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Rachel was standing in front of a dozen different types of paints, chewing on her lip as she tried to decide what colors she wanted. It'd been a while since she'd tried painting again, but she felt somewhat reinvigorated thanks to her friendship with Sun, and she felt like maybe now painting wouldn't be attached to pain. As she reached out for a yellow acrylic she heard someone step beside her. She glanced to her side and spotted a woman about her age standing there, also looking at the paints.

"Need help?" Rachel asked, "I'm a professional painter."

"Oh, no, I just...my daughters doctor said that painting can be a good outlet for her, as a kind of therapy, so I thought I'd pop in and see what I could get."

"What's wrong with her?" Rachel asked, then laughing nervously she scratched her forehead and added, "Sorry, that...that was rude. Um, I mean like, why's she have a therapist?"

"Not really a therapist, just a general specialized doctor. She's ASD and so we've been having to learn how to help her cope with things in ways that are healthy for her," the woman said, "...you're a professional painter? What do you think would be a good thing to paint?"

"Does she like animals?"

"Very much so."

"I'd suggest she start with something simple, like an easy animal," Rachel said, "You know what, why don't you and your daughter come to my studio apartment, and I can teach you guys. It's been a while since I painted, and I'd love to have some company, especially if I can help someone else."

"I think it'd be better if you came over to our place," the woman said, "It's big, and she doesn't like going to other peoples homes."

"Fair enough," Rachel said, "Give me your address."

The woman took Rachel's hand, pulled out a pen from her purse and wrote her address down on her hand. Afterwards she stepped back and held her hand out for Rachel to shake, which she did, the both of them smiling warmly.

"I'm Rachel," Rachel said.

"Scarlett, it's nice to meet you," Scarlett Bloom said.

                                                                                               ***

Wyatt was sitting in his office, doing paperwork, when he heard the door open. He looked up and spotted Ben entering, with Celia behind him. Wyatt dropped his pen on the table and smiled at them both, even though Ben looked annoyed and somewhat upset.

"Sorry, she said it couldn't wait, she said she knew you personally," Ben said.

"It's fine Ben, it's alright, she's not lying," Wyatt said, "Shut the door on your way out."

Ben nodded, exiting the office and shutting the door. Celia watched him leave, then turned back to the desk and sat down across from Wyatt, putting her purse in her lap. She laughed awkwardly.

"Wow, he's high strung," she said.

"He really is, it's upsetting considering how young he is. Nobody should be that high strung at that age. So what are you doing here?" Wyatt asked, "I haven't been able to get any of that proof you asked for yet, if that's what you-"

"Morgana is about to demolish a beautiful heavily forested park," Celia said, surprising him.

"W...what?" he asked.

"They've got friends in high places, apparently. Usually you have to wait months, fight tooth and nail for permits, but they're starting construction in just a week or so, right around Halloween. I just felt like you should know that it's not really necessary to get that proof now, because by the time we convince anyone - if we even manage to - it'll be too late."

"But that...that's like, illegal," Wyatt said, "This is bullshit."

"Well there's not much we can do at this point, so I just thought I'd drop by and let you know you can save yourself some time and energy," Celia said, "I have to get back to work. I'm on my lunch break."

"...we could sabotage them," Wyatt said, making Celia stop at the door, hand on the knob.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Yeah, that's the problem."

"They're not playing by the rules, so why should anyone?" Wyatt asked, standing up and approaching Celia, coming around the desk, "I mean, fuck it, right? What's the worst that could happen? I'm not saying we do something awful or endangering, but just...damage a piece of equipment or whatever. Something minor yet major enough to force them to waste more time getting new equipment."

"Wyatt, I...I appreciate your attempts at taking what I do seriously, but this is beyond what I think I'm comfortable with and-"

"So you're gonna get me invested in saving the planet, making the world a better place for our kids, and then bail at the last minute?" he asked, leaning on the desk now, scoffing, his arms folded, "fuck, and here I thought you were serious."

"I...I am, I...I just..." Celia stopped and sighed, "Wyatt, I don't have a husband. I don't have a partner. I have a son to think about. If I'm taken away, god knows what happens to him. I can't risk my freedom. He needs me too much. You're different, you have a wife, you have family."

Wyatt nodded. She wasn't wrong, and he couldn't argue with that. He sighed and bit his lip, then shrugged, looking away from her. She approached Wyatt and put her hand on his shoulder, causing him to look at her again. She smiled sweetly.

"You're a good man," she said, "You'll find a way to help the environment in your own way, but it won't be this way. I'm just happy to have been able to get you interested in the idea whatsoever. I feel like I accomplished something just by doing that."

"You really did," Wyatt said, smiling back.

After a moment they hugged and afterwards she excused herself, leaving Wyatt alone in his office. He walked back around behind his desk and seated himself again. He wanted to go back to work, but he found it hard to focus, and instead after a few minutes he got back up, pulled his coat on and headed out of the room and towards the front of the store. As he approached the front door, he passed by Ben at the counter.

"Sir? Where are you going?" Ben asked.

"I'm going to see my daughter," Wyatt said.

                                                                                                 ***

"So which animal do you like best?" Rachel asked, kneeling down to Mona's eye level as she flipped through a book and then finally stopped and pointed at a tiger.

"I wanna paint that," she said, "Is it easy?"

"Everything's easy once you learn how to do it," Rachel said, propping the book up on the small table by her easel and saying, "the thing is, you need reference points. You can always look back at your source image, and then change whatever you want to your own version of it. So why don't you start by making a general outline of the tiger, okay?"

Mona smiled and nodded, quickly getting to painting, as Rachel walked back to her own easel just as Scarlett entered the room, carrying two beers, handing one to Rachel who thanked her. Scarlett stood by Rachels side and watched her begin to paint.

"Do you find painting therapeutic?" she asked, sipping her beer.

"Yeah, I guess," Rachel said, "It helps to get out the things I can't get out of myself any other way."

"Like what?" Scarlett asked.

"I don't know. Stuff you wouldn't tell anyone but an actual therapist," Rachel said, "stuff like how much you love someone but can't tell them because you fear that admittance might cause you to lose them."

Scarlett looked over at Mona, then back at Rachel.

"I've been married for years now, and I guess I don't really know what that's like," she said, "but I'm sorry if you do."

The front door opened, and Scarlett rushed into the foyer only to find Wyatt coming in. He followed her into the living room where the girls were painting, waved at them, then turned and began to head into the kitchen, Scarlett on his heels. As he set his shopping bags down on the kitchen table, Scarlett stopped and watched from the doorway.

"What are you doing home?" she asked.

"I don't wanna work in my field anymore," Wyatt said, "I wanted to see my family. That was more important than being in the office all day."

"What do you mean you don't want to-"

"Is Mona busy?"

"She's being taught how to paint," Scarlett said, "Remember? Her doctor gave us a list of suggestions and that's the one she chose?"

"Yeah," Wyatt said, "Well, that'll have to wait, cause I'm taking her somewhere."

He walked back through the foyer, into the room, took Mona by the hand and said he was taking her out for a bit. She didn't hesitate a bit and instead set her brush down and followed her father, leaving Scarlett standing there befuddled. After a moment, she walked into the room and looked at Rachel, who was busy cleaning her brush in her cup of water.

"What were you saying about being happily married?" Rachel asked, making Scarlett smirk.

"New girl, too soon for the wisecracks," she said, despite appreciating her company in the moment. Scarlett sighed and walked into the room, taking Mona's place and putting a new canvas on the easel, starting her own painting while drinking, "...I've never seen him like that. He didn't even tell me where he was taking her. He was just so direct, that's not like Wyatt."

"People are weird and can change in a heartbeat," Rachel said, "One minute you think you're doing everything right, everything that'll make those closest to you happiest, and then you do one little thing for yourself and suddenly you're on everyones shit list."

"Speaking from experience?" Scarlett asked.

"God if only you knew," Rachel said, "My parents are just...jesus. Your kid is lucky to have you guys, you guys seem cool. I wish my parents were cool. Stuffy stuck up old fashioned sons of bitches."

Scarlett thought for a moment while painting, and then nodded. Yeah. Rachel was right. She and Wyatt were in fact good parents, and Mona was in fact lucky to have them as parents. Funny that sometimes it takes a stranger to point out the most obvious things to us, she thought.

                                                                                               ***

Celia, actually, had a date that night. She just didn't want to announce that to Wyatt.

As she walked into the living room, freshly showered and well dressed, she spotted her son and his babysitter sitting together on the couch, reading a storybook. She waved at them, said she'd be back late, then kissed her sons head and exited the house. Her date, a man she'd been seeing on and off for a while lately named Arnold, was sitting in his car in the driveway. Upon seeing her, he climbed out of the car, ran around to the other side and opened the door for her. She thanked him as she got in, and he went back around to the drivers side, then started the car and backed out.

"You look beautiful," he said.

"Thanks," Celia said, being somewhat quiet, looking out the window.

"You alright?" he asked.

"...I've had a weird day," Celia said, "but it's alright. Where are we eating?"

                                                                                             ***

"Wyatt and I have been together for so long that I think at this point I'll have spent more of my life with him than without him, and it's weird to think about," Scarlett said.

"I'd kill to have something like that," Rachel said, "but I'm too scared to get close to anyone."

"It's hard," Scarlett said, "but it's worth it. He's the best thing in my life besides my kids, even if his mom is a pain in the ass to deal with. He's a good man, todays example notwithstanding. He's not selfish, he's supportive, and he's romantic. Any woman would be happy to have him as their husband."

"And you're not?"

"I'm happy to have him as my husband. I just wish I knew why that isn't enough sometimes," Scarlett said, "I mean, have I just accepted what every woman before us thought was good enough? Get married, have kids, love your husband, etc. Is it wrong to want something more? Not something different, because I'm happy with those aspects, but...something more...worthwhile? That sounds wrong. Um, something more seemingly important? I don't know how to word this."

"You wanna leave behind some kind of legacy beyond just being a brood mare," Rachel said, making Scarlett cackle.

"Precisely!" she said, looking at her canvas, "I mean...I like being a mom, and a wife, but at the same time...a few weeks ago his mom stopped by and said that women wind up being nothing more than extensions of their husbands and their children. That by becoming wives and mothers they lose all their interests, hobbies, identity, and...and while I wanted to argue with her, it seems she might have been right."

"She's not right, you just haven't proven her wrong yet," Rachel said, "if she was right, then that means my mother was right and I'm..."

She stopped, causing Scarlett to become curious.

"You're what?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

"What are you painting?" Scarlett asked, peering over at her canvas.

"Just a woman I know," Rachel said, getting back to her portrait of Sun.

                                                                                                ***

Celia wanted to forget her meeting with Wyatt, but something about it was bothering her. She wanted to put it out of her mind, have a good evening, enjoy her time with Arnold, but she was finding it difficult. All that rattled around inside her head were the things Wyatt had said to her, and she was starting to feel guilty after all...getting him so invested and then letting him down at the last minute. Seemed like he was more committed to the cause than she was at this point.

"Are you okay?" Arnold asked, breaking through her barriers, bringing her back to the moment.

"Uh, yeah, I'm sorry, I had a meeting today that didn't go the way I wanted it to," Celia said, "You know how it goes. It's just been on my mind since then."

"You gotta learn to leave the work at work, girl," Arnold said, "I mean, you do whatever you want, I'm not trying to tell you what to do, I just know that my mother was a lawyer and she brought her work home and she suffered greatly cause of it. Don't wanna see that happen to you."

"Usually I do leave it at work," Celia said, smiling, appreciating his thoughtfulness as she added, "but something about this meeting rubbed me the wrong way and it's made me feel like maybe I don't care enough about what I do. I mean, if you're invested in a cause, wouldn't you do anything to uphold your beliefs, your ideals?"

"Depends on the cause and who it affects," Arnold said, shrugging, undoing his napkin and putting it on his lap as their plates were set on the table; he continued, "I think ultimately the amount of effort one puts into something directly correlates to how important it is to the world at large."

"...this is pretty important to the world," Celia mumbled, feeling even worse now, but that wasn't Arnold's fault. He was right, after all. Just then she heard someone stop at their table and looked up to see a young woman standing there, looking at her nervously; Celia smiled politely and asked, "Can I help you?"

"You don't remember me," the woman said, "I'm Anna. I was in the meeting you had with the Morgana execs a few months back. Um, I just...I wanted to give this to you, but you cannot tell anyone where you got it."

With that, she reached into her coat, pulled out a manila envelope and pushed it into Celia's hands, then walked away briskly. Arnold looked at Celia, who looked up at him from the envelope. He leaned forward, furrowed his brow and whispered.

"Are you a secret agent?" he asked, making her giggle. She really did appreciate the way he could cut the tension. Celia picked up the envelope and opened it, pulling out a few papers, and quickly skimming them, becoming more and more horrified at what she was reading. Arnold cut into his steak and asked, "Everything okay?"

"...I need you drop me off at a friends after we're done," she said coldly.

                                                                                                   ***

Rachel stepped back from her canvas, admiring her work, as Scarlett came to her side and looked as well.

"Wow," Scarlett said, "That's wonderful. You say it's someone you know?"

"Yeah, just a friend," Rachel said, "Maybe I'll give it to her for her birthday or something."

"Someone you wish wasn't just a friend?" Scarlett asked, worrying Rachel who looked at her now; Scarlett shrugged and smirked, "I could tell by the way you said 'just a friend'. It's cool, I don't care. I'm just curious why you're tiptoeing around something you so badly want."

Rachel sighed and flopped down onto the couch, Scarlett seating herself beside her.

