The living room was dimly lit by the flickering glow of the television screen, casting long shadows across the worn leather couch where Emily, her boyfriend Jake, and Jake's grandfather, Harold, sat squeezed together. It was one of those lazy Friday nights, the kind where the air smelled of popcorn and faint traces of Harold's old pipe tobacco. Jake had insisted on this family movie night, popping in some old action flick from the '80s that he'd found in the attic. Emily, at 24, with her long auburn hair tied in a loose ponytail and wearing a simple tank top that hugged her full breasts and short denim shorts that rode up her toned thighs, had agreed mostly to please Jake. She loved him, sure, but these gatherings with his family always felt a bit awkward, especially with Harold there.