I cleaned up the mess in the hall and checked in on my dad, still looking sick, in the bathroom. I returned to the kitchen washed my hands thoroughly before checking on the food. Drew didn’t say anything and neither did I. As I was about to leave, though, he did.
Him: So, for a salad, you put the lettuce and other vegetables in a bowl?
Me: Yeah, but you have to cut up the tomatoes and onions. Oh, and grate the cheese.
He nodded, with a look of fake confidence on his face. I smiled and went back to the bathroom with a bucket and supported Dad upstairs, listening to him mutter excuses all the way. Why do I always have to be the parent?
I put the bucket by the bed.
Me (nodding to the bucket): if you feel sick…
I started to leave, but he spoke again, stronger.
Dad: I’m sorry.
Me: Yeah, whatever Dad, just go to sleep.
I went back down to find Drew in a slight predicament.
I slowly began giggling and was suddenly in hysterics.
Him (frowning embarrassedly): Maybe you should take over from here…