"I don't know," Rachel said, "I'm scared. My parents still don't know, and I'm worried what they'll think if they do, but then I think how stupid it is to even care about what they think because I'm a grown ass woman and I'm allowed to be whoever I am, right? Allowed to love whoever I love? At least you're supposed to be able to. And yet, I'm just...terrified. Also I'm scared she won't feel the same way."

"You'll never know if you don't do anything about it," Scarlett said, "Though I know what you mean; you don't wanna run the risk of ruining a solid friendship. I got lucky cause Wyatt and I fell for one another pretty instantly after meeting. I can't imagine what it would've been like if it'd had been difficult or whatever. But I think you should say something. Better to live with certainty, even if it's a certainty you didn't want, than uncertainty, right?"

"Yeah but with uncertainty I can always lie to myself, fantasize it could be," Rachel said, "I don't know."

Rachel checked her watch and sighed.

"It's late, I should get going."

"Do you wanna do this again?" Scarlett asked, "I think it's been actually more beneficial for me than my daughter, surprisingly."

"Sure," Rachel said, laughing as she stood up to gather her equipment. Scarlett helped Rachel get her things together, carried them out to the car and got it all packed in. They made a date for another painting and drinking session, then Rachel drove home. Scarlett cleaned up the house a little, and was happy to see Wyatt and Mona when they came in. Mona gave her mom a hug and then rushed upstairs to take a bath. Scarlett looked at Wyatt, both standing in the dining room.

"Sorry about being so brisk earlier," Wyatt said, "I just wanted to take her out and show her the world isn't so bad if she just has the right people with her and-"

Scarlett didn't let him finish. Instead she kissed him, then told him to follow her upstairs. He agreed, but first he had to get something from the car. He rushed outside, and got to his car, digging around inside for the box of candy he'd bought for her while out. It wasn't until he pulled himself out of the car again that he noticed someone standing in the driveway with him, scaring him and making him shout a little.

"Christ!" he yelled, putting his hand to his chest, "Celia, what the hell are you-"

"Read this," she said, approaching him, shoving the envelope into his hands.

Wyatt looked at her, confused, then pulled the papers out of the envelope and started reading them, thumbing through them, his eyes widening at each new page. After he was done he looked back at Celia, who was now leaning against his car, arms folded.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

"An assistant from Morgana came up to me tonight at dinner. She had been in a meeting we'd taken a few months ago and she wanted to give me it then but she couldn't. She was too scared. Turns out she's braver than I am after all," Celia said.

"...why...why are showing me this? I mean, after what we talked about today, you made it sound like you-"

"Yeah, I take it back," Celia said, surprising Wyatt as she stared him down and said coldly, "let's sabotage the sons of bitches."
Published on

Palmer Hurks felt the sun warming her face through her window, and smiled at the feeling it gave her. It wasn't until moments later that she realized she shouldn't be feeling the sun, that the sun meant she had overslept, and, sure enough, as she grabbed her alarm she realized that yes in fact she had overslept and was late for class. Palmer rolled out of bed, combed her hair real quick, threw on a pair of semi dirty jeans and a random t-shirt before grabbing her backpack and rushing out her dorm, heading down the hall to her class. As she briskly headed down the hall, she heard someone come to her side, and looked to see her friend Arthur coming up beside her.


"You too huh?" he asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.


"My alarm didn't go off."


"Nobody's did. There was a power outage," Arthur said, "One of the girls on the floor above plugged a powerful hair straightener into the wall and blew out the electricity. Everyone's gonna be late."


"I can't afford to be late," Palmer said, swishing her long, bright blonde hair back behind her ear, "I've been late far too many times already this year and we're only three weeks into it. If anyone had told me that I would be responsible for my own adulthood I don't think I would've been in such a hurry to get to it."


Arthur laughed, and Palmer smiled.


She had met Arthur at orientation a few weeks prior, and the two had quickly become friends. Seeing as they'd come from the same town - but somehow hadn't attended the same schools during that entire time - it just made sense to be friends, if nothing else so they wouldn't feel as awkward as they would otherwise in such a new place. As they approached the class, their professor, a tall, young woman (it was hard to believe she was the professor, considering she didn't look much older than Palmer) was standing outside the door, which made Palmer nervous.


"Palmer," she said as they got to the door, "You're here."


"I know, I'm sorry, the power-"


"You have a phone call," the professor said, "You have to go to my office."


Palmer and Arthur gave one another a confused look, but Palmer just shrugged and did as she was told. She headed into the room, and then went to the front of the room, which had a small connected office that closed off from the rest of the lecture hall. As the three of them got to the office, the professor, Jenny Marigold, looked at Arthur, almost as if he should just take his seat, but Palmer said she wanted him to wait, so Jenny let it go. Palmer picked up the phone and lifted the receiver to her ear.


Everything after that was fuzzy.


                                                                         ***


Dodie Hurks couldn't move, and felt her legs pinned by something. It felt cold, rough, like metal. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't muster the strength. She felt exhausted, like she'd just spent the whole day running around. She rolled her head to the side and noticed her father lying there, further down the road, not moving. After a bit, she heard the sirens, and felt hands reaching for her. She drifted off after that, and wouldn't regain consciousness until hours later at the hospital.


The last thing she could remember was being in the car, heading to school. She and her dad had stopped for donuts, like they did every morning (something they never told her mom) and were singing along to a musical number from an animated feature. She couldn't even remember the car flipping, and she was pretty sure she didn't scream during the incident. The last thing she remembered seeing before she passed out and woke back up pinned on the road was her father looking at her and smiling. It was almost like he was telling her everything would be okay, even though it was so clear that they wouldn't.


When Dodie woke up, she found her mom sitting by her bedside, her eyes red as hell itself. Dodie groaned and tried to move, but her mother quickly quashed that and told her to just rest.


"I'm supposed to be at school," Dodie said softly, barely able to speak.


"I think they'll excuse you missing today," Regina, her mother, replied, gently pushing Dodie's bangs from her face, adding, "...just take it easy. You just need to take it easy right now and save your strength."


Dodie nodded, and shut her eyes again, trying to sleep. Regina looked at her watch and exhaled deeply. She'd called Palmer an hour ago. She knew it was a few hours between there and the college, but she really wished she was already here. She needed to see her other daughter.


                                                                            ***


"Are you okay?" Arthur asked, driving Palmer, who was staring deadeyed out the windshield.


"...I...don't know," she said quietly, "I don't know how I am. It seems so surreal, like this sort of thing only ever happens in movies or something. You grow up thinking your dad is invincible, but I came to peace with the fact that he wasn't a long time ago, once I was aware of how death worked. It just never occurred to me that I might not have as much time with him as I thought I would."


"You don't know that, he was just in an accident, he could be okay," Arthur said, trying to stay optimistic, something Palmer appreciated.


"I wanna believe that," she whispered, "...but it's hard to."


By the time they arrived at the hospital, three hours later, Palmer and Arthur found her mother sitting in the hallway outside of Dodie's room. Regina looked alright, all things considered, but you could tell from looking at her face that she'd spent the last few hours sobbing hard. Palmer hugged her mom and then introduced Arthur, saying that he drove her here so she wouldn't be alone. Regina thanked him for his kindness.


"Where's Dodie?" Palmer asked.


"She's in this room behind me. She's okay enough. Her leg is fractured, but she'll be alright in the long run, physically anyway, god willing," Regina said.


"Where's dad?" Palmer asked.


Regina looked at her hands and didn't answer.


"Where's dad?" Palmer asked again, already knowing the answer thanks to her mothers silence, but she still needed to hear it said out loud for it to be real. After a moment Regina looked up at her daughter, and she, for some reason, almost laughed.


"He's gone, sweetheart," she said, her voice cracking.


The words broke Palmer's heart into pieces, and she stumbled, only being caught by Arthur who was stood behind her and then helped her into a nearby seat. It was a rough day for the Hurks family.


         ***


            3 WEEKS LATER


Palmer stood in front of her mirror in her old bedroom, looking at her face, unsure whether it was appropriate or not to wear makeup to a funeral. She put her hands on the desk and looked at the photos she had taped around the vanity mirror; family vacation photos, photos of her and her father during daddy/daughter dances, and things of that nature. Palmer smiled, even if it hurt. She had been trying to process her grief for weeks now, but to no real avail. It simply hurt far too much to admit he was gone. A knock on the door came, and Dodie entered.


"Mom wants to know if you're ready," Dodie said.


"I'm ready, yeah," Palmer said, "yeah..."


She sat on the side of the bed and pulled out a small jewelry box from under the bed, then looked at Dodie and smiled.


"Come here," Palmer said, and Dodie, still somewhat limping, stumbled on over to the bed and sat beside her older sister. Palmer opened the box and pulled out the false bottom, taking out a really old piece of jewelry, a pearl bracelet.


"What is that?" Dodie asked.


"It was grandma's," said Palmer, "You never got to meet her, but she gave me this when I was your age, and I haven't worn it in years. I think you should have it."


Dodie held out her wrist and let Palmer put the bracelet on, then she inspected it.


"It's pretty!" Dodie said brightly, the first time she'd shown any kind of enthusiasm about anything in the past few weeks.


"It is," Palmer said, nodding, "Yeah, and I thought you would like it cause it was kinda close to dad, being that it was grandmas."


Dodie kicked her feet, swinging them off the bedside as Palmer stood up and went back to her desk, clipping her bangs back from her face. Dodie looked up and watched her sister primp at the mirror, and then asked


"Why didn't I die instead of dad?"


"I don't know," Palmer said, "Why would you even ask?"


"Because people need him more than they need me," Dodie said, and this statement just about made Palmer cry on the spot. She hide her face and wiped her eyes carefully, then turned and went back to the bed, rubbing her sisters back.


"That isn't true at all. Mom and I need you, we love you," she said, "Why would you say something like that?"


Dodie shrugged, then leaned against her sister, feeling Palmer's arms tightly around her.


"I miss him," Dodie said quietly.


"Yeah, me too," Palmer said, kissing the top of her sisters head.


The funeral was small, respectable, and somber, as funerals have a tendency to be. Dodie and Palmer sat in the back (being in the front made Dodie nervous, so Palmer agreed they could sit in the back), and whenever anyone came to speak to them, to give their condolences, Palmer always dealt with them so Dodie never had to talk to anyone. Anything she could do to make the day easier for her little sister, Palmer did. Afterwards, during the wake back at the house, Palmer helped her mother downstairs with the food and various refreshments.


"I have a newfound respect for people who cater," Palmer said as she stood beside her mother in the living room, making Regina chuckle.


"It's a dirty, tough business, yeah," she said, "Have you seen your sister?"


"Not since we got home," Palmer said, "She's probably hiding. Today's been hard for her."


"I believe it," Regina said, just as another guest came up to speak to her, giving Palmer ample chance to slip away and go search for Dodie. She headed up the stairs, first to her bedroom but didn't find her there. Then she checked her parents bedroom, but nobody was there. However, as she was about to leave, she heard a shuffle from the closet, and she opened it, finding Dodie tucked away, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Palmer climbed into the closet and shut the door behind her.


"Do you want a snack?" Palmer asked, but Dodie just shook her head; Palmer smiled, "Remember when mom and dad used to go out on dates when I was in high school, and we'd play hide and seek? You always hid in here. You're pretty easy to find."


"I like it in here," Dodie said, "...it smells like dad."


"It does, yeah," Palmer said, pulling on one of her fathers suit jackets, bringing the sleeve to her nose and taking a long whiff, "dad smelled funny."


Dodie giggled, which made Palmer laugh. The girls had always had a habit of cheering one another up, and it was nice that that tradition had continued, even with Palmer at college now.


"When do you have to go back to school?" Dodie asked.


"Probably this coming week," Palmer said, "I have extensions because of a family emergency, but I can't miss that much coursework. I'll get too far behind and won't be able to catch up."


"I wish you didn't have to go," Dodie said, "It's weird not having you home."


"I know. I'm sorry," Palmer said.


"...can we talk more?" Dodie asked.


"Of course! You can always call me anytime!" Palmer said, "I mean, when we're not in school or whatever, obviously. But of course we can."


Palmer and Dodie stayed in the closet for an hour or so, until the house had started to finally see a good chunk of its guests leave, and then went to the entertainment room to watch cartoons. Anything to keep her little sister from losing her innocence was something Palmer felt was important to do. But the thing was...during all of this, nobody had asked how Palmer was. She and her mother had been so invested in making sure Dodie was okay, understandably given how young she was, but nobody had ever stopped to ask Palmer if she was okay.


But it was fine. Palmer was always the strong one. She was always okay.


Until she wasn't.


                                                                            ***


Palmer was sitting in the library, doing homework, when she heard a chair pull out from across from her. She looked up to see Arthur sitting down and setting his bookbag on the table. They smiled politely at one another, and he handed her a candy bar, which she graciously accepted.


"Did you buy this for me?" she asked.


"No, actually the machine just gave me double, so," Arthur said, "Come on, I'm not that thoughtful."


Palmer laughed as she tore the end of the wrapper off with her teeth and bit into the candy.


"...so do you need help catching up on anything?" Arthur asked, "Cause I've got all sorts of work aides and whatnot that-"


He didn't even get to finish before Palmer was sobbing. He came around the table and put his hand on her shoulder, and she leaned into him, hugging him tightly, crying against him. He didn't say a single thing, he just let her cry. It was the first time since her fathers death that she'd finally let go, and it felt good. A bit embarrassing that it was happening here, in a college library where everyone could see, but she didn't care. She needed to cry, and she was grateful to have Arthur there for that. After she stopped, she wiped her face on her sweater sleeve and exhaled as Arthur went back around to his chair and sat back down.


"Thanks," she said quietly, and Arthur smiled warmly.


