Adam finds Andrea getting ready to leave, and tries to apologize for everybody else. Not the right approach. "And what's your excuse, asshole?" Still not thinking clearly, he points out the problem, which is that those guys thought they were together, "or something." "So what? I'm not good enough for your scrawny virgin ass? That's fucked up." Any further attempts to calm him down are met with resentment of his entire family, about which Adam cannot know and thus Andrea will not explain.
Left all alone with his virginity, Adam calls his mom like a hundred times, but she's down in the pool hall, fucking on the old couch so intensely she can't even hear the phone ring. Paul's free, though, so he shows up totally drunk: "You did the right thing," he slurs. "Those kids are plastered."
Paul has Adam in the driver's seat, and for a second he's like, "My punishment is driving myself home?" No, in fact it's a cost/benefit analysis based on whether a fourteen-year-old terrified virgin is a scarier or less scary driver than a man who has just had five glasses of thirty-year scotch ("That's like 150 years of drinks!"), and Paul's impaired judgment, for better or worse, has decided this is down to Adam: "Just don't go over fifteen miles per hour, don't make any left turns, and stop at anything red. It's okay, buddy. I'm right here."
Fast-forward to about a minute later, when Adam has crashed his drunk father's car into a tree and they're both at the hospital. Cathy wakes from her slumber at the bottom of her pool, notices that Adam has called eleven times which is eleven times more than usual, and then listens to just a voicemail asking her to pick him up before she's off. Lenny offers to come with, but she's like, "To pick up my son?"
Somewhere in the middle of this -- the latest punishment for her attempts to be irrational, of course; an ongoing theme that speaks to how far her guilt goes for everything -- she realizes that she needs to at least break up with Lenny because her life is totally out of control. The lies take on their own life, and what was for protection becomes a newer weapon. "I'm a mom, and I need to act like one. I can't do this."