“Do you want anything to drink?” Emily whispers.
“Water, please,” I manage to choke out.
She nods, promises me she will be back soon, and heads off toward the kitchen. I position myself near one of the windows, focusing on where the trees meet the bright blue sky. I trace the outline of the trees, hoping it will calm me down. I feel nervous and jittery, as if I am on the verge of a panic attack.
Emily returns with a glass of water and says, “This place is crowded. Your mom is talking to someone in the kitchen and is already hitting the wine.”
Her voice is casual but I know what she is saying. It is only a matter of time until mom is too drunk to function. People will excuse it today. She is grieving, after all. But Emily knows what I know. Mom was already drinking increasingly when Dad