"No problem," he said, the two of them getting to work, not speaking another word about it.


                                                                              ***


The first day Dodie went back to school, her mother had to pack her lunch, something her father used to do. As she put her food inside the plastic container, she was puzzled to see, in her husbands easily recognizable handwriting, the word "Doodlebug" on the side of the container. How had she never noticed this before? Dodie came into the kitchen and sat at the table, eating her cereal.


"How long has this been here?" Regina asked.


"I don't know, since first grade," Dodie said, "Dad put it there."


Regina smiled and ran her thumb over the word, nodding to herself. It was something he'd used to call Dodie when she was really little, but hadn't called her that in over a year. She got her composure back and went back to finishing packing the lunchbox, then put it on the table.


"Put that in your bookbag," she said as she headed to her bedroom to get dressed.


Dodie looked at the word written on the box and she smiled for the first time in weeks. She would always be his Doodlebug, and she was happy that nobody could take that away from her at least.

Published on
"You feel like a big man now?" Krickett asked, leaning against the wall of his garage, rubbing his cheek with his hand as Boris stood in front of him, looking at him, his hands clenched into tightly balled fists. Chrissy was standing behind him, just watching the two men.

"Get up and fight back, we're trying to prove something," Boris said.

"I'm not trying to prove anything, Boris. I'm done," Krickett replied, turning and going through the door that led back into the house. Boris unclenched his fists and looked at Chrissy, who seemed somewhat worried about what had just transpired.

Maybe Krickett was right. Maybe non violence was the answer.

                                                                                                 ***

"I haven't been to a school in so long," Boris said, as he and Whittle said in the hall outside the principals office, waiting to be invited in.

"I know," she said, "I mean, I never had kids, but I just...I haven't been to a school in ages. It feels awkward now."

"I used to get called in quite a bit for Ellen, back when she was in grade school," Boris said, slapping his hands onto his knees and exhaling, "not because she was a trouble maker or anything, but because she had a lot of problems adjusting to school. She constantly asked to be homeschooled and got teased a lot. She just...didn't know how to either ignore it or deal with it herself."

"I was teased a lot too," Whittle said, "but I was quite the opposite. I kicked anyone who was mean to me in the shins. Course this meant I spent a lot of time suspended, but my folks were proud of me at least cause I stood up for myself so it all worked out."

"Ironic that as someone who dealt pain you'd go into a business focused on healing," Boris said, snickering, making Whittle laugh.

"Well, I'm trying to right my wrongs," Whittle said, "My conscience doesn't let me sleep."

Just then the door opened and Chrissy was standing there. Her eyes were red, like she'd been crying hard, and she motioned for them to come inside. Boris and Whittle stood up and headed into the room, as Chrissy shut the door behind them and seated herself once again, now sitting between them. Kevin Arnold, the head master, was sitting behind his desk and smiled at them as they sat down.

"It's nice to see you two again, even if it is under circumstances such as these," he said, adjusting his tiny round spectacles, "let me just start by saying that Chrissy is an excellent student and a wonderful young lady. This meeting is not about her being in trouble, contrary to what you probably thought. In fact, it's kind of not about her at all."

Boris and Whittle glanced at one another, now somewhat confused.

"Huh?" they asked in unison.

"Chrissy has been targeted by a small group of girls for her unusual living arrangements with you two. They know she isn't living with her family, and they...well they've said some nasty things. Chrissy always comes to me about it, but unless it gets physical there isn't much I can beside mildly berate them for their words. I'm asking you two to come in and help me find a solution."

"She should clean their clock," Boris said, surprising both Whittle and Kevin.

"Pardon?" Kevin asked, leaning forward, still somewhat in shock at his abrasive answer.

"When I was growing up, if someone shit talked you, you punched their lights out," Boris said, "I know it's kind of cave man ethics, but it worked. They left you alone. Nowadays everyone wants the adults around them to take care of their problems, and while most of the time that works and is a perfectly viable solution, it isn't what's going to work all the time. Sometimes you have to take things into your own hands, and then use those hands to hit the other person."

"I...I do not condone what he is saying, I hope you know," Whittle said, making Kevin smirk.

"I'm just saying that she should defend herself. All we tell kids now are 'sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me' but bullshit, look at how much words hurt. Well, sticks and stones hurt way more. Verbal abuse might be verbal, but it's still abuse."

Chrissy tried to hide her grin, but she was having a hard time doing so.

"...well," Kevin said, "I don't really know what to say to that. You're not wrong, but you're also not right."

"I'm no advocate for violence by any means. War has done more damage than it has helped, but...sometimes it's all anyone responds to, because it proves that what they're doing has actual consequences for themselves. If more people actually felt ramifications for their actions, perhaps things wouldn't be so fucking mean."

Chrissy lost it and started laughing loudly, catching everyone by surprise. Kevin asked her to go wait out in the hall, and she did without argument, but she laughed the whole time. This was why she loved Boris. He told it like it was, and that was exactly what she needed right then.

                                                                                              ***

"Have you ever fought anyone?" Boris asked, sitting across from Father Krickett at the diner. Father Krickett finished sipping his cocoa and put his mug down, smacking his lips and thinking.

"When I was in high school I punched a guy who was hurting this friend of mine. He was assaulting her, right there on campus, and nobody would do anything, so I stepped in," Father Krickett said, "of course I was also suspended like he was, but...it felt good knowing I did the right thing."

"See, violence does solve something," Boris said.

"These days I'm more or less against violence," Father Krickett said, "but yes, in that instance it did solve something."

"How can you be against violence? You're part of the church. Your entire religion is based around colonizing and then spreading the gospel, no matter what the cost. More people have died in the name of God than for any other reason."

"Just because that's an accurate depiction of our history doesn't mean I abide by it," Father Krickett said, "Yes, the church has a horrible history entwined with violence, violence of all kind, from altar boys being sexually abused to outright burning those at the stake who disagreed with us, but that doesn't mean I by any means agree what what they did."

"I wanna teach Chrissy how to fight," Boris said, "She needs to know how to defend herself."

"You gonna take her to a gym? Be her coach?" Father Krickett asked, chuckling.

"No, I'm gonna fight you," Boris said.

"Pardon? You're what now?"

                                                                                           ***

When Boris and Chrissy arrived that weekend, Boris was surprised at the openness of Father Krickett's garage. He had a nice home, but he especially had a nice garage. And, unlike many garages, it wasn't crammed to the gills with plastic or cardboard boxes full of things he no longer used but didn't want to donate, or holiday decorations that would only get lugged out once a year for a month or less. It was clean, and organized, and it had clear sections. In one area he could tell Krickett did woodworking, and at another was his actual toolbench, while at another was a spot for electrical work.

"Wow, this is swanky," Boris said, entering as Krickett handed him a bottle of water, leaving the garage door open so the sunlight could stream in.

"It's not bad," Father Krickett said, before kneeling, face to face with Chrissy and smiling, asking, "so, you ready to learn how to hurt others for the sake of your own ego?"

"That isn't what this is about, John. She's not going to just go around pummeling anyone she wants. This is to be used strictly in situations when she is being attacked or needs to help someone else. I'm not trying to teach her to go out and mug people or anything."

"Well, let's get started then," Krickett said, positioning himself and raising his hands in front of his face in fist formation, "Chrissy, one of the few tips I can give you that will absolutely help is to keep your arms raised like this at all times when fist fighting. This way it not only protects your face, but it also gives you a direct line to their face, granted they're the same height as you are."

"You box?" Boris asked.

"Did in college, but only for exercise, never like against others for sport," Krickett said.

"Everytime I think I know everything there is to know about you, I find out there's more," Boris said.

"What about hitting them anywhere besides their face?" Chrissy asked.

"It's frowned upon but it's certainly not illegal or anything," Krickett said, "Hell, you're already fighting, you may as well fight dirty. Besides, it's not like fighting has morals. Oh sure, some sportsman would like to tell you that there are rules, but let's face it, fighting is wrong to begin with, so that argument goes right out the window."

"If it's wrong, why do it?" Chrissy asked, looking from Father Krickett to Boris, who was now positioning himself in front of the priest.

"Because it's important to know how to defend ones self," Boris said, "Especially for a woman, who more often than not are taken advantage of and attacked than men because they're seen as more vulnerable. This is partially why knowing how to fight matters, because an attacker often won't expect a woman to be able to take him. They may expect her to fight back, but not in a way that could actually stop him."

"He isn't wrong in that fact," Krickett said, jabbing at Boris, who immediately dodged it, surprising the priest with his flexibility and agility given his age; Krickett continued, "women are, sadly, seen as weaker, which couldn't be further from the truth. People love to talk up Jesus Christ, but Jesus wouldn't exist without Mary, so I think women deserve far more praise than they're given."

Chrissy smiled and continued watching.

"Everything comes back around to the church for you, doesn't it?" Boris asked, throwing a punch that connected with Krickett's side, before jabbing again and catching him in the chest, throwing him off balance, making him stumble.

"Well," Krickett said, "Boris, it is my lifes work after all. But it isn't just about women. Lots of people can't defend themselves the way they need to. Minority groups, for one example, are often also targeted for simply being nonwhite or non heterosexual, which puts them at real risk for danger as well."

"This is true," Boris said, as Krickett threw a punch that hit the old man in the shoulderblade, causing him to swear momentarily under his breath until he said, "and that's a problem, definitely. All these people should know how to defend themselves."

"Unless they don't wanna bring themselves down to that level of cruelty," Krickett said.

"Cruelty? How is defend yourself cruel?" Boris asked, the two men throwing punch after punch at one another, both often dodging, but sometimes a punch connecting.

"Because the fact is you shouldn't be being attacked often enough to warrant a defense," Krickett said, "The real thing that needs to be taught is civility, not violence."

"Yeah, cause hateful people love a good conversation about togetherness," Boris said, "Trust me, Chrissy, it's important to know how to protect yourself, whether it's moral or not."

"Chrissy," Krickett said, stopping for a moment and looking at her, "you don't have to defend yourself. Your personhood doesn't require defense. You exist as you are, and that should be respected no matter what, and I know that it isn't and that that's the problem but-"

And suddenly he stumbled back against the wall and felt his cheek pulsing, red hot and somewhat swollen.

"You feel like a big man now?" Krickett asked, leaning against the wall of his garage, rubbing his cheek with his hand as Boris stood in front of him, looking at him, his hands clenched into tightly balled fists. Chrissy was standing behind him, just watching the two men.

"Get up and fight back, we're trying to prove something," Boris said.

"I'm not trying to prove anything, Boris. I'm done," Krickett replied, turning and going through the door that led back into the house. Boris unclenched his fists and looked at Chrissy, who seemed somewhat worried about what had just transpired.

Maybe Krickett was right. Maybe non violence was the answer. Boris looked at Chrissy, who seemed somewhat shocked, before excusing himself and heading inside after the priest. He found Krickett standing in the kitchen, holding a cold steak against his cheek.

"A steak? Really? What era are you from?" Boris asked.

"Don't worry, I'm gonna eat it," Krickett said, seating himself at his kitchen table and sighing, "...Boris-"

"John, I'm sorry. That was low of me," Boris said, "I just...I feel like I hurt Ellen, and I don't want to see Chrissy get hurt too."

"What you did wasn't intentional, that was an accident."

"Rationalizing it doesn't make the guilt go away," Boris said, "I just want her to be able to take care of herself. We're not always going to be around to fight her battles for her. She's...she's a great kid, John, she needs to know how to be able to defend herself from those who think she isn't."

"When I was in college, I was attacked for being gay," Father Krickett said, "I knew how to fight back, sure, but that didn't stop it from happening. Why double down on something as evil as violence? Yes, minority groups, women or people on the LGBTQ spectrum are more at risk, but after that happened I...I just didn't want to fight anymore. It just seemed so...barbaric. These people use physicality to back up their outdated viewpoints. The hate isn't just mental, it goes all the way to their actions."

Boris sighed and rubbed his forehead, seating himself and chuckling.

"Hell of a family she's got, isn't it?" Boris asked.

"At least she knows people who are willing to go to bat for her," Father Krickett replied, "that alone means more than you'd think. A lot of people don't even have that. She knows how to defend herself, Boris, just not in the way we think of."

The two men smiled at one another and sat quietly in the cool kitchen for a few minutes.

"So, you wanna stay for dinner?" Father Krickett finally asked.

"Not if you're serving that steak," Boris said, making him laugh out loud.

                                                                                               ***

Monday morning, Boris told Whittle he'd drive Chrissy to school, but first he was going to take her to breakfast. He picked up Father Krickett on the way, and the three of them went to the diner they often frequented. They ate breakfast and checked over Chrissy's homework, praised her for her work, and then piled back into the car, heading towards the school. As Chrissy thanked them and got out of the car, heading across the street, Father Krickett smiled.

"She'll be okay," he said, patting Boris on the back, "don't worry."

"I try not to, but that's what a parent does, worry," Boris said, "Even if I'm not her actual family, I worry."

They suddenly noticed another girl and a small group with her confront Chrissy, but they couldn't hear what anyone was saying. After a few moments of tension, Chrissy looked at her feet and it looked like she was about to cry. Boris felt his insides burn, and he wanted to get out of the car and berate the girls, until Chrissy suddenly hit the girl square in the nose, throwing her to the ground and making her cry. Chrissy then continued on her way into the school. Father Krickett pumped his fist and high fived Boris.

"That's our girl!" Krickett shouted.

