I watch with bated horror as she brings the rim of the glass to her mouth and takes a long gulp. This is a come-laced defeat if I’ve ever seen it. She moves the liquid around in her mouth, as if she’s savoring a fine glass of merlot on a fancy wine tour. “What is this?” she asks, taking another sip for good measure. “Did you make this yourself?” “You could say that.” I try to take the drink away, but she pulls it against her chest once more.
