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Tracy Anderson-Hummel is a smart girl. All of the Anderson-Hummel children are, and they were raised to make the right decisions in every circumstance.
Now, everybody makes mistakes. In the realm of underage drinking, Tracy vowed to wait until she was a responsible 21-year-old to drink. She knows that some of her friends have drank before, and of course she knows the hilariously painful stories of her own parents’ teenage drunken shenanigans — including the one where Pops made out with Aunt Rachel.
So when Tracy attends the graduation party of a girl from her class (not a super close friend of hers, but she knew her well enough that she figured she should go), she doesn’t even think for a second that the punch could be spiked. It’s a graduation party. Not a secret parents-aren’t-home trashy basement party.
After two cups of this really, really great punch, Tracy starts to feel... odd. Her head is spinning, and she’s slurring her words a little bit... and is the floor moving, or is she?
“Tracy?” Hannah, the host of the party, looks at her concernedly. “Are you okay?”
Tracy nods slowly, feeling like her head would fly off if she shook it any faster. She then lifts her hand and gestures in what she hopes is the direction of the punch bowl. “Um, yeah? Just... what is in that punch?”
“Oh, pineapple juice, Hawaiian Punch, ginger ale, and Absolut.”
Tracy chokes on her words. “Vodka?”
Hannah shrugs like it’s the most normal thing to have at an 18 year old’s graduation party. “Yeah? There is a sign in front of it saying it‘s alcoholic. The non-alcoholic punch is on that table.”
Hannah gestures to another drink table across the patio, and Tracy wants to throw up. Half because of the alcohol that is coursing through her system, and half because she could’ve been drinking age-appropriate punch this whole time if she’d just went to the other table.
“The drunk punch, as she calls it, is my mom’s favorite,” Hannah continues. “Obviously, the non-alcoholic punch is for us... oh my god. You drank the spiked punch.”
Tracy nods again, feeling tears start to well in her eyes. “I drank the drunk punch!”
Hannah bites back a laugh, despite genuinely looking concerned for her friend. “Okay, uh, okay. Just sit down and let me get you some water.”
Tracy obeys willingly, carefully settling into a lawn chair as Hannah grabs a bottle of water from one of the drink tables.
“Oh my god, Tracy, I am so sorry,” she apologizes earnestly as soon as she returns. “The sign saying that the punch is alcoholic fell off the table! That’s why you didn’t see it.”
Tracy groans, accepting the water that Hannah holds out to her. “It’s okay, I don’t — I don’t blame you.”
“I feel so bad,” Hannah replies. “Have you ever drank before?”
“No,” Tracy swallows the lump in her throat. “I mean, my pops let me have a sip of his wine once when Dad wasn’t looking, but that is literally the only time my lips have ever touched a drop of alcohol.”
Hannah fights back a chuckle at Tracy’s drunk-dramatics. “Okay, honey. It’s not that big of a deal; it’ll pass. Do you want to go lay on my bed? You can stay here until you feel a little bit more sober. I can explain to my parents what happened.”
Tracy shakes her head, feeling overly emotional for some reason. “Is it okay if I just go home? I mean, I really want to cele —“ she pauses, trying to fully form the correct word. “...celebrate with you, but I just don’t feel good.”
Hannah smiles. “I completely understand. No hard feelings. We can catch up one-on-one by grabbing breakfast sometime. Okay? Do you want me to call your dads to explain?”
Tracy shakes her head. “If I could just go inside with the air conditioning, I’ll call them. It’s so hot and I’m sweating a lot.”
“Of course,” Hannah takes Tracy by the arm and discreetly leads her indoors, setting her up in the living room, far away from the party. “Just call me if you need anything.”
Tracy nods. “Thank you, Hannah. I’m sorry.” She hiccups.
“No! Don’t apologize! It’s not your fault. Believe me, I feel so bad.”
As Hannah leaves, Tracy pulls out her phone and, immediately knowing who to call, presses the contact named “Popcorn.”
(Each of the kids have unique names for their dads in their contact information. Tracy called dibs on “Popcorn,” but Audrey has the universal family favorite: “Pop to the Top.”)
“Hey, hun. What’s up? How’s the party?”
“Pops, I am so sorry,” Tracy cries, tears finally streaming down her face after holding them back for so long. “I accidentally got drunk and now I’m really sick because I drank punch that I thought was really good and not... not... drunk punch and it was really drunk punch but the sign saying it was drunk punch fell off the table and I didn’t see it and so I drank it and the worst thing is that there was not-drunk-punch on the table across the patio!”
“Okay, okay. Calm down, honey. Crying is only going to make you feel sicker,” Blaine says gently. “Do you want me to come get you? I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
Tracy sniffles. “Yeah. I’m so sorry, Pops! I really didn’t mean to.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I know you didn’t. I’m not mad, and Dad won’t be either.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. I’ll see you in fifteen, Trace. Hang tight.”
Fifteen minutes feels like fifteen hours, but as soon as Tracy sees Blaine’s car pull up outside Hannah’s house, she stumbles out as fast as she can, meeting her father halfway to the road.
“Woah, woah, careful,” Blaine chuckles, holding tight to his oldest daughter as she practically falls into his arms. “Hey, I would’ve come in to help you walk out.”
“I just wanted a hug,” Tracy mumbles, burying her face in Blaine’s shoulder. “Pops, are you sure Dad isn’t mad?”
“I’m sure, sweetie. He actually found it kind of funny.”
Tracy sniffles again, laughing a bit. “It is kind of funny, isn’t it?”
Blaine grins, helping his daughter climb into the front seat and buckle her seatbelt. “Maybe just a little bit.”
Tracy suddenly breaks out into a loud fit of uncontrollable laughter. “I drank — I drank — I drank the drunk punch!”
Blaine chuckles as he pulls out onto the street. “Breathe, honey.”
“I DRANK THE DRUNK PUNCH!”
Another fifteen minutes later, Blaine kicks the door shut behind them as he lets Tracy lean on him as they walk into the house, Kurt greeting them with a cool washcloth, water, and some aspirin.
“Daddy,” Tracy gasps, still laughing hysterically. “I drank the drunk punch, but I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry!”
Kurt shoots his husband a confusedly amused look, having last heard that Tracy was absolutely beside herself with tears. Blaine just mouths back, “She laughed the whole ride home.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Kurt rubs his oldest daughter’s back with his free hand as she clings to him. “Let’s get you to bed, okay? Maybe a nap will help.”
Tracy nods. “Oops. I think I drooled on you a little.”
Blaine snorts and clamps a hand over his mouth, resisting pulling out his phone and taking a video with every fiber of his being. Kurt had warned him not to do so before he left, and the other Anderson-Hummel children were asked to stay in their respective rooms for Tracy’s eventual sober humiliation’s sake.
“It’s okay,” Kurt replies, helping Tracy up the stairs while balancing the supplies he prepared for her. “Take them slowly; one at a time.”
“We have a million stairs!” Blaine hears her exclaim as he watches them from the first floor, and Kurt’s exasperated laugh seems all-too-familiar.
Blaine remembers the first time he heard that specific laugh. Despite being drunk on Rachel Berry’s fathers’ liquor, he remembers that laugh that Kurt gave him when he was dancing in a drunken stupor.
He shudders. There’s some parts of that night that he really wishes he forgot.