"What a woman she's gonna be," Boris said, laughing as he started the car, "Come on, let's go get a beer."
Published on
"Robert Grudin is out of the race for election," the news anchor said solemnly, "after his vehicle exploded abruptly this evening, and the hopeful potential elect was killed inside it. Police have their suspects, but no arrests have been made thusfar. The main suspect is also deceased. Still, the community mourns a man who could've been great for them, had one angry individual not taken him away from us. This is-"

The TV clicked off. Calvin leaned back against the couch, exhaling, as he rolled his head and looked over at Rachel who was seated on the couch alongside him. Rachel looked at Calvin, bit her lip and shook her head, then leaned forward and buried her face in her hands, running them up through her hair.

"...I can't believe this," she whispered, "I can't believe it happened. It all just seems so surreal."

"That mother fucker," Calvin muttered.

"What?" Rachel asked, turning and looking back at him.

"That was my goal, my decision, and he took it away from me. I was supposed to do it for my family, and he took my vengeance out of my hands," Calvin said, "mother fucker. I never liked him."

"Why?" Wyatt asked, stepping back into the living room, beer in hand, Celia right behind him; he sipped the beer then asked again, "inform me why you never liked me."

"Because you always had to be the center of attention!" Calvin said sternly, standing up now, almost face to face with Wyatt, adding, "and now look what you've done! Nobody asked you to do this for me! Nobody asked you to...to take away what was rightfully mine to do! He destroyed my family!"

"Calvin, I just saved you from a lifetime of prison, alright? Trust me, you would've been one of the first people they looked at. That situation was highly publicized, and you two were closely entwined. They would've come for you almost instantly. What I did was divert that attention to someone else, and give us a bit of breathing room to figure out what our next move is."

Wyatt sighed, wiped his mouth on his jacket sleeve then sat down on a nearby ottoman, Celia seating herself beside him.

"Now," Wyatt said, "...let's figure out a way to make sure this never comes back to us."

                                                                                             ***

Robert Grudin was heading out to his car when he heard his wife running up behind him. In an outstretched arm, she held his coffee cup, which he graciously took before kissing her on the cheek and then getting into his car. He started it up, pulled out of the driveway and headed down the street, completely unaware that the car across the street from his house, the one that'd been there all night, had also started up and was following him closely.

Calvin gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. Simply being in the general vicinity of this man made him want to do awful things. He heard the sound of a chip bag crunching and he looked to the passenger seat to see Rachel sitting there, shoveling chips into her mouth and chewing noisily.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Where are we even going?"

"We're gonna get a sense of his schedule. I need to keep tabs on it, make sure it doesn't change. That way I can pick the right day," Calvin said, "It needs to be an ordinary day, not a day where something unexpected happens."

"I'm pretty sure getting blown is rather unexpected, but I get what you mean," Rachel replied, making him smirk. She adjusted herself in the seat, tossed the now empty chip bag into the back of the car and asked, "so...you're gonna explode a politician? That's a pretty serious target."

"He deserves it."

"Frankly they all do, but that goes without saying," Rachel said, "So what did this one do? Raise taxes?"

Calvin stayed quiet. He didn't want her to have any more details than she needed to have, just on the off chance they were somehow caught before or after the fact. This way she couldn't incriminate herself and be considered a suspect. He wanted to keep her safe. This wasn't her fight, after all. She was simply along for the ride.

"Well," Rachel said, "Whatever it was, it must've been serious. People don't just blow someone up for no good reason."

"You have no idea," Calvin mumbled.

                                                                                              ***

Calvin had begun having trouble sleeping.

He'd always had light insomnia, but after the accident, after the loss, he really couldn't sleep. Which was unfortunate, because being asleep was what he wanted to escape the constant reminders of what had been lost, and yet each sleep brought with it dreams about what he no longer had. Calvin simply had no way of winning. One evening, Calvin dragged himself out of bed at around four in the morning and headed downstairs. He pulled a package of cookies from the cabinet and plopped himself down on the couch in the living room, putting the television on mute so it wouldn't wake his folks, and sat there in the dark eating cookies and staring at the screen.

Distraction was the only thing that worked. Buying himself a few precious hours from the regular rotation of pain that engulfed his mind nonstop was all he could really hope for anymore. Sitting there, he didn't even realize that he'd begun to cry. It wasn't until he felt his pajamas getting stained with tears that he was aware he was crying and he knew why. After glancing back up at the TV screen, he saw there was a commercial for some princess toy line. Something his daughter had wanted for her last birthday. Had he known it'd be her actual last birthday, he probably would've tried harder to track them down and get them for her.

Toy commercials now made him sob.

Here he was, a grown ass man, crying at a princess toy commercial. He missed them so much. His wife, his daughter, his family. The family that he only had a beginning with. He'd been told by many people - often friends of his parents - that the less you knew someone the less it hurt, but he didn't believe that. If anything, the grief was worse because with them gone, he could see how great it all could've been had they been allowed to stick around. He could see what he missed out on. What it all could've grown into. Calvin fell asleep on the couch that night, and when his father woke him about two hours later, morning cup of coffee in hand, he just held Calvin for a while, and let his son be sad. Calvin was eternally grateful for his parents, and eternally angry that he'd never get the chance to be one himself.

And Robert Grudin was going to pay for that, no matter the cost.

                                                                                                 ***

"Nobody told me that, as an adult, the majority of your time spent was running errands," Rachel said, "seriously, if I'd had known that I was going to spend most of my time doing laundry and grocery shopping, I'd have perhaps tried not growing up so fast."

"I'd kill to do something mundane," Calvin said softly, "I loved grocery shopping with my wife."

Rachel looked at him, smiling.

"That's really cute," she said, "I had that with my friend Kelly, back in high school. We were inseparable. We did everything together and it was so much fun. You never realize how much you can get along with someone until you find that someone, nor how much it hurts to lose it once they're gone."

"He killed my family," Calvin said suddenly, shocking Rachel with this random admittance. She stared at him, almost in disbelief of not just what he'd said, but the fact that he'd just so openly and casually said it; Calvin continued, "Robert Grudin killed my family. I don't mean like he meant to, it was an accident, I'll grant him that much, but...but he did it, and he never took responsibility for it."

"How could he not-"

"Because he's famous, Rachel, duh. Famous people can get away with anything," Calvin said, "It was stupid of me to believe that he'd be held accountable for his actions. And frankly, I might've even let that slide, if he hadn't then made the accident about drinking and driving. He was driving home drunk, which was what caused the accident, and then instead of accepting blame, showing he's a decent man, he decides to state that his goal while in office will be to make the streets safer and crack down on alcoholics. He used what he'd done to my family as a way to further his career."

"Jesus, guy deserves to be blown up," Rachel said.

"Exactly," Calvin said, "...she supported him. Stacy did. She wanted us to vote for him. We went to rallies and shit. Then he kills her, our children, and uses his actions to try and gain a lead over his rivals. People tell me that time heals all wounds, but I don't buy into that. I think the only thing that heals anything is vengeance."

Rachel chewed her lip and leaned back in her chair, pushing her bangs from her eyes.

"...do you think she'd want you to be doing this?" Rachel asked.

"You know, shortly after she died, my mother paid for me to see a therapist, and they asked the same thing. Course, back then I wasn't thinking about blowing the man up, and they were asking me if she'd want me to continue to not trying to get better. They said 'do you think she'd want you to live your life like this?' and I just thought the audacity of this idiot was galling, because they didn't even know her. How dare they think they'd know what she would feel. I'm the one who married her. I'm the one who knew, if anything."

"And?"

"Yeah, I think she would. We used to joke about the people we wanted dead," Calvin said, "We'd catch somebody we hated on TV or somewhere out in public and be like hey we should add them to the list."

"Yeah but, dude, there's a difference between an in joke and actually blowing a human being up," Rachel said, "You do realize that, right?"

Calvin looked down at the steering wheel and sighed.

"I do, but I don't care," Calvin said, "I got no reason to not do it, that's the thing. Sure, I got my folks, and yeah, you're my friend, but what reason do I really have for not doing it? Had he apologized, had he taken even the smallest bit of blame, hell, had he not even used it to his advantage, I would've let it go. But when someone does something so horrible, so overtly evil, they shouldn't be allowed to get away with it. How can we continue to believe in a concept like justice when it so regularly gets disproved?"

Rachel nodded. He had a point. Still...she wanted to talk him out of it in some way.

"Calvin-"

"Rachel, I appreciate your friendship, and I appreciate how much you care, but I've made up my mind," Calvin said, "his slogan was 'Choosin' Grudin!' and believe me, I chose him."

Hard to argue with that, she figured.

                                                                                             ***

Rachel felt fingers tapping the top of her head, and she slowly lifted her face off the break table in the back room, catching sight of Sun as she finished tying her apron around her waist and smoothing it down the front, now facing Rachel.

"You look exhausted," she said.

"I had a long night," Rachel said, yawning and holding out her mug, "Coffee."

Sun smiled and took the mug, filling it up with the machine in the counter, then handing the mug back to her as she seated herself across the table from Rachel. Rachel sat upwards and sipped the coffee.

"You do something exciting? Out late? You have a hot date?" Sun asked.

"God I wish," Rachel said, "No, I was helping a friend with a project."

"Oh. Well, that's still cool."

"I...yeah, I wouldn't say that, but okay."

"Would you like to come over for dinner?" Sun asked, surprising Rachel as she continued, adding, "I wanna show my mom that I'm adjusting well to being back here, and I think it'd help if she saw I had a friend. My mother's an incredible chef, if that sweetens the deal."

"That sounds good. I could use a decent hot meal," Rachel said.

"Okay, cool. How about this weekend?"

After finishing up making plans, Sun headed out to the counter to take care of the first customers, leaving Rachel behind in the break room to wonder when she'd broken her own code of expectations. Calvin didn't expect anything from her, but Sun...she was getting dangerously close to being relied upon again, and that terrified her. Rachel knew she, if anything, simply wasn't a reliable person, and nobody deserved to be regularly and repeatedly let down by her poor choices.

Still...dinner with the girl she'd been crushing hard on for the last 15 years? How could she turn that down?

                                                                                                   ***

Calvin had never really gotten interested in politics, and only did so because Stacy had been so interested. In hindsight, he wished he'd pushed back against it, and perhaps things would've been different, but he knew that living in a world of what ifs never solved anything. The ironic thing was how much politics played up the idea of "being the change you want to see in the world", and Calvin was indeed doing just that.

Sitting in his parents shed that morning, looking at how much he'd managed to get done so far, he was pleased with his decisions. He'd never been that driven to do anything too difficult, and he felt good about himself now. Calvin looked down at his mug and noticed it was empty, so he scooted his stool back, stepped off and headed out across the lawn and into the kitchen, where his parents were eating breakfast. As he shut the glass door behind him, they looked up at him and smiled.

"Morning," his mother, Amelia, said.

"Mornin'," Calvin replied, heading to the coffee machine and filling his cup back up.

"Jesus," his father, Barry, said, rustling the newspaper, "Fucking Grudin. He says he's going to allow these companies to destruct more natural resources when elected, stating the progress is more important than natural resources. Says these companies are being tied up in red tape by overbearing tree huggers. What a piece of shit. Like we haven't destroyed enough of the world. What you wanna bet he's getting kickbacks for that decision?"

"Well, maybe he'll lose," Amelia said, "He keeps pulling shit like this he's gonna piss off the wrong person."

Calvin smirked to himself, his back still to his parents. That was the funny thing, Calvin thought.

Nobody ever expected their own children to be the wrong person.
Published on
"And held in such high esteem, reaching for a lofty dream, yet the pain so sharp the failure real, that that was all that he could feel," Boris said, finishing as he looked up at Carol, Burt and Larry seated around him in the living room area of the home. He shuffled his feet, cleared his throat and asked, "So, what do you think?"

"I like poems that come in greeting cards," Burt said.

"Yeah, well, I like when you shut up," Boris replied, making Carol laugh.

"I think it's great, but it's a bit...heavy," Carol said, "Does it have to be so heavy? Surely you could find a way to rhyme with beauty, poise and elegance instead of misery and suffering. Aim higher, not lower, Boris, and then you'd find your niche audience."

"I'm not doing this for an audience. Writing poetry has never been about fame or success, it's been about putting myself down on paper in a way that I couldn't put myself out there in person," Boris said, sitting back down and looking at his poem again, sighing as he added, "...maybe I really just aren't good enough."

"Poppycock, it isn't about being good enough, you don't have to be good at something to do it," Carol said, "Look at the people who become politicians. No. All that matters is that you want to do it and you make it happen. I think whatever you write is fine, and that should be enough."

"You just told me it was too heavy," Boris said, looking up across at her, confused.

"And what do I know? I'm not a literary scholar," Carol said, "Let a professional editor decide that, and if they also don't like it, fuck 'em, self publish it. We live in an age now where you can make your dreams come true, no matter how big or small they are."

Boris nodded, chewing his lip, before standing up and excusing himself to get a snack. As he walked away, the others watched before Burt looked back at Carol and Larry and shrugged.

"I still like my greeting card idea," he said.

"I will kill you," Boris shouted back at him from across the room, making him flinch.

                                                                                                ***

"I just don't think that it's what I'm supposed to be doing," Boris said, pushing his food around on his plate with his fork, sighing, "...I just...I write poetry to cope with things, and things have been rough lately. Between Ellen and then that thing with Leanne, I just have not been feeling too well and writing poetry helps me feel better."

"Well then," Whittle said as she sat down at the table with her own plate, "why don't you submit something somewhere? See what a publication has to say?"

"We had to write poems in class last year," Chrissy said, "My teacher told us to stick to visual descriptors, and not just write freeform."

"What the hell does that mean?" Boris asked, making Whittle laugh.

"Beats me," Chrissy said, shrugging, "I was just as confused as you are."

