Happy Families by Tanita S. Davis Page A

away again, bouncing his knee. “Fine.”
    “So, can I get my popcorn, or can you give it a rest yet?” I ask, somehow angry that Justin has managed to be up front with Dad without sounding like a jerk and I have not.
    Justin gives me an odd look. “What’s your problem?”
    “Low blood sugar, probably.” Dad puts the car in gear and pulls out of the parking slot. “Let’s just get an early lunch. None of us ate enough for breakfast, and The Cantina has some great fajitas.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with my blood sugar,” I sputter. “And I’m a vegetarian, hello. I don’t want fajitas.”
    “They have asparagus and mushroom fajitas, too,” Dad says mildly. “We’ll have a good lunch and talk some more. Justin’s right—we don’t have a lot of time.”
    Justin’s right
, I mimic savagely to myself. Of course he is. I cross my arms and slide down in the seat, feeling baffled and frustrated. I don’t mind getting fajitas—the idea of some real food after gorging on junk food last night is a good one—but it seems like somehow Justin has managed to come off as seriously concerned about Dad and our family issues, and I’ve come off as … the snarky girl with the low blood sugar who’s shallow and all about popcorn.
    I glance at Justin’s profile as he stares out the window and make up my mind. He’s not the only one who can ask direct questions. If Dad wants to have a talk, we’ll
talk
.

Happy Meal
Justin
    JustC: GAH! sick. of. talking.
Styx: hear that.
C4Buzz: Silence is golden but duct tape is silver.
JustC: lol
    I expect fake cacti and piñatas at a Mexican grill, neither of which The Cantina has. This place is white tablecloths and valet parking nice—far too nice for just a middle-of-the-day lunch with Dad. Even Ysabel’s looking around with interest, checking out the painted floor tiles, pottery, and lantern-looking metallight fixtures, probably so she can steal the designs and make them for her next art project.
    The waitress leaves each of us a leather folder containing the menu and points out the specials with a smile. Dad nods to her and absorbs himself in choosing a meal.
    Guitar music underscores the quiet conversation around us. Everything is so classy and understated, from the lighting to the menu to the chime of forks on plates, that all the mature-sounding conversation I’d planned gets stuck in my throat. When Ysabel sits forward and breaks the silence, I’m relieved.
    “Did you bring us someplace this fancy so we won’t actually say anything?”
    I want to laugh at my father’s startled expression.
    “Will it work?” His voice is dry.
    “No.” Ysabel leans back in her seat. “I just wondered.”
    “You have to admit, this place is pretty classy,” I point out. “I thought we were just going to a taqueria or something.”
    Dad shrugs. “I thought this conversation deserved a good setting.”
    I wish the setting would actually make a difference to what he has to say.
    Dad orders a
salsa de aguacate
for all of us, which comes with our iced tea and baskets of tortilla chips. The restaurant is filling quickly, and the noise level is rising, which gives me courage. But before I can open my mouth, Ysabel takes a deep breath and turns to Dad.
    “Okay.” She clears her throat. “I’ve been looking on the Internet, and I have some questions.”
    I blink and sit back.
Go, Ys
.
    “All right.” Dad looks at Ysabel seriously. “Do you understand that I might not be able to answer everything?”
    “Why not?” I challenge him.
    Dad looks at me. “Because … some things don’t have answers. Because some things I don’t know. Because everyone is different, and I can only answer for me. Because … I’m still your dad, and as a parent, I don’t have to tell my children things they don’t need to know. Just … because.” He shrugs a little helplessly. “I don’t mean to disappoint you. You have the right to ask me any question and I reserve the right to