“Is that Oakley?” Mom asked in a shout. “He’s handsome, honey. Y’all would make beautiful babies. Oh my God. Do you think I’ll be a hot grandmother? Like a GILF?”

I giggled, and Dad had to cover his mouth to keep the snort from escaping. “You’ll always be totally fuckable, Mom,” I assured her, deciding to graze over the conversation about Oakley and me making babies. Hell. No. I mean, I wouldn’t mind practicing though.

“I just love you so much. You’re doing really great out here. I’m glad you got away from it all. I just miss you all the time,” Mom said while wrapping her slender arm around me. Dad stared at the scoreboard. It wasn’t even half time and Mom was hella buzzed. I was beginning to wonder if my bangle flask held enough vodka to get us through the rest of the game, the way my mom was pounding it back.

“Crosby, look!” my mom said excitedly, pointing to a vendor carrying brightly colored frozen drinks in giant plastic cups shaped like footballs. “Look, look, looooook! They are just like the ones we had on our first date!” she said, booping my dad on the nose. Nobody could say that my parents weren’t madly in love.

My dad waved over the guy selling the drinks and forked over an ungodly twenty dollars each for my mom, himself, and me. He probably didn’t even realize what he’d done. I guess it was hard for them to understand that I couldn’t have just one sip. One taste. One drink. Both my parents could easily handle a glass of wine at dinner or a bender once a month. But not me. I thanked my dad, took the drink and immediately set it down by my feet. I didn’t even want to guess at how many calories were in it. I was also technically working, so I didn’t think getting buzzed was the best idea.

My mom started cheering wildly and yelled, “GO OAKLEY!!! WOOOOO!” and then broke down into a fit of giggles. I giggled along with her.

The players cleared the field, and the cheerleaders came bouncing onto the field, yelling and waving their pom poms. They got into formation and started their first routine. To my horror, my mom was doing it right along with them, yelling the words and swinging her hips like she owned the place. She was bumping into everybody on all sides, but she was having the time of her life. I thought it was pretty funny until the whole stadium started going wild, and I saw my drunk, cheering, dancing mother on the jumbotron.

Nope.

This was not happening.

“Look, Crosby! I’m on TV!!”

I gave my father a look of pure pleading. “Fix this,” I hissed in a low voice.