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CINDY HARRINGTON SUNK deeper into the plush cushions of the large couch, legs tucked underneath her as she blankly stared at the television set in front of her.
She glanced down at her watch, smiling as it was right on time for her to leave.
Mike had called her earlier that evening, informing the youngest Harrington that their friends were planning on meeting at the arcade that night—he had also made sure to stress that she should find as much loose change as possible, as the boys were extremely possessive over their hauls, and it wasn't likely they would be inclined to spare her anything.
"I'm off," Cindy spoke, wiping her hands over pants as she stood, walking towards where her mother sat in a coral lounge chair, pressing a loving kiss to her cheekbone.
"Oh," Dianne Harrington smiled gently, slipping her hand through her daughter's, giving it a soft squeeze before releasing it, "Have fun, sweetheart. Call us if you need anything."
The Harrington girl sent a nod in her mother's direction, smiling as she made her way to the foyer.
"I guess I wasn't told you had plans tonight," Ron Harrington spoke, not bothering to pull his crinkled eyes away from the television.
Cindy halted at the sound of his voice, cringing slightly as she spun on her heel to face him.
"Oh, yeah. Sorry, I thought you already knew," She picked at her fingernails, rolling her eyes in his direction as he concentrated on the commercial blaring through the television.
Her father hummed, a sound she had long ago learned was his favorite way to voice his disapproval.
Her eyes trailed over him, still in the clothes he had worn to work, the cuffs of his white dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, his tie was loosened, and he had long discarded his suit jacket, draping it over the arm of the couch when he had arrived home.
His hair—a deeper shade of brown than her mother's, one that almost looked black in the right lighting—was slicked back, yet it was obvious he had run his hand through it frequently during his long workday.
Cindy ground her teeth together as his eyes finally met her's, glancing down to where he clenched his hand around the glass of scotch he held in his palm.
