Oh, god, was the brat going to get into another one of her fits over how much she waaaanted a dog? Amber only had to see her once or twice a year and already she'd had enough of that particular spiel; if she were Geoffrey or Leila, getting a damn dog would've been well worth the price of shutting her up. They spoiled her every other way, after all.

Awaiting the inevitable spat, the last thing Amber expected was Eric's soft, inviting voice instead. Amber moved into and towards him, giving a smile that was for him alone. "It's alright," she said in a low voice. They were in the middle of her parents' living room, with most of her family watching, so she couldn't give in to the urge to drive off the boredom by kissing and pushing him down into a lying position, but squeezing his hand was more than acceptable by the household standards. If he’d been wilting a couple of minutes ago under the inane conversation, this small bit of interaction perked him right up. "But it's not what I want."

Amber stood up suddenly, saying into the air, "Eric, come get a drink with me." It was the perfect moment: Aunt Jude and her mom were fussing over Madeline, and Geoffrey and Leila were preening over their pride and joy. That was one of her foolproof plans for escaping: slip out discreetly when others were vying for attention. Only her dad made as if to get up and join them, but Amber, walking by, patted his arm. "I know where everything is."

"Probably better than me," her dad agreed.

Amber sympathized. Her mom rearranged the kitchen fairly often in seek of the Holy Grail of Perfect Organization, but she tended to try the same patterns over and over. It wouldn't be hard to find the generous alcohol collection or the glasses.

Tilting her head at Eric in invitation, Amber went to the kitchen.