If you're drunk, what should we do?
"Don't worry, I can handle it."
In the evening, the person who said they could handle it was already drunk.
William Westlake scooped some ice cream into his mouth, slowly sauntering to Thomas Shannon's bedside, wrinkling his little nose like a little puppy, giving a big sniff, and retreated in disgust.
"Daddy's stinky."
The man reeking of alcohol lay on the bed, deeply asleep.
He didn't even hear his son's disdain.
Snowball stood at the bedside, tiptoeing, stretching out her tiny hand to touch Thomas Shannon's forehead, then her own, making sure Thomas Shannon wasn't sick before stopping.
Sophie Sullivan hugged her arm, her body leaning on the doorframe, seeing the reaction of the two little fellows, she pressed her lips, "Snowball, William, BBQ has started, let's go downstairs."
"Okay, Fennie!" William turned around and sprinted towards her.
Snowball stood in place, refusing to move.
