“It was Dad who convinced me, actually,” she says. “He called and told me that I’d been studying too much. That I’d burn out and forget everything I crammed for. I needed a break.”
I laugh. “So he guilted you into coming.”
“He knew that I wouldn’t respond to pleading,” she says. “And he was right, as usual. That trip did wonders for my concentration when I got back to the books.”
“He credited himself with your 4.0 GPA.”
“I’ll bet he did,” she laughs. “But I’ll let him have it.”
“You know the weird thing about that trip?” I ask. “I don’t actually remember much about the Grand Canyon. What I remember is the drive there.”
“The stupid Winnebago that Dad rented,” Mia chuckles. “That thing was giant.”
“Mom nearly had a conniption when he pulled it into the driveway.”
“I’m pretty sure he
