Curious and still fuzzy-headed, Paul asks his son what on earth went down the night before. The kid shrugs like he’s used to explaining Dad’s disasters. “You came home drunk, crashed into the door, and smashed the coffee table,” he deadpans. Paul blinks, trying to connect the dots between the wreckage and the rose-tinted peace treaty on his nightstand.
“But if I trashed the place, why does everything look so perfect now?” Paul wonders aloud, half hoping for a magic elf to appear and clean up his mess. His son grins mischievously, “Because when Mom tried to help, you yelled, ‘Leave me alone! I’m married!’” Apparently, even in chaos, loyalty is still a winning move. Or at least that’s what Paul tells himself.
