So, it's evening, and I'm pouring myself a glass of Belvidere (not my favorite vodka, but I don't have much for options), and Mom walks into the kitchen.
"You can't have alcohol," she says.
"I'm just going to have one drink," I reply.
"You can't because of your medications," she continues.
Dad overhears the whole conversation.
I add a little orange juice to the glass, and take it over to the couch, and sit down.
Mom goes back into her bedroom, where she stays for the night.
I down the drink quickly, and place it on the floor, empty. I start typing on the computer in my lap, not paying attention to Dad, who is heating up dinner.
In a little while, he walks up to me, with his finger up to his lips, and an orange-colored drink in his hand. He gives it to me, and goes back to the kitchen.
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