"Upon your small white bed, I fell into a dream, you stayed up all night long and watched me, to see who in the world I might be..."
Joni Mitchell
Bethany closed her phone, put it aside and smiled at Daniel, reaching to push his straight brown hair back that fell against his hazel eyes as he leaned over her on one elbow wearing a tee shirt and pajama pants.
"I love this house. This room is amazing. They actually have a pink toilet. Never saw one of those before. Except in movies and this bed with all this white and white drapes and all. It's beautiful."
"Would you believe we didn't come here for years, not since I was like fourteen and Nick was nine? That was the time we went hunting with Grandpa Jack. I thought it was awesome, but Nick was scared of the guns and we had to go home. He has autism you know. I kept calling him a woos all the way home. Feel kind of bad about that. Then that night we got into the liquor cabinet and passed out. I was a bad influence and a mean brother."
"You are not a mean brother. You were just a kid, Daniel. Why didn't you guys come here with your mother all those years?"
"Well, we did come last year for the first time since then. I hate to admit it, but I think Mom realized she better be friends with her parents if she wanted me to go to a good college as bad as that may sound, but also I think Mom got more mature after she stopped drinking, and well I think she didn't think the things she thought were a big deal before really were. Ya know?"
"I wonder", she said looking wistfully then, "if I was wrong to leave my mother during Thanksgiving, with her being upset about Dad and the divorce and his new affair and well, my sister is with her, so I guess it's alright."
"I'm just glad you're here." He pushed her hair behind her ear.
"I smell coffee. I need some."
"Want me to bring you a cup of coffee in bed. I'll get it. Bring me my coffee now dammit, I mean now, right now," Daniel mimicked making Bethany laugh.
Just then Daniel's mother, Lizzy peaked her head in the door which was ajar...
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