One arm was stretched over the table, his fingers held the nearly empty bottle over the side. At the sound of her voice, he raised his head from the surface of the table to meet her eyes. Despite his lack of clear vision, he could see disappointment all over her. Who wouldn’t be with a shell of a father like him? They wanted one that was kind and loving, but they were stuck with a drunken idiot like him now.
“M–ali” he mumbled, but no this wasn’t Malia, “Bea, help me up.”
It's bad enough that the girls had to go through their daily lives with everyone laughing at them, but did he have to bring this shit home? She ignores the way he calls her by her mother's name. It wasn't the first time, and it definitely wouldn't be the last. Crossing to the coffee pot on the corner of the counter, she pours him a cup from yesterday's batch. Waste not, want not.
"Next time sleep at Harris'," she grumbles, setting the cold mug down in front of him before pulling him up by his underarms.
