layered dialogue - 2nd scene, loud music coming from teenage son's room

All of a sudden the house went silent, the music had stopped. Jack came out of his room. “What’s for dinner?”

“Homemade mushroom ravioli in a light tomato-basil sauce”. I brushed the edges of one more ravioli with water, folded it over and edged it with a fork.

“That looks really good.” He hovered on the threshold, hesitating before he entered the kitchen.

“I hope so.” I could hear the sauce on stove cooking too quickly, big splotches of it jumping over the edge of the pot and splattering onto the stove. I turned around quickly and lowered the heat.

“Can I help with anything?” He had moved closer to me.

I looked up, looked over to the dinner table in the corner. “You can always set the table.”

“Which plates should I use?”

“It doesn’t matter. Pick whichever you like.”

Jack stopped in the middle of the room, not knowing whether to grab the plates in the cabinet next to me or use the big pasta-plates that were stored in the cabinet next to the dining table. He went for the pasta plates.

“We had a math test today. I think I did pretty good.”

“That’s great. Get some fresh napkins, the old ones need to go in the wash.”

He disappeared with the dirty napkins. I folded the last ravioli. The pasta water was boiling, I lowered a few of the raviolis into the water and watched them carefully. They held together. It’s a tricky thing boiling fresh ravioli. Keep the water boiling too quickly and they break into pieces, get water-logged, beyond rescue. Not hot enough and it takes forever to get them all cooked. Before the last batch is ready the first batches are already cold.

I looked up from the steaming pot. Where had he disappeared to? I took the last batch of raviolis out of the water. Dinner was going to be perfect. I looked around the kitchen again. Where HAD he gone?

With a sigh I wiped my hands on the dishtowel I had tied around my waist and took it off.I opened the door to the garage. In a corner, next to the washer Jack was standing still, staring into the wall.

I hesitated. Just for a second. “Come on, dinner’s ready”.

He turned around. “I’m not hungry.”

I stared in disbelief at him. The silence hung in the air. I quickly turned around.

Back in the kitchen I served myself a big helping of ravioli, carefully poured some tomato-basil sauce over it. Not too much, not too little, just right. Three quick shavings of parmesan. Done. Perfect.

I sat down at the table set for two, poured myself a large glass of wine, took the first bite of the ravioli, chewed, swallowed. A second bite. I put down the fork

I walked over to the sink, poured the ravioli into the garbage disposal. I looked out the window, the almost-barren tree branches stood silently outside. It looked like rain. I shivered, it was going to be a long winter.