Wildfire

tried to go home, but only lasted twenty-four hours with my dad’s post-casino-loss drunk, incoherent bullshit and my mom’s borderline professional inability to hold him accountable for his actions before I was on my way back to campus.

“Don’t worry,” he says softly, stopping me before I can apologize again. “It’s just soda.

“Could be worse,” Robbie muses from across the living room. “You could have to move to Canada this summer.”