The idea of going to rehab again was horrifying enough on it's own, but it was Christmas, and Thomas was secretly terrified it would be his father's last. He wanted to be with him.
"Please," Thomas said, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat a little, "those aren't mine. I know- I understand why you think they are, but they're not."
"Thomas, please," Lena sighed. "Don't lie to me. I cannot handle you lying to me."
Thomas chewed on his lip then and he shuffled a little. "See, now I don't know what to say, because if I claim them as mine, I'll be lying, but if I keep saying they aren't, you'll think I'm lying and be upset. Things are better! Look, I'll admit I want to take that bag off you and chase three of them with some vodka or something, but I won't. I remember how upset it made you and I have myself convinced if I ever did it again you'll both move out. Which...by the way you shouldn't tell me if that's not true, because it keeps me from doing it. If you honestly think I would risk that I have no idea what to say."