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what you always say to me when I'm having a fight with a friend." I was protesting too much. Isn't that how the saying goes?
"Honey, we are working things out," Mom told me. "The divorce is our solution." "We've been having trouble for a long time now," Dad added. "Ever since I got the news that I was being transferred to Stoneybrook." For that long? Why hadn't I noticed earlier? Because I'd been too busy baby-sitting and making friends and taking vacations and going to camp and shopping and doing homework, I guessed.
"My job has been on shaky territory since the first transfer," said Dad.
That much I knew.
"I guess the shakiness spread to our marriage," he went on. "I feel as if I've got to work harder than ever just to keep from being fired. Your mother thinks I should look for a new job." I thought she thought Dad was a workaholic.
"There are other problems," added Mom. "Money, that sort of thing." They were being vague to protect me, I decided. If only they knew what I already knew, but this wasn't the time to admit I'd been eavesdropping.
"Those problems sound big, but not - not unworkable," I said hopefully. "Can't you reach some compromises? I know! You could see a marriage counselor!" "We have seen one," said Mom.
"And?" "And she was very helpful. We've been seeing her for three months. She was the one who suggested we get the divorce." "Oh. So you saw a divorce counselor," I snapped.
"Stacey, don't be difficult," said Dad. "This doctor is well respected and we liked her very much." "I haven't even met her and already I hate her," I told my father.
He ignored my comment. "She knows about our problems, our lives, you, even our finances. After she suggested that a divorce was probably the best solution to our problems, she helped us arrange as amicable a divorce as possible." "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.
"It means splitting up with as little trouble as we can, and making things as easy on you as we can." "Could we please backtrack for a second?" I said.
But Mom changed the subject. "Stacey, have you given yourself your insulin today?" "Of course I have." "Just checking." Mom looked at her watch. "It's dinnertime," she added.
"I'm not hungry," I said.
"You have to eat anyway." Mom was losing her patience.
She was right, though. I did have to eat. With my kind of diabetes, I can't skip meals. I have to eat regularly, eat what the doctor says, and take in a certain number of calories every day. It's such a drag. If I don't do those things, my blood sugar gets out of whack and I'm in trouble.
"Come on," said Mom. "We can continue this discussion over dinner. I ordered in from the deli." "Unnecessary expense," muttered Dad, but neither Mom nor I said anything.
Mom had ordered several different kinds of salad and some plain sandwiches - lean meats on whole wheat bread. Healthy stuff that I could eat. She'd set a bowl of fruit out, too, and I knew I was supposed to eat an apple or a banana with dinner. So I filled up my plate, even though I had no appetite at all.
The three of us sat around the kitchen table with the remains of the deli food in a jumble on a nearby counter. Actually, I don't think any of us was hungry, but we all began to eat.
"Now, what was it you wanted to ask?" said Mom.
"I wanted to know more about your problems," I replied. "I mean, if you can tell me. I want to know just what it is that's so big you can't work it out." "Stacey, it's a lot of things," said my father.
"And," added Mom, "some of them you probably wouldn't - " "Wouldn't understand?" I interrupted. "Listen, I'm not a baby anymore. I'm thirteen years old." "It's not that," said my mother. "I don't think anyone except your father and I could understand some of these things. They're personal. They have to do with our feelings toward each other. And those feelings have changed." "Are you in love anymore?" I asked suddenly. "Are you?" Mom and Dad glanced at each other.
There was a pause.
At last Dad said, "Your mother and I will always