Unfortunately for David, Elena felt an overwhelming desire to be anywhere but here, with anyone but him.
"I appreciate the offer," she said, reaching for her purse, "but I should get home. I need to check on Miguel, and I have an early start tomorrow."
David's smile faltered. "Of course, family first," he said, recovering quickly. "Another time, perhaps."
"Perhaps," Elena echoed in a bitter lie.
He insisted on paying the bill, waving away her offer to split it with the assurance that it was "his pleasure." Outside the restaurant, he stepped close, his cologne expensive and too strong in the cool night air. "I had a wonderful time," he said, leaning in for what was clearly intended to be a kiss.
Elena turned her head slightly, so his lips brushed hercheek instead. "Thank you for dinner," she said, stepping back. "It was lovely."
On the drive home, Elena felt a wave of relief wash over her. She rolled down her window, letting the cool night air clear away the lingering scent of David's cologne. There were several things that Elena didn’t like about David. But what really bothered Elena the most was how he'd talked down about Finn. Sure, Finn might not have had as much money or the same connections, but he was a better person than David. It wasn't even close.
As she turned onto her street, Elena felt a weight lifting from her shoulders. The lights were still on in her house, warm and inviting. Elena turned off her car, eager to return to the people who mattered to her.
Chapter Seventeen
ELENA
The first thing she noticed when she stepped out of her car was the noise. It sounded like a war was being waged in her living room. As she approached the house, she heard voices too.
"No, no, RETREAT! There’s too many of them!" That was Finn's voice, pitched higher than she'd ever heard it.
"I'm trying! I'm out of ammo!" Miguel yelled back.
Elena unlocked the door and stepped inside, unprepared for the scene that greeted her. The living room had been transformed into what could only be described as a teenage boy's dream habitat. An empty pizza box lay open on the coffee table, surrounded by scattered napkins and two glasses sticky with what she assumed was soda. Miguel and Finn sat side by side on the floor, backs against the couch, controllers gripped in white-knuckled hands as they stared with unbreakable focus at the television screen.
On that screen, rendered in horrifying detail, zombies werebeing gunned down by what appeared to be extremely high-powered weaponry.
"Hey Mom," Miguel said without looking away from the TV. His thumbs moved frantically over the controller.
"Dr. Herrera," Finn acknowledged, equally distracted, his usual formality somehow even more amusing given that he was currently unloading a machine gun into a horde of zombies.
Elena set down her purse as she took in this new dynamic between Finn and Miguel. "I see you two had a quiet evening," she said dryly.
"Mm-hmm," Miguel mumbled, leaning physically to the right as if it might help his character make a sharp turn on screen. "How was the date?" he asked.
Elena hesitated. "Oh, it was okay."
She noticed Finn's thumbs hesitate on the controller, his character momentarily standing still before resuming fire.
"Just okay?" Miguel pressed, still not looking at her.
"Just okay," she confirmed, kicking off her heels with relief. The restaurant's marble floors had not been kind to her feet.
She moved toward the kitchen, gathering discarded napkins along the way. When she reached the trash can, she discovered an empty two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew nestled among the pizza crusts and paper plates.
"Guys," she called, poking her head back into the living room, "why is there a huge empty bottle of Mountain Dew in the garbage?"
Miguel's reaction was immediate and dramatic. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he extended an accusatory finger toward Finn. "I caught Finn drinking Mountain Dew in the closet."
Elena turned to Finn, eyebrows raised in mock outrage. Zombies had just surrounded his character, but he paused thegame. This drew a groan from Miguel. Then he turned to face her with a look of immense regret.
"That is... correct," he admitted solemnly. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
The utter sincerity of his confession, delivered as if he were acknowledging a serious breach of laboratory protocol rather than drinking soda, nearly broke her composure. She pressed her lips together to suppress a smile, attempting to maintain some semblance of parental authority.
“And this game,” she said, while gesturing towards the screen displaying the frozen, blood-splattered zombies. "This game is way too violent. When did you get this?"