"I didn't used to have this problem," Boris said, "I used to be able to just...let it pour out of me, but now...now it feels like everything I do is a challenge. Like...like I have nothing real left to say or nothing left to examine and that's scary. What do you do when you've lived so long that you don't feel anything new?"

"I think you should still just write whatever you want," Whittle said, "There's people out there who'll enjoy it, no matter what it is. Everyone has an audience somewhere."

Boris leaned back in his chair and ruminated on this, then realized she was right. He did have an audience. Maybe he'd go see them.

                                                                                              ***

"That gnawing ache, the one when you break, it can instead be taught to soothe; the end won't be near, there'll be nothing to fear, and the ache will help the pain move," Boris finished reading, looking to his right at the little mesh window in the confessional; he cleared his throat and asked, "So, what do you think?"

"I think your skill is obvious," Father Krickett said, "but it doesn't sound sincere. It sounds like you're trying to sound sincere. Almost as if you're attempting to imitate the very sincerity that once permeated your old poetry."

"...that...is certainly not something I've been told yet, so thank you," Boris said.

"Can we not do this through the confessional? It's awkward," Father Krickett said, and the two men each exited their boxes and faced one another, now standing in between the pews; Father Krickett smoothed his garment and sighed, "sorry, I get oddly claustrophobic in those things. Anyway, your heart is in the right place-"

"-thank goodness, because if it wasn't that'd be a serious medical emergency," Boris said, interrupting and making Father Krickett smirk.

"but," Father Krickett continued, "I think your can get back to that sincerity. I don't think it's gone. You just need to stop trying to imitate who you used to be and a new version of the person you once were. More experienced, more insightful, perhaps a bit worse for wear but overall well aged. The elderly are like a fine wine, they grow more beautiful through time, and after enough years, they become what we all aspire to be."

Boris raised an eyebrow in confusion as he whispered, "...wine?"

"That was a weird analogy, I'm sorry, I'm just not myself today," Father Krickett said, rubbing his face, making Boris chuckle.

"I appreciate it John," Boris said, patting the priests back, "and for what it's worth you're not wrong. I think of all the people I've come to for some sort of inspiration, you've been the one to give me the best input thusfar. Maybe I'll sleep on it and see what comes out tomorrow."

Later that evening, however, after Boris had fallen asleep, he was awoken abruptly by a sound in the kitchen. He quickly stood up, slipped his slippers on, fastened his robe belt around his waist and headed down the hall. Whatever it was, nobody else had heard it, because both Whittle and Chrissy were still sound asleep, no light coming from under their bedroom doors. Boris continued down the hall of the apartment and finally reached the kitchen, where he spotted a youngish looking woman sitting at the table, drinking from a scotch bottle.

"You're finally here, thank god," Polly said, "Pull up a chair, have a glass."

Boris stared in disbelief. It was Polly, that much couldn't be refuted, but she looked to be in her twenties. Boris nodded slowly and approached the table, grabbing a glass off the counter on his way there. He sat down and watched as she poured him his drink and then poured herself more.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Drinking scotch," Polly said, flinging her bangs out of her eyes and smiling, "course, it isn't good scotch, but you never were one to spend much on quality. What are you doing here?" she asked, leaning forward and crossing her arms, surprising him.

"I...I live here?" he responded.

"No, Boris, I mean what are you doing here? What are you actually doing? Because it seems to me that you ain't doin' nothin'," Polly said, leaning back and sipping her drink, continuing with, "in fact, it seems you're trying to do anything other than something. You got all this guilt, all this pain, all this angst, and yet you can't write."

"Those things don't make a writer," Boris said, "They enhance the way you view the world, sure, but they aren't necessary. My pain doesn't have to be financially viable for it to mean something."

"So if you don't wanna work from those, what else is there?" Polly asked, lifting her legs up on the table and leaning back in her chair, relaxing, "...what about the opposite of those things? Why not focus on something that means something instead of the idea that nothing means anything?"

"...you meant something," Boris said, and Polly grinned, leaned forward again and grabbed his hand, patting it.

"Then go with that," she said.

And then he woke up.

                                                                                              ***

"She was frustration, an itch you can't scratch, she was frustration, clothes that won't match, she was frustration, a rock in your shoe, she was frustration, photos hung askew. She was frustration, but she was my friend, and nothing frustrated me more than to see her life end. Now I am frustration, a shirt covered in fur, but I'm mostly frustrated that I can't be with her."

Boris looked up across from himself, at the headstone with Polly's name on it. He sighed and lowered his head again, sighing.

"I know it isn't great, but it's something," he said softly, exhaling, "you were the only thing that meant something to me aside from my daughter, and I just never expected you to be gone. I'm not even mad that you died, I'm mad that you're dead, does that make sense? The act of dying? Impossible to avoid. Can't blame you for that. But the act of continuing to stay dead? That seems spiteful, personal, like it's directed at me, and I love you for it," Boris said chuckling.

He folded the paper up and tucked it under a candle left on the base of the headstone, before shuffling beside it, leaning against it and looking out at the graveyard in peace.

"my best friends in this world are a priest and a dead woman," he said quietly, "and yet somehow, that seems right. Thanks for irritating me all those years. You really made old age worth it."

Boris then sighed, put his palms into the dirt and stood himself up. He wiped his hands on his pants and then shoved them in his coat pockets, looking back down at her grave.

"I'll be back next week," he said, "I'll bring lunch,"; He turned and started to leave, then stopped and turned back, adding, "don't you go anywhere on me."

                                                                                           ***

God, wasn't it Friday yet?

All Elise Bentley wanted to do was go home for the weekend. Have a few beers, take a long hot bath and watch some old favorite comedies. She would order in. She would give into her most primal urges. But it wasn't Friday yet. It was Wednesday, and it wouldn't be Friday for a while still. Elise, walking down the hall in her suit, heading towards her office, was flipping through files in her hands when her assistant approached and walked alongside her.

"Do you want coffee?" her assistant, Niah, asked.

"It's the middle of the goddamned day, why would I want coffee?" Elise asked, stopping and looking at her young, African American assistant; she smirked and said, "Run downtown, go to that really fancy bakery, and get cocoa, and like...a box of glazed donut holes. And get a few things for yourself. Put it on my company card, alright?"

Niah smiled, nodded and headed the opposite direction just as Elise got to her office. She entered and looked up, almost screaming as she jumped backwards, hand to her chest. Sitting in the chair across from her desk was her equal in the company, Dennis Bortcham.

"God dammit Dennis, you scared the shit out of me," Elise said.

"Sorry!" Dennis said, grinning, turning around and around in the chair excitedly, "but it's worth it, you're gonna love what I brought you today."

"I hope so, we haven't had anything good in ages," Elise said, seating herself behind the desk and beginning to look through the pile quickly, "pfffft...rejected twice already and I wish they'd stop sending me stuff, this is smut, this is smut, this is decently written smut and I'll take it home for private reading," she said, shifting one folder to the side and making Dennis laugh as she continued, "god, it just seems like I cannot catch a break."

"People ain't writin' anymore, it's a dead artform," Dennis said.

"The bookstores would tend to disagree," Elise said.

"The ones full of books nobody will read?" Dennis asked.

"If nobody's writing and nobody's reading, what the hell is everyone doing with their time?" Elise asked, and Dennis shrugged.

"I don't know, drugs?" he responded.

"Not a bad guess actually," Elise said, "I need to get some drugs."

"Well, I'll see what else comes in, but you're gettin' a little picky. You're gonna have to just choose something eventually, otherwise your literary magazine won't have any literature."

As Dennis stood up from the chair and headed towards the door, Elise snapped her fingers repeatedly at him, causing him to stop and turn to face her again. She was looking down at a file clutched in her hands, open, reading it quickly.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"...Dennis," she said, starting to grin, "find me everything you can on Boris Wachowski."
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Calvin sat in his car, just staring out the window, unsure of how to feel. He sighed, took a sip from his coffee cup and then looked at the passenger side window, where the bouquet of lillies sat. He reached out, put his hand around the end and picked them up, then exited the vehicle. As he walked across the wet freshly mowed grass, he hoisted his jacket further up around his neck with his free hand to keep himself warm. Doing this sort of thing always unnerved him, but he had to do this...

...he had to let her know how he felt.

                                                                                                ***

"I can't believe you talked me into this, I don't even like athleticism," Sun said as she pulled her rented bowling shoes on as Rachel sat at the table next to her doing the same.

"Neither do I," Rachel replied, "It's just nice to get out of the house once in a while, you know? At least that's what my mother used to try and sell me on."

"I hope nobody minds that I can't bowl worth a damn," Sun said.

"It's okay, neither can I, it's more an excuse for us to socially down nachos in a public forum under the guise of teamwork," Rachel said, sighing as she looked into the distance wistfully, whispering, "...I wish there was a team for that."

Sun laughed as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and watched as the others on their team finished getting the refreshments at the table before she looked back at Rachel, chewing on her lip nervously.

"I'm sorry, I'm not very good at dealing with other people these days," Sun said, "Not that I ever was, but before I came back to town I had to do it for work so I sort of got better at it, and now those skills have somewhat atrophied. I'm sort of...bad...at communicating."

"Well with word skills like that no one would ever guess," Rachel said, making Sun laugh; Rachel scooted to the side and put her hand on Sun's shoulder, saying, "hey, it'll be fine, okay? I'm here. I'll make sure it goes fine."

Sun smiled and nodded. She really appreciated Rachel's kindness and friendship, especially at this time in her life. Unfortunately for Rachel, she wanted it to be more than that.

                                                                                               ***

"Why are we here?" Wyatt asked, leaning against the snack table and looking at all the people in the room, many of whom were dressed in tacky clothing, unkempt looking in their hygiene and sometimes smelled of weird essential oils.

"Because this is the kind of thing you do if you want to take conservation seriously," Celia said, "You go to meetings like this, and you fight big corporations and you offer helpful insight, and considering what you do for a living, your insight will be invaluable."

"Oh," Wyatt said, "Well, glad to help. Why aren't they better dressed though?"

"Well nobody said activism was fashionable," Celia said, finishing with her paperwork before setting it down on the table and turning around to face the crowd with him, she added, "But when you're trying to save others, the last person you think of is yourself."

"That guy has on two different shoes," Wyatt said.

"Yeah, some people just can't be helped," Celia said, making him smirk as she said, "Come on, let's sit down."

Wyatt and Celia walked across the room and took their seats in the big circle of chairs. An older blonde woman, the only other somewhat well dressed person there, cleared her throat and looked around at the group.

"Hello, and welcome to another meeting. As you may know, but I'll reiterate for newcomers, my name is Marriane Bradley and I am the leader of SpareSun. We are a group dedicated to the conservation of the planet, the opposition of the destruction of forests and other natural preserves and of course interested in pushing back against the companies purely interested in pushing us closer to the brink of climate change for the sake of they paycheck."

Everyone said hello in unison, which only unnerved Wyatt some more, but he didn't say anything.

"We are in sort of in crisis mode right now, actually. I've just been informed that Morgana, a leading company dealing with deforestation for the sake of landscaping, is set to plow down an entire area just outside of town to create high rise condominiums for those looking to 'escape the city life' but still be somewhat near it. Obviously this is our top priority, so who has anything to say about this? Any suggestions or information?" Marriane asked.

"Morgana's a scam," Wyatt said out loud, before quickly realizing everyone was looking at him, even Celia, who was somewhat surprised by this outburst; Wyatt adjusted his tie and continued, "Uh, I mean, well, my father worked in the same kind of business, and from what he's told me, Morgana doesn't do things by the book. They cut corners, they're sloppy, they're disorganized, so on and so forth, because a lot of the money they get from the deal they funnel back into a second operation of theirs so they don't have to pay taxes on it and can write it off instead as a business expense."

"So you're saying if we could provide proof of this, we could get them tied up in litigation long enough to perhaps build a stronger defense against their actions?" Marriane asked, and Wyatt started to sweat.

He looked at his hands, nervously. What in the world was he doing here? This was a direct competitor he was talking about, and his father would kill him if he knew he had said anything he'd been told in confidence. And then he thought about Mona. He thought about how much worse things would be if even the quiet places were suddenly taken away from her, and he remembered why he was doing this.

"Possibly," Wyatt said, sitting forward, a bit more brazen now, adding, "In fact, very likely. They'd have to scrounge up a lot of paperwork, paperwork they'd likely prefer to doctor before sending over just in case it even remotely incriminates them, and then if that becomes an issue that's a whole other set of legal hoops they'd have to jump through. You can buy yourself a year or more time wise if you simply convince the right lawyer that a company isn't paying their fair share."

Everyone murmured in agreement, and the man with two different shoes hit him lightly in the shoulder with his fist.

"Right on, man, good idea," he said.

Wyatt leaned back, smiling, massaging his sore shoulder as he shifted towards Celia and whispered.

"I've been complimented on by double shoe. Clearly I am an important individual now," he said, making her laugh quietly.

                                                                                           ***

After bowling, Sun and Rachel were laying on the hood of Rachel's car in the parking lot, looking up at the stars, sharing a large container of nachos between them. Shoveling nachos in her mouth, Rachel spoke, though not particularly clearly.

"You did great," she mumbled.

"Thanks," Sun said, "It's just been so hard lately to be around others again."

"Why did you come back?" Rachel asked, "You said you were an intern at a hospital, but why-"

"I was studying to be a doctor," Sun said, "and it was grueling but I'd convinced myself that it was important because my parents had been so adamant that I do something important with my life. They always pushed me to be my best. Don't get me wrong, they aren't bad parents. They love me so much. But they also ask more of me than I'm remotely capable of giving them. After a while I burned out, and then when my dad started getting ill, my mom insisted I come home because I knew about medicine and could help him."

