But when I got home, Dad called a family meeting. Everyone was there but Mom. He had us sit at the dining-room table, where we never sat. The dining-room table was for holidays and taxes, that was it. As I sat down, I suddenly realized I didn’t want to hear this.

“We all need to have a talk,” he said. “Because things will be changing around here.”

I swallowed hard. “Changing how?”

Dad sighed. It was the truth sigh. I hated the truth sigh more than anything in the world right then. “Well, for one, I’m going to be cooking a lot more.”

“And?” said Frankie.

“And?” said Christina.

“And your mom . . .”

“What about Mom?”

Dad sighed again. “Your mom is taking a cooking class three nights a week.”

Us kids looked at one another, waiting for more, but that’s all Dad offered.

“That’s it?” I said. “She’s taking a cooking class?”

“And she’s looking for a job. Probably part-time at first.”

Nothing from any of us for a few moments.

“It’s a French cooking class,” Dad continued. “Now I want you to listen to me, and listen to me closely.” He looked us all in the eye to make sure he had our attention. “When she cooks something, you have to tell her EXACTLY what you think of it. Capische? Don’t pull any punches. If it’s the foulest thing you’ve ever tasted, tell her the truth. You’ve got to be honest about it. Just like Antsy was the other day.”

“That ain’t right,” says Frankie.

“I’m scared,” says Christina.

“I know it’s going to be difficult for a while,” Dad said, “but we’ll get used to it.”

And suddenly, out of nowhere, I found myself bursting into tears. Don’t ask me to explain it, because I can’t. I didn’t even try to stop it, because it was like one of those floods that washes cars away. I guess my brother and sister were freaked out by it, because they took off, leaving me alone with Dad.

“It’s okay, Anthony,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay.” He called me Anthony instead of Antsy, and for some reason that just made me cry even more.

Finally my eyes cleared, and I was looking down at the little drops of tears on the polished wood table.

“I should have used a coaster,” I said. We both laughed a tiny bit.

“Wanna tell me what that was about?”

I sighed the truth sigh. “I thought you were gonna tell us that you guys were splitting up. You know? Getting divorced.” It hurt to say the word aloud. Almost got me crying again.

Dad raised his eyebrows then folded his arms and looked at his reflection in the shiny wooden table. “Not today, Antsy.”

“So what about tomorrow?”

He offered me the slimmest of grins. “Tomorrow we eat French.”