I saw him flinch when I said it, and I instantly regretted it. Still, that was why I had to check on him. All the time, in five minute intervals. Just in case. I don’t typically bother unless he’s to the point where he might pass out and he’s throwing up. That’s when it gets deadly, that’s when I don’t dare to leave him alone.
Dad typically is a functioning alcoholic, which means he could be totally drunk and you would have no fricken idea. Occasionally though, he gets totally wasted. I never get sleep on those nights, I couldn’t bear to lose him. Yeah, he’s a drunk, yes, he forgets to pay the bills, and yes, he’s totally useless at everything except painting. But he’s still my Dad, and I couldn’t stand losing him.
I walk upstairs to check on him. He looks asleep, so I wake him up. He groans. Good. He’s alive then. The bucket’s empty and he looks ok, well, relatively speaking.
When I go back down Drew is stiring the pasta silently, obviously lost in thought.
I watch his profle and for a moment, I smile.