone driving a house down the road! And Mom and I played I Spy and Cows on my Side," he says in between chews. "And then we stopped at a McDonald's near a flea market and she bought me a baseball hat that says Save the Narwhals!"

"Oh," Dad says. "A Save the Narwhals baseball hat? Sounds like a very non-frivolous purchase."

Mom shoots him a look. "Are you seriously going to do this right now? I wanted to make it a little fun for him. Is that so wrong? Lord knows I'm the only one of us trying."

I slap my palms on the table so hard a sharp sting races up my forearms. "Would you guys stop already? You don't like each other anymore—we get it! And now you're getting a divorce," I say, addressing the obvious elephant in the room. "But that doesn't mean you get to fight every time you see each other. Especially in front of me and Henry." My eyes flit to my little brother but he's staring at the half-eaten hot dog in his hand.

Mom's jaw drops. "Gwen! Is that any way to speak to your parents?"

But now that I've started, I'm nowhere near done. "How about you watch how you speak to each other? And what you say and how you act in front of your children? We don't deserve to be around your constant bickering all the time. We didn't ask to be born. You chose to have us. And now you have a responsibility to do the right thing."

I know I should stop, but all of the things I've been holding back are suddenly clogging my throat, desperate to get out. My hands drop to my lap. "Look, I accept that you're not happy together, but that doesn't make us any less of a family. It's because of you that Henry and I are even here. And we're sad and hurt that our lives are changing because you two couldn't make things work. But you know what? It's okay if you can't. You're only human—just like everyone else. But it's like you don't even care how we feel." I turn to my dad. "You cancel plans with us more times than you keep them, while Mom is busy working her ass off trying to keep everything from going to hell. She tries to be strong in front of us, but I hear her crying at night. Do you ever cry, Dad? Do you wish things had turned out differently? Do you even care?"

Everyone's holding their breaths. Staring at me.

"I'm here, aren't I?" he finally says. Dad watches me for a beat longer than what's comfortable, but I refuse to look away. "I love you and Henry very much. And I love your mom, too—that will never change. But sometimes, people are better apart than they are together."

Mom straightens in her seat. "Your father's right," she says. "We've known for a very long time things weren't working out between us. We were just trying to wait for you two to get a little older before we dealt with it."

With a ghost of a smile, Dad glances at Mom and then me. "And now we're finding a new way to make things work. I'm sorry if it seems like I don't care, but I do, and I'm going to work harder to make this work for everyone, not just myself. Losing Hartley this way," he says, his voice unsettled, "has been a heartbreaking experience. And I never ever want you or Henry to doubt how much I love you. How much both your mother and I love you. Because there's nothing in this world we wouldn't do for you."

His words rip through me.

Mom places a hand over mine. "I had no idea you were feeling this way. Why didn't you say something?" She brings the napkin from her lap to the corner of her eye. "You can always come to us. You know that, right? Your father and I may not be together anymore but that doesn't mean we're not here for you. We are. Always. That will never change."

I heave a sigh and slump in my chair. "It's not as easy as you make it sound," I tell her. "You're my parents. I don't want to disappoint or worry you."

Henry sniffles across from me, his brown eyes brimming with tears. Dad puts an arm around him and brings him close. "That doesn't mean you have to keep it all in. We never want either one of you to feel like you can't talk to us. If Hartley had opened up a little more, maybe she'd still be here today. If that's not eye-opening, I don't know what is."

We pick at the food on our plates, my crispy chicken strips getting cold. Our minds are reeling from words and emotions that are finally out in the open. It feels good telling them about the war I've been fighting in my head.

Mom breaks the silence first. "I figure we'll leave tomorrow morning and take the next two days driving back. Maybe we can even get in a little sightseeing on the way. That will still give me at least one full day to recover before going back to work."

"Um, about that," I begin. My stomach is in knots. "I'm not ready to leave yet."

She looks at me funny. "What do you mean, you're not ready to leave? We came all this way to get you. It's time to go."

"I'm just not ready," I say again. "Can't I fly home? I still have plenty of money left over. Can I buy a plane ticket and come home when I was supposed to?"

"But that's almost two weeks away!" she says. "Do you really think Penny will be up for having you around? She just lost her only child, Gwen. She may need some time to herself."

I shake my head. "I already asked if I could stay and she said yes."

"You did?" Mom's confused and maybe even a little hurt. "I just—I don't understand."

Neither do I. All I know is: I can't leave. Not yet. "Please?"

"You don't want to come home with us?" Henry asks, his question on the shaky side.

My foot nudges his beneath the table. "I want to come home, buddy. Just not quite yet. There's something I still need to do."

He looks at me blankly. "What?"

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "I need to figure it out."

"And you will."

All three of our heads snap toward my father.

"What are you saying?" Mom's trying to stay calm, but the red in her cheeks give her away. "You're siding with her?"

"I am," Dad says, his gray eyes meeting mine. "Gwen says she has something left to do. I trust her. Don't you?"

"Well, of course I do." She sighs. "I just miss her. I'm ready to have her home."

Dad smiles. "She's growing up. She has her own agenda, and sometimes it doesn't include having her parents around. I think we should listen to her. She's a very wise girl." Dad gives me a wink. "As long as it's okay with your mother, I'll buy your plane ticket home."

All three of our heads turn toward my mom.

Her shoulders sag. "Fine. Two more weeks, but that's all. You need to start preparing for school. We haven't even done any shopping yet."

Relief passes over me. "I will! Cross my heart."

I lean over and give Mom a hug, then push out of my chair and walk around the side of the table, making my way to my father.

I wrap my arms around his neck. "Thank you," I whisper in his ear.

He hugs me back. "Make the most of it, okay?"

That's exactly what I plan to do.