“I don't want to,” I said. I admit: I made my voice sound a little babyish.
“You don't have to do anything you don't want to do,” Dad said, coming over and lifting me out of Mom's lap.
He carried me over to sit on his lap on the other side of the sofa. “We won't make you do anything you don't want to do.”
“But it would be good for him, Nate,” Mom said. “Not if he doesn't want to,” answered Dad, looking at me.
“Not if he's not ready.” I saw Mom look at Lisa, who reached over and squeezed her hand.
“You guys will figure it out,” she said to Mom. “You always have.”
“Let's just talk about it later,” said Mom. I could tell she and Dad were going to get in a fight about it.
I wanted Dad to win the fight. Though a part of me knew Mom was right. And the truth is, she really was terrible at fractions.
Driving
It was a long drive home. I fell asleep in the backseat like I always do, my head on Via's lap like she was my pillow,
a towel wrapped around the seat belt so I wouldn't drool all over her.
Via fell asleep, too, and Mom and Dad talked quietly about grown-up things I didn't care about.
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