She let her backpack drop by the door and flicked on the lights in the kitchen and living room, still bundled in her coat, mittens dangling. She grabbed the newspaper from where it sat on the arm of the couch, and flipped to the TV guide, tracing a line with her finger from the rows of scheduled airtimes to the listing with the season finale of her favorite program: a singing competition that went across the country plucking aspiring artists out of obscurity and launching them towards super-stardom. She kicked off her boots, hung her coat and grabbed a dishtowel to clean up the series of puddles left on the linoleum where she had wandered in her boots. Maybe her dad had a job interview this afternoon, she thought, or maybe he was already at work, something new. She wadded up the soiled towel and hid it behind the little plastic trash can that sat under the sink. Her mom was always reminding her to take off her boots before she went through the house.

She grabbed some cookies from the cupboard in the kitchen and turned on the TV. Her mom was usually home from work in an hour. She flipped through the channels and ate her cookies and watched as a soft twilight settled over the yard outside, the snow glowing luminescent in the gathering blackness. She heard the rush of air push through the registers as the furnace started up in the basement. During each commercial break promising this weekend only sales and fast acting pain relief, she would get up to peer out into the snow covered driveway and down the street.

The sound of the garage door opening a couple hours later sent her running to the door. The smell of pizza wafted in through the open door as her mom reached down to give her a hug, apologizing for the lateness; they had meant to leave a note. It was fine, she said, she was fine, she had just been watching TV. Her dad came in with the pizza, and asked her what the news was. She told him that the news was that she was hungry, and he laughed and carried the pizza on into the kitchen.

They ate their pizza off paper plates around the table and drank ginger ale from styrofoam cups. Her dad asked her how her day was, if she had any predictions as to who would win it all in tonight’s finale. She did not ask them where they had been, and they did not say; she ignored the way her father laughed just a little too quickly at how she devoured her dinner, how her mom only finished half a slice of pizza.