Breakfast was the best idea she'd had all morning: with every word she was further insulted and chastised for things that weren't even her fault. And for what good? Eric, having spent his anger, was withdrawing into reticence. His acknowledgment that her caring about him felt too little and too patronizing. He didn't get how much inviting him to Thanksgiving meant. It was just one more relationship to him, like taking his car to the gas station for the thousandth time. It was just something that had to be done, as quickly as perfunctorily as possible. Boring at best, soul-draining at worst. And who said this was going to be his last car? Three weeks in and he'd already said 'I love you'; easy come, easy go.

Amber stretched her cement smile a bit more, to give Eric the reaction he wanted, and got up. She felt stiff, as if the tightness in her throat had spread to the rest of her, paralyzing her limbs. He'd probably think she was miffed about his dark insinuations about her family; let him. She'd rather that than for him to know the truth. "I'll make breakfast," she said. Him showering meant a break for her, and if she threw herself into making the best breakfast ever, then she could distract herself. From their last night out, she knew he liked sausages, toast, hash browns, and eggs. She had no hash browns, but the rest she could whip up. Maybe a stack of pancakes too. He was probably hungry from his run.