Dinner

 Friday I still had those six words stuck in my head, "hope you have a great year".  I worked the day on my computer at home.  Firefly woke late and continued to be late the rest of the day.  She left to score drugs in the afternoon and got caught in rush hour traffic on the ride home.

Firefly:  I wanted to get you a cake on the way home but I guess that's not happening.

Bathwater: Just get home and we will figure it all out.

We ended up leaving for the restaurant at 7:00 pm.  Firefly was dressed in a little black dress and sheer jacket.  She looked cute but the weather was a bit cool for the outfit.  She did not care she had been determined to wear the dress since our trip to Ludington.

We had to wait 45 minutes for a table which gave us enough time to run across the street and buy a cake.  Firefly had them write, "Happy 21st Birthday" on it.  

While we waited in the car for our table she said to me,  "You still haven't told me how old you really are."

"Yes I have, I'm twenty-five,"  I assure her but she is not buying my claim.  "Was born the year after JFK was shot, look it up."

Firefly bounced around across from me during the meal.  She was happy, in a way I don't see very often. Like most of her generation she was as interested in taking pictures of the evening as enjoying it.  We ate the cake at home in bed while watching a few episodes of the series, Justified.  Once our stomachs settled, we had sex in several positions.

Those are the good days. The days I don't mind having her around.  The rest of the weekend she spent with her old boyfriend (not the violent one), he is an addict like her.  A functioning addict one step away from crashing.  He is very much like Billie.  Firefly thinks he is her forever.  I keep reminding her that the chances of them both getting clean is not good.  

I tell her she needs a plan by the end of the month.  I don't have much faith in her recovery.  Everyone she knows and everything she does revolves around drugs.  She will need to give that up if she wants to change.

She says she wants to move back here after rehab.  "I'm not your parent," I tell her.  "I don't want to deal with you."  Right now I just want to get her to rehab.  Coming back will be under a strict set of conditions.  Things her family should have instituted when she was fifteen, not twenty.