Grandma nods in agreement, and then reaches into a cabinet to grab a bottle of vodka. She pours some into her tea. Mom purses her lips. “Mom, it’s not even noon.” “What’s your point?” She pours a little more into the glass. “Lucy, you want some?” “No, thank you.” I try not to laugh. “I seriously don’t understand developing a drinking problem in your seventies,” Mom says. Grandma sits at the head of the table. “Why not? Way I see it, seems like the perfect time to develop a drinking problem. It’s dull as hell around here.”
