Interior, apartment. Evening.
Samantha is sitting at the kitchen counter. She is visibly tense. She has a headache. She's annoyed that they are going out. She's annoyed that she agreed to Eric moving in with her. She's annoyed that Eric exists. She's annoyed that she will have to drive and pick up Sarah, and that Sarah has some new boyfriend that she invited to dinner: Doesn’t she have a clue? These dinners are to spend time with Grandma, not an amusement for your endless string of ridiculous relationships. When are you going to grow up?
Eric walks in, sees Sam's expression.
Eric: "How did it go?"
Sam does not respond.
Eric: “Is there anything I can do?”
Sam: “Yes. There is. There's always something you could do. Look around. Fix something. Clean something. Make a meal once in a while. Make some more money so I don't have to always be the one responsible for everything."
Eric: "Do you want to talk about it?"
Sam: "No, I don't. I don't want to talk about it. I'm tired of talking about it."
She leaves the room.