there's a first time for everything

the dinner

About a week later, our living room feels a little more lived-in and comfortable with the new lavender couch in the middle covered in floral pillows and fuzzy blankets. Mom might have went just a little overboard.

I sit down at my equally new desk, complete with a lamp that works- unlike the room's- and multiple drawers. I take out my sketchbook and my trusty pencil, starting to sketch.

After a while, it starts to feel stuffy in the room, so I decide to have a change of scenery.

I go outside to the porch, which is wide and slightly broken in some places. There was one thing nice about it though. A pitch swing hung down a few inches from the floor. Perfect. I sat down with my sketchbook and started to sketch the trees and sky, adding in some fictional elements like my dragon character and a couple fires in some places.

I hum a little, barely noticing when a voice cuts in. "I though you said you weren't an artist."

I groan, already knowing who it is. "Seriously?"

"Can I see that?" I close the sketchbook before the boy can take it. "What? That was cool."

"Go away," I mutter.

He looks conflicted. "Why? What do I get out of that?"

"A working jaw."

He chuckles. "Wow, you're joyful today."

Mom chooses that moment to walk out. "Hey, Aspen, for dinner what are you feeling? Chinese or Mexican?" She pauses when she sees the boy. "Who's this? Did you make a friend?"

"Yes, hi, I'm Connor," he says, shaking my mom's hand. "Your daughter is lovely."

My cheeks warm, and Mom laughs. "She is."

"Would you like to join us for dinner?" She asks him. "We're having Chinese takeout."

"Sure." Connor beams.

"Shouldn't you ask your mom first, though? Maybe I should talk to her, meet her—"

"No, it's okay," Connor interrupts, his smile slightly fading. "She's really busy."

Mom looks doubtful. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Connor runs a hand through his hair. "Uh, maybe in a couple days."

"Alright," Mom says, brightening, and turns back to the door. "The food will get here in fifteen minutes, how about you two acquaint yourselves further while I set the table?"

Acquaint? I shake it off, glancing at Connor just in time to see a fleeting expression leave his face. "So I guess I have to stay here now."

"Too bad," he jokes, "I was hoping you wouldn't."

"Right." I look down at my sketchbook and continue drawing.

Strangely, Connor is pretty quiet and just looks out at the horizon. I don't question his silence—since I don't care—and just keep drawing until Mom popped out again.

"Did you see the delivery truck?" She asks. We both shake our heads. "Oh, okay, guess it's just a little late."

Ten minutes later the blue truck appears. A man comes out of it with two steaming bags. He puts them on our porch and scurries away. I take the bags and go inside, stopping when I remember Connor. "Oh, uh, come in," I said awkwardly, gesturing for him to follow me.

Mom smile when we walked into the kitchen. "Sit down, kids."

I grab my favorites and began eating. I notice Connor doesn't eat much but appears to be enjoying just sitting there talking to my mom—which is a bit weird, because my mom could talk for hours and no one really wanted to do that and chat about whatever was on her mind, although Connor didn't seem to care.