David handed his grandfather one of the two plates of spaghetti, and sat on the opposite end of the couch, leaving an empty middle seat between them. They talked briefly and awkwardly about the forecast from the Weather Channel, which said that it was supposed to snow in Jefferson County the next day, and the possibility of school cancellation on Monday. David changed the channel to America’s Funniest Home Videos, the most inoffensive show he could find, and sat mostly still, sinking deeper into the dusty, already uncomfortably deep corduroy couch. David looked over to his grandfather, to check that he wasn’t too dissatisfied, and realized that it was already dark in their living room. The only remaining lights were from the kitchen behind the two of them and the television. When David saw his grandfather solemnly lower his head to eat, his wrinkles caught the light of the television, flickering and changing color, and deep shadows formed in the creases of his forehead and the sides of his mouth. And time passed, slowly, as it seemed, with neither willing to mention David’s parents leaving their seventeen year-old son to babysit their eighty year-old father.


David’s grandfather asked for a blanket on the other side of the room, and David took their plates and set them aside, then fetched his grandfather the blanket and set about doing the dishes. As he nearly finished, his mother entered the house, and tentatively set foot in the living room, to say hello to her father. She found him fast asleep, with his face turned so that the light of the television wasn’t on his face. Stepping back into the kitchen, she hardly managed her arms around the back of David’s shoulders and said, hushed,


“Oh David, thank you so much for doing dinner alone this week,” and hugged him from behind. David, who has still rinsing dishes, dismissed her, as well as the sentiment,


“Whatever,” but then remembered, “oh, I need to borrow the pickup tomorrow.”


“Well, it’s your father’s car, so you should ask him, but he’ll probably be fine with it. Why?” she asked, letting go of him as he put down the dishes and started for his coat.


“I’m taking Morgan out to lunch.” As David put on his coat, he turned and stared expectantly over to his mother, expecting to be overwhelmed with uncomfortable questions. She only looked back at him, stuck her nose in the air and smiled, as she walked out the door facetiously saying, ‘No, I’m above that.’ David followed her out.


-


Morgan chose two seats by the door of the restaurant, the farthest from the counter, and quietly suggested that she hold their seats while David order their food.


“What did you want to get?” David asked, as Morgan sat down


“What did you say this place was famous for?” Morgan asked, half-remembering a conversation they had only had a few minutes ago, on the car ride over.


“A lot of people said they liked the chicken wings—“


“That’s fine.” David unhesitatingly nodded, and turned for the counter, rejecting within himself the obvious fact that she had decided mostly out of indifference. In most ways, the restaurant was a fast food place, because one would order over the counter and receive cheap food that had already been prepared, but it wasn’t part of a chain, and had a particular character as a blue collar family restaurant. Morgan didn’t like it, for the most part because it was such a small, crowded space, and until now she had been successful in avoiding it. Morgan turned her attention, instead, to the darkening clouds outside, waiting for it to start snowing.


As David returned, Morgan decided that the space next to the door was cold enough that she would keep her cap and heavy outer coat on. David held out her plate expecting her to take it from him, but she waited, with her cold, pale hands on her elbows for him to put it down.


As they ate, David noticed Morgan removing her cap, letting her thin, almost sickly blonde hair fall awkwardly over her ears and shoulders. As she started to loosen her coat he remembered how spicy the chicken wings were.


“Are the wings too spicy? I should’ve told you—“


“No, it’s fine. I like them,” she replied, as she lifted a napkin to her face to wipe away droplets of sweat. David smiled, at first hopefully, as he saw her previously colorless face flush, and then skeptically, as he watched her try to tough it out.


“Don’t look at me like that!” She smiled uncomfortably.


“Are you sure you don’t want to switch?”


“Would that be alright?” David laughed as he quickly switched their plates. Morgan laughed too, because she did see the humor in it, but still felt embarrassed and sick to her stomach.
As they left, David apologized again for not telling her how spicy the wings were, Morgan accepted and dismissed it, and there was a mutual understanding that it was nobody’s fault.


-


David pulled up to the side of the road by Morgan’s house in his small, beige pickup, turned off the car, and started to get out. Morgan, already outside the car told David,


“Hey, David, uh, don’t get out,” David closed his door and looked at her once again wan face as she continued, “listen, you were really, really nice, and it was all fun,” David knew what was coming, but still couldn’t bring himself to be upset about a word she said. “But I don’t think we should do this again.”


“Yeah. Okay. Thanks for coming anyway.” David nodded, to himself and Morgan equally, as Morgan soberly bounced to her door. It finally started to snow. When David turned his car back on, Morgan saw him draw his hand back quickly behind his ear about to thrash his steering wheel, but caught himself, and calmly tapped the wheel with the underside of his clenched fist. Morgan thought little of it.


She stepped back inside, told her parents that everything went well, and spent the rest of the day doing little spots of homework and watching television. She went to bed early, 9:30, as she always did, remembering to hope that school would be cancelled the next day.


She slept comfortably, but woke up around 4 o’clock the next morning, as she often did, and couldn’t fall back asleep. She laid in her room, pitch black, for hours silently until the sun rose, when her mother shouted to Morgan and her younger sister that school wasn’t cancelled. Morgan still remained, quiet. Half an hour later Morgan’s mother pounded on the locked door of Morgan’s room, complaining that she was always sleeping in.