They really are.  You can learn a lot from reading my stories.

Tired from DayJob but wanted to jot down the rest of the dinner scene before it leads into Mackenzie’s history.  The only problem is:  they’ve not shown me anything of her history!  I think the rest of her family is dead, but I’ve no real idea.  I got to the last line of the tiny entry of what’s below, walked away from the computer, loaded the dishwasher, made sure my clothes were ready for the morning… and:  nothing.

Tomorrow, depending on when my family returns, will be chaos.  I hope we can learn the name of Mackenzie’s brother, soon.

Half the food on their plates – except for Nichole’s – was gone before anyone spoke up.

“Damn! This is really good, Nichole!” Gil exclaimed. “Did you, well, download the recipe?”

Nichole watched Mac’s eyes flick to Gil and over to her friend.

“Only if you mean that in the old-fashioned way! I found some cookbooks in the Miller Library and flipped through them until I found something appropriate.”

“It is… really good,” Mackenzie agreed, taking another bite.

“Thank you! Normally you people shouldn’t eat things such as potatoes – carbs are poison to omnivores – but both of you are active enough that having this on rare occasion won’t make you fat!”

Mackenzie’s fork stalled at her mouth. Gil was taking a drink of water and did everything he could to not spit-take.

“You’re fine, Mac; she just said ‘on rare occasions.’”

“Oh. Okay.” She completed her motion and ate the food.

“You really do need someone to care for you, don’t you, friend?” Nichole was older about not bringing up anyone’s past, but she was curious. She ignored the quick look from her boyfriend.

The whole room seemed to grow dark and quiet as the grey ghost closed in on herself. Her head came down and her face was only a dozen inches from her plate.

“My big brother…” she began.

“Hey, Mac. We both know Nichole’s a little clueless about what we’ve all been through – ” Gil said. He and Nichole were surprised to see her right hand come up and touch his left forearm.

Is that the first time she’s ever touched a guy? Nichole wondered.

“Well, maybe not so big. He was only two years older than me and we were the same height. I guess he took after Mom, shorter, but he had her flaxen hair. I was like Dad. Should have been Daddy’s girl… but he was never home.”

With her head still down Gil was able to give Nichole a telling glance: don’t talk!