I walk past George, and once we’re inside and seated, Shanice turns her attention to the traffic outside. We bore her.

“What do you feel like having today?” he asks her.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I told you those seeds would ruin your appetite.”

“It’s not the seeds. It’s you. You make me sick.”

“Stop it, Shanice. Right now!” I yell, and then try lowering my voice. “Not today, please.”

“Look, we can’t afford to send you to boarding school, if that’s what this is about.”

“You can afford it. You know I want to go, that’s the reason you’re not doing it. Both of you just want to keep me prisoner for the next five years, that’s all.”

“You should watch the tone of your voice,” I say. “Look. I can try asking the insurance company to reconsider releasing more of your trust, but your father’s lawyer set it up so that it’s paid out in specific increments until you turn eighteen.”

“Private school is already costing us a small fortune,” George says. “Do you have any idea how expensive boarding school is?”

“No, I don’t,” Shanice says.

“Can we not get into this right now?”

“Whatever,” she sighs.

“Look. I’ve got two midterms this week, Mama just got out of intensive care, and I’d like to drive up there on Saturday to see her. Make sure she’s doing all right.”

“Can I go, too?” Shanice asks.

“We’ll see.”

“You can’t go,” George says.

Shanice cuts her eyes at him. “Why not?”

“Because your first league meet is this weekend.”

“But it’s not a qualifying meet, and, plus, I want to see my granny.”

“I’d like her to come with me, George.”

“I thought you said Viola was going home on Saturday.”

“That’s right.”

“Don’t you think she needs a few days to fully recover at home?”

“I’m going there to help her recovery, George. There’ll be a lot of things she can’t do.”

“I thought you said Lewis was headed over there to be with her?”

“He’s just the welcoming committee she needs, George. Be serious.”

“I understand all this, but it just seems like next weekend would make more sense.”

“Is there something you need me to do for you?”

“So you did forget about the banquet on Saturday. It’s an important dinner. And you know that. Everybody’s wives will be there. Except mine, of course.”

“George, I’m not sure just how bad Mama’s attack was, but . . .”

“She’s still in the hospital; that should give you a clue,” Shanice says.

“You should really watch the tone of your voice,” George says. “Look, we only have this awards dinner once a year. It’s been on the calendar for eight months. Your mother’s illness is somewhat of an inconvenience, wouldn’t you say?”

Self-restraint is something I pride myself on, and it’s rare that I even raise my voice at George, but he was taking this much too far. “Well, it’s sad when your mother gets sick and has to be rushed to the hospital and may very well have died, but, then, that’s not half as important as, say, some dryass chicken or overcooked roast beef, and do you think I really want to miss rubbing shoulders with a tableful of phony women who can’t even remember my name, just to go to my mother’s aid? What a tough decision.”