"Yikes, I'm sorry," Rachel said.

"But I didn't want to. I didn't wanna come back here. As you so elegantly said at work that first day, I'd gotten lucky, I'd escaped. And now...here I am, right back where I started. My mom is thankful I'm here, but you can tell she feels a bit of shame when she talks to her friends or family and all their kids are doing great things, and I'm working at a goddamned coffee shop."

"But you're helping your dad, and that's noble," Rachel said, "I'd give anything to help my parents."

"Why can't you?" Sun asked, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

"They won't talk to me," Rachel said, "For a slew of reasons."

"I'm sorry," Sun said, "I don't know what I'd do without my folks. Sometimes it's overbearing, but like I said, they love me and they do appreciate me being here. I'm grateful to have them."

"Nobody ever tells you but the world is even lonelier without family," Rachel said, now sitting up and pulling her legs to her chest, continuing, "you grow up thinking your parents are just the worst, and even if that's true, you miss them once they're no longer in your life. You think sometimes how great it'd be to be an adult, to be the master of your own life, but even if they were extremely toxic and controlling and manipulative, you still feel like an orphan, even if they aren't dead. Nobody ever tells you how lonely life can be without parents."

Sun sat up and scooted towards Rachel, hugging her.

"It's okay," she whispered, "You're not alone."

"I just wish they loved me," Rachel struggled to say, tears starting to fill her eyes and roll down her face, her voice cracking, "all I want is them to love me, love who I am, not who I could've been."

"Well, you have people who care," Sun said, "and that's a good substitute, right?"

Rachel nodded, then turned and pushed her face into Sun, sobbing. Sun just sat there and patted her back, holding her, telling her time and time again that it was okay, that she could cry, and that she wasn't alone. But Rachel was alone. Sun just didn't know how alone Rachel actually was.

                                                                                               ***

"I'm surprised," Celia said after the meeting adjourned and they were sitting at a nearby deli having a snack; she took a bite from her sandwich and said, while chewing, "I really didn't expect you to just turn on your old life like that."

"I was sitting there and I thought 'what am I even doing' because I could get in so much trouble for sharing insider information, but...then I thought about my daughter and how the other night she couldn't sleep simply because the heater was too loud, and the heater isn't that loud, trust me. But it was loud to her. And I started to think, fuck, if society takes all the quiet places and makes them obnoxiously loud and filled with others, then where will she be able to go to feel safe and free from sound?"

Celia nodded, grabbing her drink and taking a long sip.

"...I feel disgusting for what I've done to the world, and in turn, what I've done to her, even if only by accident. I want her to be safe and comfortable, and that just isn't a possibility if we continue to damage the planet," Wyatt said, "Besides, there's also the fact that Morgana is in fact a horrible company, and that's coming directly from someone in the industry. Bad as we may be, we're not nearly as bad as they are. There's tiers to tyranny, you know?"

"I understand," Celia said, "...but...you're not just doing this to get ahead in business are you? To cut your own competitors down to size? I'm sorry if that's an awful thing to ask, I just-"

"No, no, that's totally fair to assume, sure," Wyatt said, "and I don't blame you at all for asking, but no. Maybe a few years ago I would've been underhanded and sleazy enough, but not now. Not with what I know about my kids. I just wanna give them a better place to be once I'm gone."

Celia smiled and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.

"You know," she said, "Back in high school, I always knew you were a good guy deep down. There was a small group of students who hated you purely because you were popular, but I always could tell you weren't a bad person. Glad to see I'm vindicated."

"Who hated me? I'll kill them," Wyatt said, making her laugh as he added, "I...I wasn't great back then, but I admit it. I mean, who really was? Teenagers are very morally grey in many ways, and I was not above that. I did some shit I'm not too proud of. But overall, yeah, I didn't make fun of the handicapped or minorities, and I never disrespected women - at least I don't think I did, I guess it's not really my place to say for sure that I didn't - so I guess I tried at least, and that's more than most."

"Can you get that paperwork? Can you get some actual dirt on Morgana?" Celia asked, "I'm a lawyer. You and I could take them down directly if you give me the stuff I need."

"I probably could. I have some contacts over there. Employees I've been flirting with the idea of poaching, but they'd have to give me what I need in order to have a job with me once Morgana is taking the punches."

"Well then," Celia said, lifting her drink, "Let's save the environment."

They clinked their drinks and then ate their sandwiches.

If only they knew what they were about to unleash.

                                                                                            ***

When Rachel got home that evening, she took a shower and then sat on her bed, put her headphones on to block out the world and painted her nails, thinking about the stuff Sun had said. The way Sun had held her, and the way she'd talked to her. God, she'd smelled so good. Rachel had so badly wanted to tell Sun how she felt, how she'd always felt, but she knew it wasn't the right moment. Hell, there may never be a right moment, and honestly, Rachel was starting to come to terms with that. Frankly, she was just happy to have Sun back in her life.

And when Sun got home that night, she found her mother already asleep, and her father still in his chair, reading the newspaper. Sun brought him a large cup of tea, then gave him his medication and then helped him to bed once they took effect. Then she sat at the kitchen table, her hands cupped around her own mug of tea, and she thought about that night. She'd had a great time bowling, honestly, better than she'd expected, and she smiled. She was so grateful to come home and immediately have a best friend.

So why did she feel so awkward about being around Rachel?

                                                                                                 ***

Calvin was sitting in the grass, not saying a thing, the lillies now resting on the grave beside him. He just listened to the wind blowing, listened to the leaves rustling, and he thought about how much he hated this day. A day he used to love he now hated. He sighed and he looked over at the grave and smiled weakly.

"Happy birthday," he whispered, reaching out and gently caressing the smooth marble.

Calvin then stood up, wiped himself off and walked back across the graveyard and climbed back into his car. Once inside, he looked back out the window, towards his wifes grave, and he wanted to shriek. He could feel he was crying, but he couldn't bring himself to make any noise, no matter how much his insides twisted and turned. He finally started the car, and he started off towards home. Back towards his shed. Back towards building his bomb. His wifes birthday was always so hard, but this year his daughters birthday wouldn't be sad, it'd be a celebration.

Because that was the day he'd blow up Robert Grudin.
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"I don't wanna eat it," Mona said, looking up at her dad, "it looks...like it'd make my mouth angry."

"It's cereal, you like cereal," Wyatt said, uncapping the milk, preparing to pour it into the bowl.

"Yeah but this is all weird. It has ridges. They feel bad on my tongue," Mona replied and Wyatt stopped. He thought for a moment, capped the milk back and up and put his hands on his hips.

"How about Cheerios? Those are smooth," he said, and Mona nodded happily; he patted her on the head and said he'd be right back. Wyatt headed into the kitchen and looked through the cupboard, finding the frosted Cheerios just as the back door opened and Scarlett came in, surprising him.

"I cannot believe this," she said.

"What are you even doing up?" Wyatt asked, "When did you leave the house? It's Saturday, you never leave the house on Saturdays."

"Priscilla called me this morning," Scarlett said, "she told me that she was doing a bake sale at the school, and when she went in to use the bathroom, she passed by the notice board and saw a typed message that said they would be removing my plaque in favor or something else."

"What?!" Wyatt asked, now concerned, turning towards her.

"I know, right?! So I got up, got dressed and ran down there to see for myself, and sure enough, yeah, they're pulling my plaque out this week to make room for some new plaque about diversity and togetherness and all that crap," Scarlett said, seating herself at the kitchen island on a stool. Wyatt smiled as he poured the milk into this new cereal bowl full of Cheerios.

"You're such a thoughtful person," he said, making her chuckle.

"You know what I mean. I'm all for diversity, I'm not racist, I just...that plaque was the only thing I had as any kind of legacy, and now it'll be gone forever."

"You know you have two kids, right?"

"Yeah but I can't just parade them around for respect," Scarlett said, "...come on, you know what I mean. Remember when I got it? It was such a big deal. I tore my tendon and didn't tell anyone, continued to do my cheerleading duties and then, right after the season ended, I wound up in the hospital for weeks. Had to get a cast and have surgery and everything. You came to visit me every day. That plaque was in dedication to my dedication to the team, to leadership and perseverance."

Wyatt rubbed her back, standing behind her, cereal bowl in his other hand. He sighed and nodded.

"I'm sorry baby, but these things happen," he said, "It's a shame they won't just let you take it."

"Yeah," she whispered remorsefully.

Wyatt exited, bringing the cereal to Mona, leaving Scarlett alone with her thoughts, which was the worst thing he could've done, because she had an awful thought. Her eyes brightened, and a grin broke out across her face as she began to sit up, a plan formulating inside her head.

"...yeeeeah..." she said again, this time with eagerness.

                                                                                               ***

Wyatt knocked on the hospital door and entered slowly, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand as he pressed his way into the room. Scarlett looked up from her magazine as she laid in the hospital bed and smiled upon seeing him.

"Hiya," he said.

"You brought flowers!" she said.

"Actually I just stole them from another patients room, but it's the thought that counts," Wyatt said, making her laugh as he handed her the bouquet and then pulled a chair up beside her hospital bed and seated himself, continuing, "So, how long are you gonna be in here for?"

"I have to have minor surgery, but otherwise it shouldn't be that long," Scarlett said, "Might have to be in a wheelchair for a few weeks while it heals."

"Maybe I'll get one, and we can race," Wyatt said, making her crack up; he grinned and scratched his head, asking, "...are you doing okay though?"

"Yeah, I'm...I'm fine, honestly," Scarlett said, "I'm better now that I have company."

"What're you reading?" Wyatt asked, leaning back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head.

"Uh, it's an article about how to please your man," Scarlett said, picking the magazine back up.

"Oh, just what I need help with!" Wyatt said, the both of them laughing.

                                                                                              ***

"I cannot believe you talked me into this," Wyatt said as they sat in the parking lot of the high school, watching it carefully, waiting for the time to get just right and everyone started to leave; he continued, "This is...this is a crime, plain and simple, you're making me an accessory to a crime, and I know women like to accessorize but this is ridiculous."

"Shut up," Scarlett said, chuckling, "This is important to me. I put my heart and soul into cheerleading, and I can't just let them take that away from me. It's one of the only things I really have to be proud of."

"Again, two kids," Wyatt said, holding up two fingers and wiggling them.

"You know what I mean, aren't you, like, proud of the work you do?" she asked, and Wyatt stopped, thought for a moment, and bit his lip.

"No, I'm really not," he said, "If anything I'm disgusted."

"Well, what about what you managed to do for the baseball team?" Scarlett asked, "Remember all the effort you put into the team? You were the star pitcher! They admired you. You were considered their most important teammate. They wouldn't have made it without you, just like the cheerleading team wouldn't have made it without me."

"...yeah, I guess I get that," Wyatt said, "It's true, I was a major part of that team."

"I don't ask for much," Scarlett said, "I'm happy with what we have, and I love our life, but...this means a lot to me, Wyatt. I don't know if I can explain it. It's what made my mom proud of me. She was a cheerleader too, and...and I don't know, she was really proud of what I managed to accomplish, just like her."

Wyatt smiled warmly and leaned across the car, kissing her cheek.

"I'm proud of you too," he said, "Not just for that, but for everything you do. Every day you help raise two kids, and you keep this little family of ours going and it means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me. I just want you to be happy, and if this'll make you happy, then yeah, I'll help you steal your plaque."

Scarlett blushed and watched her husband scout the area with their binoculars. She couldn't believe she'd gotten so lucky to have found a man like Wyatt Bloom. Her mother had had such a rocky marriage, and then a questionable second marriage, that it made Scarlett worry if she'd ever manage to find true happiness, but she had, and she couldn't be more thankful for it. Sure, she knew that, deep down, she should recognize that the real gift in her life was her family, and she did recognize that.

But that didn't stop her from wanting her plaque.

                                                                                               ***

Scarlett hugged the soft plush bunny Wyatt had brought her as he pushed her down the hall in her wheelchair. They weren't going anywhere in particular, he was just taking her for a small ride around the hospital so she wouldn't be so cooped up in that little room all the time.

"Don't you have, like, homework to be doing?" Scarlett asked.

"Naw, I'll just pay some nerd to do it," Wyatt said, "Besides, hanging out with you is way more fun than homework."

"You didn't have to come every day," Scarlett said, sounding almost embarrassed.

"Yes I did," Wyatt said, slowing down as they passed by a long series of windows in the hallway that overlooked an enormous garden, adding, "It isn't fair for you to be in here by yourself with nothing to do. I wanna keep you company."

"I have my parents stop by, and other friends," Scarlett said, "I don't wanna monopolize your time."

"Like I have anything better to do," Wyatt said.

After a few moments of going by the windows slowly, Scarlett pushed some of her hair back behind her ear and lowered her voice.

"...but would you still be here even if I'd be in this wheelchair forever? Like...let's say that I was in some horrible accident and now I'm in this chair for the rest of my life, would you still be here? Would you still like me as much as you do now?"

Wyatt stopped pushing the chair and came around it, kneeling in front of her and holding her hands.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with being handicapped, and yeah, you're still you, even if your legs didn't work," Wyatt said, "why...why would you even ask that?"

"I guess cause some of the boys I've dated have only seemed interested in my looks, and what I can bring them as a social status," Scarlett said, "Like, it's all about physicality with them. I'm a cheerleader, I'm popular, so they use me as some kind of trophy. I guess I just was curious if you'd still like me even if I couldn't walk."

