The Weekly Shriek: Being Supportive

Maaaaaooooom!

I hurried to the door. Our twenty-two year old son Nate stood on the porch with a box of liquor in his arms.

"You forgot to tell me there was going to be a party," I said as he squeezed past me with his booty.

"I'm going to be a bartender, Mom. This is my homework from Bartending School."

"Great." Okay, I admit it. I was ambivalent about the idea. On the other hand, a child who could pay his own rent was an attractive concept.

"I need a guinea pig," he said as he hefted the box of bottles onto the kitchen counter.

"A what?"

"Be supportive!" My husband Johnny whispered as he brushed past me to examine the liquor. "Hey, boy. Got any beer?"

"I just open a bottle for that," Nate shrugged. "Nothing to practice."

"So what's the assignment?" I pulled a stool up to the counter.

"Mixed drinks. You know -- cocktails?" He went back outside for more supplies.

"Be supportive." Johnny picked up a bottle of Vodka and shook it at me.

I took a deep breath and nodded. "Get out the cocktail glasses."

"Where are they?"

"I haven't seen them since we moved."

"Maybe they are under the sink with all our other kitchen appliances?"

I shrugged. "Let's face it. I go out when I want to drink."

"Let's face it, Mom. You never drink." Nate came back in with a grocery bag full of juices, sodas, colas, fruits, olives and other mixers.

"I do TOO drink." Something about the tone of his voice made me want to drink heavily.

"Yeah -- right." Johnny elbowed Nate who laughed and elbowed Johnny back.

"Maybe you better just make them for me," Johnny said as he fetched the cocktail glasses out from under the sink. "Your mother's always been a cheap date."

I scowled after Johnny and smiled at Nate. "You got recipes?"

"Of course, I've got recipes." Nate tossed me a thick square manual and took out an orange, three lemons and a jar of maraschino cherries. "See anything in there that you'd like to try?"

I thumbed through the book. "Nothing with cherries."

"They gave you penicillin in cherry cough syrup when you were a kid." Johnny and Nate recited together.

I blushed. "I guess I say that a lot, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Johnny rolled his eyes. "Maybe two thousand times since we first met."

"I don't say it that much."

"Oh yes you do." Nate laughed. "Almost as much as 'Did you know I'm the same age as Beaver Cleaver?'"

To change the subject, I pointed to a picture of a brown drink. "How about that one?"

"One Bailey's and Cream, coming up." Nate poured me a half a glass of cream and a touch of something from a dark bottle.

I reached for it eagerly. "This is going to be good."

"You haven't touched it. How do you know?"

I figured my youngest was being oversensitive. He probably thought I'd only say I liked it, poor baby. I took a big swig. "It's hard to mess up cream," I said and licked the rim of the glass.

"What do you want, Dad?"

"Vodka martini, dry -- with a twist of lime -- not an olive, a lime."

"He's picky about his martinis." I drained my Bailey's and set the glass down hard on the counter while Nate prepared Johnny's drink.

"There ya go, Dad." Nate handed his father a cocktail.

Johnny took a sip -- and sighed. "The best." He headed back up the stairs.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"To work on my computer."

"Not going to drink with us?"

He raised his glass. "A nip in time."

"What's that mean," Nate asked.

"That he drinks slowly. He'll be back down when his glass is empty."

"Oh." Nate looked disappointed.

"I'll have another one." I handed him my empty glass and smiled my most motherly smile. "What else you got in that book?"

"How about a Fuzzy Naval?"

"What's that?"

"Be surprised."

"Okay." I watched him cut up an orange and open a tiny bottle of peach schnapps.

"Looks pretty sweet."

"Want some pretzels?"

I accepted the bag of pretzels and ripped it open with my teeth. Actually, I felt good about myself -- being supportive and all. The Fuzzy Naval made me feel even better. By the time I finished it, Nate had a line of martinis sitting on the counter.

"Which one you want to try next?"

I tapped pretzel crumbs out of the bag into my mouth. "Um..Whas that one?"

"Which one?"

"Da green one?"

"Uh. I forgot. Let me check it out." Nate flipped through his book.

"Das okey-dokey. I'll try it anyway." I picked it up and took a sip.

"Is it okay?" Nate raised an eyebrow.

I set the green drink down and made a face. "Not my favoroot."

He pushed a reddish drink toward me. "Try a Cosmopolitan."

"Oooooooookay." I giggled and took a sip. "Whassinit?" I burped and took another swallow.

"Cranberry juice."

"Eeeeeuuuuuwwwww." I offered him back the half empty glass. "Ah hate cranburry juice!"

"How about a Bloody Mary?" He reached for my glass, but I pulled it back for another sip of that nasty cranberry juice drink.

"Mom, I think you've had enough."

"Naw, Ah'm fine. Ah'm beensportive."

"Mom? Momma?"

"Issokay."

"Daaaaaad! Mom just fell off the kitchen stool."

I grabbed hold of Nate's shirt as he and his father helped me up off the floor. "Kinahstopbeensportivenow?"