Page 18 of The Marriage Game

“Wait,youguysarereally going to Montana?” Elle stands in the middle of our bedroom, staring at me incredulously as I pack up late Saturday night.

“Yeah, we’re really going,” I reply only half paying attention to her as I roll up a pair of jeans and set it in my carryon. I don’t check bags if I can help it. Although this packing list Jill gave me is pretty extensive. It’ll be a challenge to fit it all. But surely she was kidding when she wrote “cowboy boots” and “cowboy hat.”

“Thanks for taking us,” she grouches.

“You want to come on a couples' retreat with your mom and me?” I grab an armful of socks from my dresser drawer and dump them on the bed.

“Well, no, but a vacation would be nice. I know we, like, live in a vacation state or whatever, but still…most of my friends go away, like, every spring break and a lot of times at Christmas too. I can’t remember the last time we went anywhere.”

“What?” This gives me pause and I stop arranging socks in the corner of my suitcase. “We go places. We just went to DC last month.”

Elle rolls her eyes so forcefully I experience sympathy pains in my own eyes. “Going to DC with you for work doesn’t count, Dad. I want to go somewhere like Cancun or Hawaii or, I don’t know, I’d even go to Universal Studios like Liam is always going on about if it meant getting away for a bit.”

I gape at her. “Liam wants to go to Universal Studios?”

“Duh. He wants to go to Super Hero Island or whatever.” Another eye roll. She plants one hand on her hip, and I feel an uncomfortable tug in my stomach. When did Elle get so grown up?

“Super Hero Island,” I echo. “Right. Well, you know things have just been kind of busy lately.”

“And always,” she mutters darkly.

“You know Grandpa is stepping back from the firm,” I tell her, “I’ve had to take on more of a workload there during that transition.” I’m about to tell her things will get better when I finish this last senate term, but then I remember: I’m runningfor attorney general. If anything, things are about to get a lot worse. Or at least busier. That doesn’t have to equate with things getting worse, though, does it?

These days busy is the new American Dream.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She blows out a long breath. “Whatever, I shouldn’t have said anything. Mom is always going on with me to not complain about how much you’re not home…I know this house doesn’t come free. Just forget I said anything. Guess I need to go pack for Grandma and Grandpa’s.” She turns to go, leaving me standing there feeling stunned.

Jill tells the kids not to complain to me about not being home? The kidscareabout me not being home? Is it stupid that I never realized that? I guess I thought I was doing a good job balancing everything. I mean, I was at Liam's track meet a few weeks ago. At least for part of the time. Those things are really long. I had to get back to the office after an hour.

And I went to Elle’s choir concert recently too. Sure I had to leave early, but I was there.

Plus, I’m home every Sunday for church and family time. Well, most Sundays. Last week I had to go into the firm for a few hours because I was so busy during the week with senate sessions. But at least one Sunday a month I’m home the whole day.

Oh wow. I sink down onto my bed as realization crashes over me: Iamgone a lot. And Elle is right: we haven’t been on a proper family vacation in years.

How did things get to this point?

I stare down at my laptop, sitting on the bed waiting to be packed up in my satchel so I can get some work done on this impromptu trip. Something like disgust twists in my chest. I’m that guy, the one that works on vacation? Really?

Flashbacks of my own dad, sitting poolside with a stack of briefs run through my mind. He always worked on vacations.

Abruptly I stand and stride purposefully out of the room and down the hall to Elle’s room. She’s blaring loud country music, but it cuts off when I knock on the partially open door then step inside.

“Everything okay, Dad?” she asks, blinking wide eyes at me over the phone in her hands. For a second I forget what I was going to say. Not only does she look far too grown up all of the sudden, but she also looks startlingly like her mom.

Crap. Is she dating? Even if she’s not, there’s got to be boys interested. Boys looking at her with their boy eyes and boy brains.

“You should put on a sweater,” I say gruffly, gesturing to her tank top. Which is far too tight.

“Um, why? It’s like 90 degrees outside.”

“Yeah, well, we’re inside and the air is on.”

“You really came in here to tell me to put on a sweater?”

“Uh, no.” I clear my throat, focusing back on why I made this trek. I’ll process the fact that Elle is of dating age later. Maybe try and make a law against teen girls talking to boys without their dads present. Should be easy to pass considering it’s a bipartisan issue that concerns conservative and liberal fathers alike. “Actually, I came to say that you’re right. It has been far too long since we took a family vacation. So why don’t you pick a place and we’ll make it happen.”

“Wait, what?” Elle drops her phone and steps toward me. “ Are you serious?”

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