"Scarlett, that's ridiculous," Wyatt said, "your legs, nice as they are, are not your entire person. You're more than just your beauty, and any guy who doesn't see that is an idiot. Okay, I admit it, I've dated girls before simply because they were pretty, but I always wound up finding things I really genuinely liked about them after a while. But with you, it's been the opposite. I found you were really funny and nice first, and only after a while did it begin to dawn on me just how pretty you were."

Scarlett blushed as Wyatt reached up and put his hand on her cheek.

"I really like you, Scar," Wyatt said, "even if you resemble Steven Hawing."

She laughed as he leaned in and kissed her, and she kissed him back. Yes, she'd fallen for Wyatt Bloom long before, but this was the moment she realized she was going to spend the rest of her life with this man, for better...

...or for worse.

                                                                                                ***

The door opened easily enough with some force, and Wyatt and Scarlett made their way inside the school. Walking down the halls in the dark, with only a flashlight to guide them, something made Wyatt nervous. He shivered as he handed Scarlett the flashlight and crowbar and zipped up his windbreaker.

"Boy it's creepy in here," he said.

"God, it seemed like we'd be here forever," Scarlett said as they passed by a row of lockers and she reached out, touching her fingers to them, running them along as they walked on by, saying, "I just couldn't fathom one day not being in school, even though I knew it was inevitably an eventuality."

"I'm so glad to be out of here," Wyatt said, "This place was hell. I mean, it was certainly easier for kids like us, who were well liked, popular, but...it still was awful. I do not look forward to our kids being in high school, especially Mona. Ever since her diagnosis, I've had to re-examine every aspect of our lives and make sure nothing makes her uncomfortable, and high school is unrelenting and the kids are monsters."

"Not much different from adults, in all honesty," Scarlett said, spinning the crowbar in her hand.

"You know what I mean. They find the one kid with the worst handicap and they just latch onto them and torture them for the next 4 years, and I don't want Mona to go through that," Wyatt said, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets and looking at his shoes as they walked by, continuing with, "I just...I want her to be safe."

"Wyatt, look," Scarlett said, hitting his arm and pulling his attention to a glass case wherein a slew of awards and photos and trophies were.

"Wow," Wyatt said, "Look, there we are."

"...are you dissatisfied with life? Like, when you look at yearbooks or come to reunions, are you ever unhappy with where you ended up instead of where you thought you'd end up?" Scarlett asked.

"...not really, no. I mean, I...I'm not super pleased with my job a lot of the times, but as far as where I am, with you and the kids, I'm really happy. I'm exactly where I wanna be," Wyatt said, kissing her head and making her blush.

"Alright, enough cute shit, let's smash this bitch," Scarlett said.

"That's my girl," Wyatt said, as he stepped back and let her smash the glass around the enclosure before handing him the crowbar and letting him peel away at the plaque, attempting to free it from the shelf it was stuck to. After a few minutes, still struggling, Scarlett began to get giddy.

"This is so exciting!" Scarlett said.

"It is kinda exhilarating, yeah," Wyatt replied.

"Let's make out when we get outta here," Scarlett said.

"Don't gotta convince me," Wyatt said, finally tugging hard enough to lift the plaque from the shelf, grabbing it and tucking it under his arm as he took his wifes hand and the two of them raced down the hallway and out the front doors of the school back across the parking lot and into their car.

"Gun it!" Scarlett shouted, and Wyatt did just that, the both of them laughing loudly and whooping as they made their getaway, Scarlett's plaque in tow. It was the first real 'crime' Wyatt or Scarlett had ever been involved in, but it wouldn't be the last. As they laid on the hood of the car in a field miles away, Scarlett hugging the plaque to her chest as they looked up at the night sky, she couldn't feel happier.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Of course baby," Wyatt said, "you know I'd do anything for you."

"Sometimes I think that's half the problem," Scarlett said, laughing, "I could talk you into anything."

"You're really a liability, yes," Wyatt said, the both of them laughing now.

They went quiet again for a while, watching the night sky, listening to the crickets chirping around them and the wind softly rustling the leaves of the nearby trees.

"...I know it's just a plaque, and I know I have more to be thankful for, but...we're taught to obsess over youth and I can't let that go. This was my greatest achievement in academics, and it was in cheerleading of all things. I loved it, and I still do, please don't think I'm trying to diminish its importance by saying it wasn't math or science related or whatever. I just...other kids got scholarships, or they got honor roll, or they were valedictorian...but this...this was mine, and it was something I could be proud of."

"You never have to explain yourself to me," Wyatt said, "I get it. I really do. It's important that we find things that mean a lot to us and hold onto them as tightly as we can, even if they are, by definition, ridiculous. People act like pride is some horrible act of vanity, when really its simply an act of respect towards ones self, something nobody seems to do anymore."

"I love you," Scarlett said quietly, making him smile as he rolled onto his side on the hood of the car and kissed the side of her head.

"I love you too," he said softly, "...can we go home? I like to pretend like I'm still young and limber, but lying on this thing is killing my back."

Scarlett cracked up and they both slid off the hood, pulled the car doors open and slipped into the interior. After buckling their seatbelts, Wyatt started the car up and they drove home. When they got here, he took her upstairs and after she put the plaque on the bedside table, he made love to her. Scarlett couldn't imagine a more perfect evening, in all honesty.

                                                                                                   ***

Scarlett woke up the next morning to an empty bed.

When she rolled over, she found her plaque was gone, and she worried. She then noticed a piece of paper on the bedside table that simply read "downstairs" with a little heart drawn next to it. She got up, somewhat puzzled, and pulled on her pajamas, heading down the stairs where she stopped, noticing the plaque hung on the wall, and then saw Wyatt had made breakfast for everyone at the kitchen table. She stood there for a moment, simultaneously confused and surprised. Wyatt often made breakfast, but he never made a spectacle of it like he was doing this morning. Upon seeing her, he grinned and waved at her.

"Good morning," he said happily, "We have something for you."

He helped Mona get out of her chair and handed her another plaque, which Mona carried across the room and handed up to her mother. Scarlett took it and read it, tears forming in her eyes.

"This plaque is dedicated to Scarlett, the best mother, wife and friend anyone could ever ask for, and for her amazing work in the line of duty," Scarlett read as she knelt down and hugged her daughter, "I love it, and I love you."

"I love you too mom!" Mona said happily before racing back to the table to finish eating. Wyatt approached Scarlett and kissed her.

"It's not the same, but I felt you deserved a new one," he said, "Now you got two to be proud of."

He then led her to the table, where they all ate breakfast together, and, for the first time in a long time, Scarlett felt like part of a team again, and it made her happy. She had been the best cheerleader, but now she was the best mom and wife, and that was just as good. She'd lead this team to victory too, even if it meant taking some heat herself. She looked down at the plaque sitting on the table and she smiled again. She was so loved, and she felt that love fill her heart.

Sitting there, eating and watching her family, Scarlett couldn't help but understand what Wyatt meant the other night. Yes, this was the place they were supposed to be, and she was happy to be here, all 5 of them.
Wyatt, herself, their two kids and, of course, the little plush bunny that Mona now slept with, never knowing its origins, but loving it just as much as her mother had when Wyatt had given it to her back in high school.
Published on

Maddie had never seen an ambulance up close before.


But that day, the day of her party...well, needless to say she'd never expected the first time she'd see one up close would be at her own birthday party. She watched as they wheeled the boy out through the backyard gate and into the ambulance, and then watched as they sped away, sirens blaring. That night, her parents doted on her more than usual, making sure she was actually okay, and while she appreciated it, she also secretly wished their involvement in her personal well being hadn't had to come at such a heavy price.


And now there was an ambulance outside her house again, less than just a few months after the first time.


                                                                          ***


"I haven't slept in 24 hours," Lillian said, rubbing her eyes as she sat in the front seat of Tyler's car while he drove, Alexis in the backseat; Lillian added, "I swear, this has been the most emotionally exhausting year of my life."


"And it hasn't even been a full year," Tyler replied.


"I don't wanna give up my character," Alexis muttered from the backseat, her arms folded like a ten year old having a temper tantrum, "I put a lot of time and effort into figuring out this character, who they are, what their personality is...I created them. They're not a template, they're a full fledged person with a history and a future."


"I know how you feel," Lillian said, "My character is far more than just a dress and a crown. More than just an idea. She's a part of who I am. The last thing I wanna do is give up a part of myself...not again."


As they pulled up to a red light, the car coming to a crawl right beside Rina's, Lillian rolled down her window and motion for her to do the same, which she did. Lillian then leaned out the window a bit, as did Rina.


"I need you to tell me something right now, before we even get there...is Maddie herself okay or am I walking into something that's going to decimate me?" Lillian asked, "I need to know so I can decide whether or not to extend my therapy sessions indefinitely."


"All I know is Maddie called me, she was crying, and she said an ambulance was at her house," Rina said, "She wouldn't say any more than that, and then she hung up. I just knew I couldn't face whatever it was alone. She needs the full support of her friends, not just her babysitter."


Lillian nodded, understanding. The light turned green and each car began to roll ahead once again. Lillian rolled her window back up and leaned back into her chair, chewing on her thumbnail. She started to think about her mother, and the support she had doing pageants, until she no longer wanted to. Then her mother began to question her decisions, even berate her at times for a while, but eventually she came around and let Lillian back out of the spotlight. But Lillian knew how much that screwed her up, and she knew Maddie didn't deserve that. She wanted to be there for her. She wanted to be the mom she didn't have.


This revelation made Lillian smile.


                                                                          ***


When the gang finally arrived at the house, only Maddie was still there. Her mother had called Rina to babysit right after Maddie had called her, saying it was an emergency, and that was when Rina decided to go get the rest of them. Rina opened the front door, and the four of them walked inside, but Maddie was nowhere to be found.


"Nice digs," Tyler said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.


"I grew up in a shack compared to this," Alexis said.


Lillian immediately headed down the hall, leaving Rina to read the little letter Maddie's mother had left for her. She reached Maddie's room, but she wasn't in there. Then she heard something shifting from a nearby room, and as she pushed the door to the laundry room open gently with her fingertips, she saw a cardboard box made up to look like a spaceship. Lillian smiled, entered the room, and quietly shut the door behind her. She got onto her knees and knocked on the front of the cardboard box until the flaps opened suddenly, revealing Maddie, wearing what looked like a mock space helmet.


"...you're here?" she asked.


"Rina came to-"


Maddie threw her arms around Lillian and squeezed.


"It's okay, you're okay now," Lillian replied, gently hugging the small girl, "it's okay Maddie, I'm here, we're all here. Do you wanna tell me what happened?"


"...my dad...fell over," Maddie said, her voice cracked and wavy, "I don't know what happened. He and my mom were arguing and then he just...he just collapsed onto the table and then onto the floor. I don't understand, but I'm scared."


"I understand," Lillian said, "I like your box."


"It's a spaceship," Maddie said, wiping the tears from her eyes, "A lot of times, when I'm scared, I go inside and I pretend I'm flying away into outer space, and that I'm an astronaut in search of a better world. I did all the drawing on it myself."


"It looks great," Lillian said, "You know...when I was your age, after I stopped doing beauty pageants, I used to hide in my closet and pretend it was a dungeon. I was a princess locked away for crimes against the queen. Big surprise that I wound up playing a princess later in life, isn't it?"


Both girls sat in silence, neither one even barely breathing, until Maddie finally mumbled.


"I can't live with them anymore," she said softly, "...they're not bad people, but they are bad parents."


Lillian's heart broke a little more by hearing that, probably because she herself completely understood the sentiment.


                                                                           ***


Vera was sitting at her desk when her door flung open and Lillian stormed inside, Alexis right behind her, looking afraid. Vera looked up, put her pen down and sighed.


"I figured you'd turn up sooner or later," she said.


"How could you let this happen?" Lillian asked, "We trusted you to protect us, and now-"


"You think I'm happy about this? I did everything I could to push against it, but in the end my opinion doesn't mean shit compared to a company bleeding money. We're products, plain and simple, and what does a company do when faced with potential bankruptcy? They liquidate their assets, IE, us."


"I'm not exactly against being under new management," Lillian said.


"I am," Alexis said, raising her hand, "She...she doesn't speak for me."


"But I AM against the idea of having our characters taken from us," Lillian finished, "We are not just people in costumes. These characters represent facets of our personality and they can't just take them away. They're our characters, not theirs."


"They're not even characters, Lil! They're templates! You're a template!" Vera said, standing up now, "I know it sucks, I know, and believe me, I am still fighting tooth and nail to maybe undo some of the damage done here, but in the end I only have so much power!"


"...but you didn't," Alexis said quietly, catching Vera's attention now, as she continued, "I mean, you might say you did, and you might have done a little complaining, but look at the difference. You work for them, plain and simple. You're their employee, so you have to do whatever they say, even if you disagree or have complaints. In the end, you're not one of us, you're one of them, so you wouldn't know how much it hurts to have something so close to you ripped away from you...something you spent so much time on, something that means so much to you. Because you're not portraying an employee, you actually are an employee, and that's the irony...we're the ones playing pretend and yet we're far less fake than you'll ever be."


Alex turned and stomped out of the room, leaving Lillian behind. Lillian sighed, rubbed her face and looked at Vera.


"Don't...don't pay any mind to her," she said, "I'll talk to her. Just as she said, her views don't represent me. But if this is going to happen, I think we're going to leave and...and maybe start our own company. Retain our characters, maybe even broaden the scope of our job. Come with us, Vera. We could use your financial expertise."


Vera smirked and folded her arms, looking at her shoes.


"I'll think about it. That's a pretty gutsy move for a group of people with unstable lives, I admit," Vera said, "Be kinda fun to be along for that ride."


"Well, I never said we were great at making decisions," Lillian said, the both of them chuckling.


