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Now, when I'm alone with him, I worry we won't have enough to say. Mom, who now wears plunging necklines even when she cleans the kitchen.She and I got into a fight before I left for Dad's this afternoon. "What are you going to do," she said, "go over there and badmouth me?
Looking back, it seemed as if Mom and Dad had been faking it—which cheapened all my childhood memories. I've come to envy young children going through a divorce. Mom expected me to talk negatively about Dad with her. Ten minutes later the phone would ring, and it would be Dad. On the stereo in my dad's studio apartment is a photograph of me and my sisters in the same battered silver frame it was in when it was in our living room.A piece of me will always be preserved in those walls, in the shadows that dance across my childhood bedroom at dusk.Brooke Lea Foster is a staff writer for Washingtonian Magazine.Of course, Mom and Dad didn't have a perfect marriage. When they made it past their 27th wedding anniversary, I assumed they were thinking about retiring, not about splitting up. On their own for the first time in 27 years, Mom and Dad needed guidance.My life suddenly seemed a series of "lasts"—a final Christmas, an end to eggs together at the breakfast table. Many of our parents stayed together because we'd be more mature once we headed off to college, walked down the aisle, or had our first baby. My younger sister taught Dad how to cook a red sauce.
It has been raining since morning."You look like a drowned rat," Dad says, laughing, as he walks toward me. "This divorce has been the hardest thing I've ever had to do," Mom says calmly. I'm learning how to be alone again." I'd never heard Mom sound so vulnerable and honest—which makes me listen closely. Mom moves toward me and stretches out her hand, then pulls it back.