Mrs. Florene just called me. I was laying in bed listening to Taylor Swift sing about being fifteen and in love.
“What do you think about throwing a party for George’s fourth week of sobriety?” she asked me. “It would just be me, you, and George. We would have hors’devours and sober punch. I make a mean punch with carbonated apple juice!”
“Let’s wait till six weeks,” I said, hating to burst her bubble. “George told me he is still very shaky. I don’t want to put pressure on him.”
“Okay baby,” Mrs. Florene replied. “I am going to listen to you. You’ve been there and done that.”
We hung up the phones and I deeply smiled. Mrs. Florene so loves George much like mom loves me. They would both do just about anything to help us. Mrs. Florene is a deeply religious woman and she told me the other day she got down on her knees and prayed deeply to God for a change in George and George quit drinking. Coincidence or divine intervention? You decide.