She’s too wrecked. I shouldn’t have said anything about her decorating less. It appears to be the only thing she has control over, which is pretty fucking sad and makes me feel even worse. I should stay with her, but I can’t. Not if I want even the slimmest chance of staying sober. I want to explain all this, but it’s way too much. So I give her an awkward hug and bolt out the door. I stand outside the passenger door and Joe rolls down the window. “Are you waiting for me to open it for you?” I shake my head. “Hardly. But I do want a guarantee that you’ll get me booze if your pitch doesn’t work. Promise?” He narrows his eyes. “Promise you’ll listen and have a conversation with me for at least an hour first?” “Yes,” I huff. “Okay, then yes, I promise. AA pinkie swear or whatever.” I slip into his truck and buckle up. “AA has a pinkie swear?” “Uh, no. But you can trust me.” I look at my house as he backs out of the driveway. Mom moves robotically around the living room, unwinding lights from the tree.
