Cooking Wine

I’m visiting Michigan after 3 years on the East coast.
I’m staying at James' and Faith’s. The house is surrounded by big growth trees, crackling animal foot falls and wild turkey mating calls. My luggage was lost on the train and I wear other people’s clothes.
Last night, Nick brought A.J. here and Dex rode his Harley out to see me. She tries to teach me Salsa but it’s useless.
Dex laughs too loud. He seems nervous around me.
They brought out a birthday cake with balloons full of frosting and no candles. I have to reapply my war paint 4 times before the day is done.
Clinically, I’m unsavable, but this bunch will never give up on me. Their claws are tenacious and deep.
The first thing I do when the house is empty is look for frozen vodka, then cooking wine. I don’t want to drool and shake on the clean linens and air mattress that is my room.
They probably got rid of everything alcoholic before I arrived.
But they are sooo unfamiliar with people like us. The look at me with big puppy dog eyes and ask ‘why?’
First up, you don’t ask us why. That question begs an answer I don’t have.
Why?
You tell me.
They say I’m loved and beautiful and talented.
Why?
You tell me.