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When I was seven, my mother and I were in the mini-van on one of her trips for Meals on Wheels when she suddenly turned and asked me: “if me and your father ever split up, who would you want to live with?” I had never considered their splitting up as an option. In retrospect, I realize her question indicates that she didn’t really think it was either. The car smelled of peas, mashed potatoes and meat, probably under-salted and overcooked, and we kept driving.