Something about the snow drives her son crazy. It’s not like when he was little and would energetically build snowmen and poorly constructed igloos. Now he goes around throwing snowballs at the neighbors and writing his name in their lawns in a completely inappropriate way. When she glimpses out the window in the morning and sees how fast the snow is falling, she unplugs the phone. She just doesn’t want to hear it right now. When Jake gets home, she’ll punish him without knowing exactly what his crime was (but knowing full well that there has been a crime).

For now she has a quiet house to herself, so she fixes herself a screwdriver and plops on the couch.

She takes a sip of her drink and grimaces. “Ugh. Too much OJ.”

She thinks about reading a book or watching television or doing some cleaning or doing anything, but instead she just takes another gulp of her drink and plays with a frayed string on one of the throw pillows.

She spends the rest of the morning like this, and her most strenuous activity is refilling her glass.

When Jake comes home, he slams the front door and she cringes.

“Mom!” he yells. “I’m hungry!”

Meredith sets her glass on the table then lays down on the couch. Just as she’s closing her eyes, Jake walks into the room.

“Didn’t you hear me?” he says. “I’m hungry.”

“There’s lunchmeat in the fridge,” she replies.

“You got bologna,” Jake tells her. “You know I hate bologna.”

“Not now,” she sighs. “I have a headache.”

“You always have a headache,” he mutters and stomps from the room.

She considers going after him, but only has the energy to close her eyes.

As she’s drifting off to sleep, she tells herself she’ll change tomorrow.