When I've succeeded in eating four waffles with butter and maple syrup, Mrs Musgrove pushes my plate away. I'm almost gasping at how full I am, but it feels good, and I know that my jeans, if I stand up, will fit tighter around me. Well done.

"Now Anne, honey, tell me how you're doing," says Mrs Musgrove. Lou and Hen settle down in their stools, listening avidly. I realize they must have heard about our pseudo-bankruptcy somewhere and are dying for full details. Mary would never have told them, and Charles would think it insensitive to gossip about his wife's family. And knowing the Musgrove women, that only made them more determined to hear the truth. And here I am, so it's going to be straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak.

Awesome.

But I really don't mind telling them. Besides Rochelle, they are the only ones I would ever tell everything to. So I lean my head back onto Mrs Musgrove's soft shoulder and spin everything out, as it happened. I don't tell them how I feel about it. They can guess for themselves, and besides, what's the point? I can't change anything anyway.

Lou looks more and more outraged as I keep talking, and she opens her mouth to interject hotly once or twice, but Hen stops her, touching her hand, raising her eyebrows. I'm grateful. Lou doesn't always understand why I do what I do; she's more passionate, more straightforward. She has more of a backbone. I'm always slightly wary of telling her anything because she'll regale me with a list of the things I should do, of what she would do in my position. Hen understands, though, that I don't need a sermon right now.

When I'm finished, Mrs Musgrove sighs, and pats my head, stroking my hair, which I've always loved. Hen speaks, after throwing a cautioning glance at Lou: "So what's happening now, then?" Her bright blue eyes are thoughtful, concerned. I feel a pang of guilt for making them all worry.

"Well, I'm here for now. For as long as Mary insists I help her with everything," I do a passable imitation of my sister's voice, and everyone chuckles. "And then, I don't know. Maybe I'll go live with my dad and Elizabeth when they've found a place. Maybe not. I'm not sure," I sigh, straightening myself up from off Mrs Musgrove's shoulder. "I might help them until they get back on their feet, you know? Then, when they're good, I can go do my own thing."

There's a little silence, and I know Lou is dying to speak, but Mrs Musgrove interrupts her. "Are you all settled in the house?"

I pull a wry grin, "All my stuff is in the foyer still, I'm pretty sure. Unless 'Eve'—"

"—Yvonne—" all three put in.

"—took them already," I finish, smiling. "I kind of didn't want to spend a whole lot of time there just yet."

Lou pushes her stool away from the island, jumping up. She can't sit in the same place for very long, and she's probably frustrated with me as well, so she can't wait to occupy herself with something else. She clears away the dishes, liberating me of the fork I'm fiddling with, talking to Hen at a louder volume about a boyfriend or a boy friend, I can never tell which. Mrs Musgrove pats my shoulder again, and I turn to see her kind, wonderful, understanding eyes twinkle at me.

"Don't feel hurt, honey. She doesn't understand. There are some things that Lou's good at, but understanding other people's personalities and motivations is not one of them. She just doesn't understand, is all."

I nod, quirking my mouth up, and placing my head back on her shoulder. I'm so full, I can almost feel my stomach expanding, millimeter by millimeter, so full all I want to do is take a small siesta right here at the counter.

In fact, that sounds like an excellent idea.

Surrounded by the smell of food and lively chatter, I close my eyes and drift off.

I wake up on the couch in the den. It's big and plush, the kind you'd see in a Martha Stewart catalogue, only I doubt Martha has a penchant for electric blue with turquoise piping. A blanket is thrown across my legs, and I'm so comfortable, I don't want to move. The TV is staring at me, and I can almost hear it calling me to find the most mindless thing possible and watch it until my eyes fall out.

Sounds enticing, no?

I reach for the remote, but it's just beyond the extent of my arm. I try again, without moving, hoping that somehow I've suddenly acquired the Force or telekinetic powers. To no avail. I sigh in frustration, scooting myself slightly, but not shifting very much. No good. I can touch the thing now, but I'm not close enough to grab it. Dilemma. I want mindless, numbing, boring, and stupid TV that makes me despair for the future of my country and the world at large, but I'm not prepared to leave my warm nest to make it happen.

I'm finally considering actually moving when Lou walks into the room, seeing my poor arm outstretched in a vain attempt to add bone mass and length, and she laughs.

"What do you want to watch?" She says, picking up the remote and flopping herself down at the end of my feet. "My Super Sweet Sixteen?"

"Even I won't go that low," I scoff.

"Okay…we've got your Pimp My Rides, your America's Next Top Model Marathon, your Lizzie McGuire, your…what is that, Hellboy? Miss Congeniality…Die Hard With a Vengence…the Wedding Planner…Harry Potter—"

"Which one?"

"Number one. Nope?"

"Nope."

"Saving Private Ryan…"

"Does it seem like they show the same movies over and over, or is it just me?"

"Totally just you. Absolutely paranoid. I don't know what I'm going to do with you and your theories." She giggles as I prod her with my foot. "Oooh! Angry Beavers!"

"Hell yes!" I settle in for good old school cartoon watching, prepared to let my mind shut up for a while. But Lou isn't ready for that just yet.

"Hey Anne?" I try to keep from sighing. I know what's probably coming.

"Hey what?"

"Why do you always let your family tell you what to do?" She says it conversationally, and it is, in a way. We've talked about this before; there's nothing new to say.

"Someone has to save them from themselves."

"That's a shitty answer!"

"It's the one I've got, Lou," I settle my head on the crook of my elbow, hoping she'll take the hint.

"No, Anne, come on. You're so cool, and everyone you're related to sucks. Why not look out for yourself?"

Mrs Musgrove had been right, Lou doesn't understand, and couldn't, really. I'm silent for a while, trying to think of a less condescending way of saying that to her, but I don't find one, and the time for saying anything has passed. I watch the cartoon beavers yell at each other, and let the conversation slide. When the show's done, Lou grabs the remote and starts flicking through channels again, not asking my opinion this time. She settles on Boy Meets World, and I think about closing my eyes to go back to sleep when she says: "You know the Crofts are coming to visit, right?"

I freeze. The Crofts are his sister and brother-in-law. His coach. I thought I'd escaped them by coming here.

"Why?" is all I can think to say.

"They wanted to meet all the family, and I think Mummy and Daddy know them a little. And they said they've heard a lot about you, too, so they want to meet you. They said they didn't get a chance to before."

Oh God. This was when the torch and pitchforks would come out. And I'd deserve it, but that doesn't mean I relish the idea.

"Oh," I say, trying to sound mildly interested rather than as if I'm facing a firing squad.

"Hey, did you know that Mrs Croft's Ahmir Wentworth's sister? I mean, you're practically renting to royalty! A demi-god, if you will. Maybe he'll come here and I'll get to meet him. Wouldn't that be sweet?"

She's excited, and funny, but I'm not laughing. Suddenly, a very real, very scary possibility has entered my head, and I'm stark frozen in terror. What if he does come here? What the hell will I do? I prod Lou with my feet again to get her thinking I'm teasing her for her exuberance. In reality, though, I'm very much in fear of the future.

Which, I tell myself from that corner of the brain that can stay ironic when everything else is frozen, is kind of what you wanted when you started watching TV in the first place.

Awesome, indeed.