Rick and Morty: Smartest Morty in the multiverse

The dinner was finally finished, the smell of roasted vegetables, simmering sauce, and baked bread curling through the Smith household like a weary sigh. Beth called for dinner with a voice that vibrated through the walls not sharp, not angry, just loud enough to carry, stripped of any warmth or invitation, the kind of voice that said 'come eat' and little else.

The first one out of her room was Summer, eyes still glued to her phone, thumbs moving in steady rhythm as if her social feed dictated the pulse of the universe itself. She wandered into the kitchen with the detached grace of a sleepwalker, snagged a plate from the counter where Beth had lined them up, and wordlessly pivoted right back out of the room. No thanks. No acknowledgment. Not even a glance toward her mother, who stood there, one hand on the wine glass, the other bracing herself against the counter. Summer vanished up the stairs with a presence so ghostlike it almost felt rehearsed, a scene Beth had come to expect with such regularity it barely registered anymore.

The next person to emerge was Jerry, in all his pathetic, hopeful, clueless glory. He shuffled into the kitchen like a man both apologetic for existing and simultaneously desperate to be noticed.

His eyes darted quickly around the room, landing on Morty who stood near the counter, arms folded, gaze neutral and then flicked toward Beth. Jerry's face lit up with a flash of misplaced confidence, the kind of bravado only a man like Jerry could summon at exactly the wrong moment. "Honey, uh… my favorite show's on the TV. You mind if I watch it while I eat?" His voice had that whiny upward lilt, like a schoolboy asking permission to use the restroom.

Beth, who hadn't even fully turned toward him, stared at the countertop as if the wood grain held the answer to a better life. She didn't say yes. She didn't say no. She just… stayed silent. Shoulders heavy. Wine glass rising to her lips with the slow inevitability of a woman refusing to argue because the argument itself was a waste of breath.

Jerry, in his infinite wisdom, took this for approval. His face brightened, and with a chirpy, "Thanks, honey!" that landed like a hammer on wet cardboard, he scooped a plate off the counter and strolled out of the kitchen, heading straight for the living room.

A beat passed. The kind of silence that wasn't heavy or tense, just… hollow. Then the TV flicked on. Loud. Too loud. The volume dialed up in the way Jerry always did when he thought louder meant funnier or more important.

Beth didn't even twitch. She just poured herself a glass of wine red, deep, clinging to the glass in slow sheets and turned toward the dining room. Not a word spoken. Not a sigh wasted.

Morty watched her go, his footsteps falling into place behind hers with a quiet steadiness that sounded almost rehearsed. The house settled around them, the muted TV laughter bleeding into the background, blending with the faint clink of wineglass on wood as Beth took her seat. Morty followed her in, his expression unreadable, his presence just another quiet echo in a home that had learned long ago how to function on unspoken disappointment and the careful avoidance of things better left unsaid.

____

Anyone watching or what