3.

305.

Double the Pleasure I polish off every bite of both boxes. Enough, according to the label, to feed a family of four. Twice. Not a very hungry family, if you ask me.

Double the pleasure. Now I feel the need for liquid fun.

Tucked away in a low cabinet is my parents' liquor stash.

Can't touch the Turkey.

The smell gags me and anyway, Daddy would notice it missing.

The Chopin vodka, stashed in the freezer, is a different song, and I'm so ready to drink that slushy tune.

I'll never sleep without it.

Too many conflicts, volleying inside my head, bouncing off the interior of my skull.

I don't really like the taste of vodka, but they say you can't smell it on the breath.

Not sure if that's true, or if it matters. Even if Daddy did wake up, he couldn't smell the vodka for the Turkey.

306.

Double the Fun I poke my head into the living room. Daddy hasn't so much as twitched, at least that's my guess.

The rest of the house is quiet **

as death. Think I'm safe.

I fill a juice glass half full of fermented potato juice, try not to think about such ingredients **

as I down the clear, hot-and-cold liquid. Cold, as in not-quite frozen.

Hot, as in its burn down the throat.

Frozen smolder, a popular combo.

Phew! Chopin is definitely not cabernet. Still, while I feel it on my tongue, I don't feel it in my brain. Probably the mega **

macaroni meal. This time I fill the four-ounce glass almost to the brim, think about adding some water **

to the bottle before I put it away, decide against it. I doubt anyone will miss it, and I might want an encore performance.

307.

Clutching the glass like a baby holds a bottle, I pad softly down the hall, to my room. I try sipping **

the vodka, but gulping it is easier, and very quickly, the glass is empty again.

Shouldn't I feel inebriated?

Ha. Funny word. Inebri...

ineb...whoa. Wouldn't want to have to spell it!

i-n-i...er, inebre...okay, **

so maybe the Chopin is singing a little ditty after all. I'm usually a really good speller.

308.

I Start to Feel A little fuzzy at the edges, and warm behind my eyes.

Fuzzy and warm. That makes **

me think of Ian. I glance at the clock. Not quite nine.

I think I can get away with **

a quick phone call. One ring, two ringies...three ringy dingies...C'mon, Ian. Pick up.

Finally, Hello? Kaeleigh?

What's wrong?

He waits patiently for me to explain **

just why I'm actually calling him. This is something rare.

"Nu ...nothing. I just wanted **

t-to say...uh..." What did I want to say again? Oh. yeah.

I remember. "Uh...Um..."

I can't finish it, and his patience comes unraveled.

Have you been drinking?

309.

I could lie, but he'd know I was lying. "Uh, maybe a little..." Ball's in his court.

He rallies.

I don't get it.

Kaeleigh. Why tonight?

Wasn't today good for you?

I think back. Good. Good.

Sorta good. Not so good.

Better now. Or is it really?

Don't say any of that! "It was wonderful. That's why I called. To tell you..."

Grow a pair, Kaeleigh. Tell him. He needs to hear it right now. "I lu...love you."

Pregnant pause. About nine months pregnant.

I love you. too.

But love doesn't make me drink.

310.

What Does Make Him Drink?

I wonder, trying my damnedest not to giggle. My entire core knows laughing will make him turn his back forever.

So why do I really need to laugh?

(Oh girl, too many reasons to mention!) "S-so-sorry, Prince P-p-p-perfect. I guess th-that means..."

Brother! Why won't my mouth work? Straighten up and say it.

"Guess that means you never found out your dad is s-scr..."

I swallow any sort of apology.

"Screwing your neighbor."

There. Said it. React, okay?

Pregnant pause becomes three **

weeks overdue. Four weeks.

Time for a C-section.

What?

Oh. Kaeleigh, I'm so sorry.

Are you sure...?

Spoken like a true guy. Even if I'm not sure, I say, "Of course I'm damn well sure. Do you think I drink for the fun of it?"

311.

I Regret Everything Immediately The confession. The out-and-out meanness. That I called at all, considering the state I'm in.

"I'm s-sh-sorry, Ian. I just didn't know who I could t-t-talk to, except for you. I'll go now,'kay?"

Wait. Are you sure you're okay?

Do you want me to pick you up in the morning?