“You guys need anything else?” he asked. “Another martini, Betty?” “Do you mind?” she asked Dad. I always thought it was cute when she did that. My mom’s alcohol tolerance was low and after two martinis, she’d be a ball of giggles. She always made sure Dad didn’t care if she got tipsy, which he never did. But she always asked his permission, not because she had to, but because above all else, they were thoughtful of one another. “Of course not.” He patted her knee. “Go for it. I’ll have another too.”
