"Yes, you can. It'll be good for all of us if you did," Charlie replies, reaching over and taking her mothers hands with her own. She thinks over how to proceed for a moment, likening this to helping an overexcited fan work through what they want to say. But she can't really figure out if that'd even work for this moment and she frowns some.

It's clear she wants to help her mother. Painfully so with the way her eyebrows knit, her emotions on the subject clouding her features for a moment. Her own emotions, emotions she lets shine through with ease because she knows who the source is. It's herself.

Her mother had different emotional give-aways, like the flickering eyes, and the disjointed speech patterns.

Grace needed a distraction.

"I threw a cup at him. That hand-painted one that said 'fuck this shit' on it? I threw it at Dad, hard as I could." She pauses, waiting for Mom to react before continuing on. "It didn't hit him. It was headed right for him, and he didn't move, and it hit the wall behind him."

Mom's smart enough to figure out what that means, right?

"I was afraid for everyone, until that happened. Now?" A shake of her head and a one-shoulder 'no fucks given' shrug.