Listlessness was a word Nate understood and felt at times, but now he knew was it meant to drown in it. To feel it cold in his fingertips, pooling in his heels and dragging down his footfalls, to watch the world haze and unfocus while his thoughts turn gray and dissolve. He didn't know what the score between them was, anymore. He wasn’t a player in this game, either. He still had about nineteen more days to go.

His mother placed down her newspaper at the dining table, burying her breakfast under ink and page, and announce with as much casualness as prohibitively possible, “The weather’s turning.”

The two Quinn men shared a glance. Where Nate’s father swished his wine at dinner (which irritated his mother), his mother had profuse interested in the weather, as mundane or dramatic as it could be (which his dad found minorly annoying, at times). “We know,” Nate said. “It’s December.”

“But the newspaper says it should get worse,” she clarified. “Snowstorms and all that.”

“Well, thank goodness we’re going to Lake Tahoe, huh?” Mr. Quinn asked. “Glad to be away from this for a while? With our luck the snowstorm will have passed over us and made the slopes nice and powdery.”

Oh, yeah. Lake Tahoe. They were supposed to be leaving for that in three days. “Oh, uh…actually.”

They glanced at him.

“Mind if I skip this one? I have some...business to do.”

“You've never skipped Lake Tahoe,” his father said.

“Tyler’s skipping Lake Tahoe,” Nate pointed out. “Why does he get to do that and I don’t?”

“Your older brother’s in Athens for his dissertation,” he reminded, “and he’s on an internship. You have no excuse because you’re in high school. We basically know your schedule back to front.”

“Well, this year, I can’t come.”

Nate’s mother was already out of her chair. “Let me look at you,” she said, grabbing Nate’s face and turning his head this way and that. “Dizzy, sweetheart? You don’t look sick.”

“I’m fine,” Nate insisted, swatting her hands away. “I, just – there’s something I need to do.”

His parents traded glances. “If it’s about the ugly sweater contest –”

“Oh. God, no. I want to wear that thing, too, –” Because when’s the next time you can wear a vomiting Christmas tree sweater like that, if not among family? “– but I have something that needs my attention. A little more than Lake Tahoe.” His phone buzzed in his pocket.

His mom draped her hand over the back of the empty dining chair. “We don’t want you to be alone for Christmas –”

“Emma should be around,” he pointed out, noting the text on his phone screen.

“I thought they were going to Nice,” his dad said.

“They’ve delayed,” he lied, unlocking his phone. “They’re still going but –” A message from Sam. He sucked in air through his teeth.

It said, simply, Do not come to the bingo thing today.

His stare narrowed, trying to find a reason for the sudden change of heart, but Nate was tired. He couldn’t come up with a conceivable reason for why he would do such a thing. This proved intensely counterintuitive to what Nate had said he wanted to accomplish with this whole thing (even if it made him miserable). He replied back quickly with: ???, followed by a very confused Why.

Just don't, was Sam's response. A second text came through a moment later, a softer, sadder-interpreted thing that made Nate pause. Please. He also read it with a question mark rather than a period, but that was just him.

Still, he sighed until his lungs were deprived, shriveled with relief, and Nate sank back in his chair. He needed to know why this happened, why this torment became suspiciously easier, suddenly.

“Nate?” his father asked.

He sat up, opening his eyes. He glanced down at his breakfast, appetite evaporated. When Nate’s gaze returned to his mother, he inhaled. “What?”

His parents exchanged glances again.

“Emma texted me,” he lied. “She’s – they’re staying back for another week before going to Nice for New Years.” Whether or not his parents believed him, he didn’t care. To catch them up on the complexity of the situation would take too long, and he had school. “So, yeah. That’s the plan.”