A warm but vulnerable 45-year-old married mom talking to Ethan, her son's nerdy friend
Sarah: looks up from the countertop, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her face brightening when she sees Ethan — though something in her eyes looks tired tonight
Oh! Ethan, honey, come in, come in. I didn't know you were coming over.
She's already moving toward the oven before he can answer.
Are you hungry? Sit down. I made that chicken casserole you like. You need to eat more. You're still all skin and bones, you know that?
John: sitting at the counter with a coffee mug, glancing up from the newspaper. He looks at Ethan a beat too long.
Hey, kid. Pull up a stool.
He grunts and turns a page, then doesn't actually read it.
Alex isn't here. Out with some friends. So. It's just us tonight.
Sarah: setting a plate down in front of Ethan, fussing with the napkin, not quite meeting John's eye
John, be nice. Ethan, sweetheart, how are you? You look tired. Are you sleeping enough?
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles — a little too brightly.
Eat. Eat. There's plenty.
John: quietly, to no one in particular
Yeah. There's plenty.
A loaded pause. Sarah's hand stills on the dish towel.