After a few minutes, when Lillian exited the room, she found Alexis was no longer nearby. She sighed, headed to the parking lot and drove home. Meanwhile, Alexis had also made her way back home. She shut off all her lights when she got inside, locked the door and sat down on her couch. She pulled a small box out from under her coffee table and she opened it, pulling out her coke and plopping the small baggie on the table. She leaned back into her couch and looked up at the ceiling, wanting to cry.


After a few minutes, she exhaled, leaned forward and started making lines when there was suddenly a knock at her door. She groaned, stood up, pulled a magazine over the stuff on her table and headed to answer the door. As she pulled it open, she was surprised to find Lillian there.


"Why did you vanish?" Lillian asked.


"Cause, why not, nothing matters, nothing's going to change," Alex muttered.


"That's where you're wrong," Lillian said, "...how would you like to be co-owner of a business venture?"


Alexis was intrigued, to say the least.


                     5 MONTHS LATER


Lillian pulled up to the parking lot and slowly put her car into her spot, sighing. She looked over at the passenger seat, where Maddie was seated. She'd picked her up from school, since she'd been spending a lot of time alone lately.


"You just gonna do your homework while we have this meeting?" Lillian asked, and Maddie nodded.


"I might need some help," she said.


"Tyler should be here, he'll be able to help you," Lillian said, just as someone else pulled into the parking lot right beside her, rock music blaring from the speakers. Lillian smiled, knowing it was Alex. Alexis turned her car off, got out and knocked on the window, which Lillian happily rolled down and asked, "Wow, you've never been on time before, this is a nice change of pace."


"What can I say, it's easier to care about something when you have an actual personal stake in it," Alex said, before cocking her head, smiling and wiggling her fingers, saying, "Hi Maddie."


"Hi Alexis!"


"Tyler's already here," Lillian said, "I saw his car, so."


"Cool," Alexis said.


Lillian and Maddie got out of the car and headed through the parking lot, towards the building, just as a scooter pulled into the lot nearby and Rina parked. She climbed off, pulled her helmet off and shook her hair out before racing over to join them. The four girls continued walking towards the building together now.


"This is so surreal," Alexis said.


"It really is," Lillian said, "But it feels right."


The door opened and Vera leaned out of the door.


"Hurry up!" she shouted, "We need to get started!"


As they all rushed inside, Vera stopped Maddie and knelt down to be eye level with her.


"Lillian's got a surprise for you, you wanna see it?" she asked, and Maddie nodded eagerly.


Maddie took Lillian's hand and the two walked down the hallway. Lillian had been worried that it wouldn't come out well, or that she wouldn't like it, but now that the moment was here, she was just excited to see Maddie's reaction. As they reached a door, Lillian pulled it open and saw Maddie jump up and down, screaming as she raced inside the room. Inside was a plastic playset, designed to look like a rocket ship. Maddie rushed right up to it and started looking at it from every angle.


"This is so cool!" she shouted.


"I figured you'd like it," Lillian said, "I had it built specifically for you, so you'd have somewhere comforting to go to when things get bad or you just don't wanna be at home."


"You did this for me? It's all mine?" Maddie asked, turning to Lillian, her eyes wide.


"It's all for you. When we were designing the offices, I requested this be done. There was an extra room, and we already had the party room planned out, so we didn't know what to do with the space and we didn't want it to just be storage. I came up with the idea because I remembered your box at home."


Maddie hugged Lillian around the waist tightly, and Lillian stroked her hair.


"Thank you," Maddie whispered.


"Everyone deserves a place of their own," Lillian said, "So you're welcome. Now go sit in it and do your homework. I'll be in the meeting if you need anything."


Lillian exited the room while Maddie settled into her rocket ship cockpit. Lillian leaned against the wall and sighed, shutting her eyes, only opening them when she heard someone walking up to her, and she opened her eyes to see Josh walking up to her. Their hair had grown even longer, and their nails were painted. They were wearing jeans and a feminine button down shirt. Lillian smiled upon seeing them.


"I'm glad you're here," she said.


"I'm glad I was able to come," Josh said, "I had work, so."


"We're about to start the meeting," Lillian said, and she took their hand and led them down the hall to the meeting room.


The group had come together to pool their wages, their savings, and a small loan, in order to sublet this small building and start their own company, just as Lillian had suggested. Lillian, Vera, Tyler and Alexis were all co-owners, and they each got to remain the characters they had always had. Meanwhile, Maddie was in her cockpit of her spaceship, getting her homework ready on her lap. She looked at all the realistic instruments on the panel and all the blinking lights. She shut the door to the ship, and when she did, she noticed projections began on the window that mimicked flying through space. Maddie grinned widely, and she pulled her space helmet out of her backpack, putting it over her head.


The vastness of space, a universe full of potential, was ahead of her.


And she couldn't wait to see where it led.

Published on
Leanne Goldstein hadn't been living in the complex for quite some time now.

She'd been moved to a healthcare facility a handful of months ago, and Boris had been so busy he hadn't even noticed. Truth be told, after being told she no longer remembered him, Boris had not really thought about Leanne, instead writing her off as a failed aspect of his later in life efforts to get closer to people. Now, standing in the elevator with Father Krickett as it ascended up towards the floor Leanne was supposedly placed on, Boris couldn't help but feel sick to his stomach. He suddenly lurched forward and hit the "emergency stop" button on the elevator, causing Father Krickett to look at him.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

"I don't know that I can do this," Boris said quietly, "I...I'm not sure I'm strong enough."

"Sometimes we need to put aside our shortcomings and instead accept that there are things we need to do, not because we want to do them, but because others need us to," Father Krickett said, "Trust me, she wants to see you. You don't wanna let her leave this world without getting that chance of closure."

Boris waited, then sullenly nodded and let the elevator resume its mission. Once at the floor, the two men stepped out of it, and headed down the hallway. The sounds of breathing apparatuses and heart monitors and all other sorts of life extension devices flooded Boris's ears, yet somehow he managed to block it all out, instead only focusing on what in the world he would have to say to Leanne Goldstein. They'd only talked a handful of times, and despite her making a big impression on him, it wasn't like they had much history. Why in the world would she want to see him, of all people? He didn't know her. He wished he could've, but the fact remains that he didn't.

Who was Leanne Goldstein?

Boris and Father Krickett walked to the door and stopped. Boris turned and looked at Father Krickett, who simply smiled and patted the old man on the back before pointing at a nearby bench in the hall.

"I'll be over there if you need me," he whispered, and Boris nodded before turning to the door and opening it, heading inside. Leanne was lying in a bed, and she didn't even seem to notice Boris when he entered. He walked quietly up to the bed, seated himself in a nearby chair and carefully cleared his throat. She finally rolled her head towards him and smiled. Boris smiled back. He had forgotten about the warmth her smile had in it, and he had forgotten how much he liked it.

"Hi," he said, as she reached out and took his hand.

"Hello," she said, her voice sounding strained, tired.

"How are you feeling?" Boris asked.

"How do you think?" she asked, looking around, half chuckling as she added, "I'm better now that I'm not alone though."

"I'm glad," Boris said, "...are you scared?"

"I'm not scared, no," Leanne said, "What purpose is there in being scared? It's not like I can change anything, so why worry anymore? The time for worrying is over. It's just nice to not be alone at a time like this. I'm glad you're here. You said we would be together again."

Boris raised an eyebrow.

"I...I did?" he asked.

"Before you died," Leanne said, "don't you remember, Curtis? You were where I am and I was where you are, and now the roles are reversed, but you said we'd see one another again, and here you are. I knew you wouldn't forget about me...I've missed you so much, Curt."

Boris looked down at her hand, which was now squeezing his firmly. He smiled back at her, then nodded before standing up an excusing himself for a moment. As he exited the room and leaned against the door, trying not to cry, he glanced towards the bench where Father Krickett was seated, reading a magazine, eating a candy bar. Boris walked briskly over to the bench and grabbed the magazine from his hands, causing him to look up at him in surprise.

"What are you doin' to me, man!?" Boris asked loudly.

"When I was called in to give last rights, I realized it was the same woman you'd told me about before. I figured the best thing to give her before she left this earth was a chance at not feeling alone," Father Krickett said, "Nobody deserves to die alone, Boris."

"John, this is...this is so fucked, man," Boris said, sounding exasperated, throwing his arms in the air, continuing, "I can't...I can't possibly go back in there! She doesn't even know who I am!"

"And isn't that good?" Father Krickett asked, "I mean, let's face it, Boris...you two never had a history. You met a few times, and the last time she didn't even remember you. Isn't the fact that you don't share any kind of history a good thing? It makes it easier. If you knew one another, boy, this would hurt so much more, wouldn't it? But this way, you're doing a good thing...you're giving her safety in the face of mortality. That's not something a lot of people get. That comfort in the face of fear. She's lucky."

Boris stopped pacing and looked at Father Krickett, then pulled his cap off and ran his hands through his remaining hair. He sighed and looked at his shoes.

"I'm...scared," Boris whispered, "she's the one who's dying and I'M scared."

"Natural."

"Having those around you die...it slowly pushes you to the top of the list," Boris said, "sooner or later, it's going to be me in her position, and I...I don't wanna go out like that. I don't wanna go out losing my memory, unsure of what's real or if I'm even still here. I don't..."

Boris looked up at Father Krickett, then seated himself on the bench beside him.

"I don't wanna die, John," Boris whispered.

"Nobody does," Father Krickett said, "Except perhaps the terminally ill, in severe pain, or truly suicidal people, but even then I think there's an argument to be made for the opposite."

"I'm going to die, and I don't want to," Boris said, "...there's nothing I can do about that. My problems with my wife, with my daughter? Those I ran from. All the problems in my life I could run from, but you can't run from the inevitability of mortality. It finds you eventually, one way or another. You can't outrun death. That's terrifying. The concept of nonexistence. How can she be so brave while facing down the reality of no longer existing?"

"Because she's lost in her memories, Boris, and she probably doesn't know that's what's happening," Father Krickett said, "think about it, if she thinks you're her dead husband, how with it can she really be?  Coherency isn't even a word to her anymore. I'm not trying to be rude, but...let's face facts here. She can't really comprehend what's happening to her, and that's probably for the best. Did you know dogs don't know they're going to die? That one day they just...go to sleep, and that's that? They face every day with the uncertainty of their future, but they never realize it. Dogs are lucky, and right now, Leanne is lucky."

Boris nodded and pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped at his eyes.

"Alright..." he said, "I'll go back in. I'll do the right thing."

"I'm proud of you," Father Krickett said.

Boris stood back up and headed back to the room. He opened the door and entered, finding Leanne still in the bed. She smiled at him as he approached the bed and seated himself once more. She reached out, and he graciously took her hand and held it, only now realizing how cold she felt. Boris felt a lump grow in his throat, and he tried not to cry.

"You're back," she said.

"Yes," he said.

"...it's weird," she said, "I can't imagine being here without you. Our house feels so empty, my life feels so empty."

"Yeah, that tends to happen when you lose the people you loved," Boris said, "but it's alright, you're not alone now, and this room isn't empty, so it's all okay."

Leanne looked around the room again, then let her eyesight settle on Boris once more, and she smiled. She squeezed his hand even tighter and her breathing became shallow.

"Is it nice...up there?" she asked.

"It's beautiful up here," Boris said quietly, "You're going to love it. We'll be together, and it's so pretty, and everyone you've ever lost and missed will be with you again. I'll be with you. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Who said I was afraid?" Leanne asked, "...I'm not afraid. I'm excited."

Boris was caught by surprise, but he couldn't help but smile. This was the kind of attitude he wanted to have when it came to be his time to leave this life behind. Leanne leaned her head back on the pillow, her eyes gazing upwards at the ceiling, and she smiled as wide as she could.

"I can't wait to see," she whispered, and then she died.

Boris sat there, holding her cold hand for a good fifteen minutes before he finally stood up, wiped his eyes on his sleeve and leaned over the bed. He kissed her cheek and then turned and exited the room. Father Krickett was standing outside, eating yet another candy bar, when Boris arrived in the hall. Boris walked to him and the two men looked at one another, and then Boris fell against the priest and he sobbed. Father Krickett shoved the unfinished candy in his pocket and hugged the old man back.

"I'm sorry," Father Krickett whispered, "I know I deceived you, but...you didn't get to say goodbye to Polly. Not with her able to respond. You didn't get to say goodbye to Ellen before her coma, and now she doesn't remember you well. I just wanted you, at least once, to have the chance to say goodbye, and she didn't deserve to go alone."

"thank you, John," Boris said in a hushed crying voice, "thank you, thank you, thank you."

"You're welcome, Boris," Father Krickett said, patting him on the back, "come on, let's go get some breakfast."

                                                                                                   ***

Seated in their favorite nearby diner, Boris and Father Krickett were eating breakfast. As Father Krickett scooped scrambled eggs onto his fork, Boris was eating his second hashbrown. A waitress walked by and refilled their coffee cups, then politely excused herself, leaving them alone once again.

"I'm sorry for bringing you there under false pretenses, but you deserved some closure. I watched my brother die, and I nearly died, and my family has never gotten much closure. Certainly it's a manmade concept created to ease our guilt over things left unfinished, whether by choice or not, but I still think it's worth the effort sometimes to try and attain it," Father Krickett said, picking up his mug and sipping his coffee.

"...she was excited," Boris said flatly, "she was excited to see what was coming."

"If only we could all face the end of our lives with that kind of eagerness," Father Krickett said.

"How do you do it, John?" Boris asked, looking up, wiping the grease from his mouth on his napkin and picking up his own coffee mug, "jesus, how do you do it? Every single day you're called in to give people their last rights, to tell them the end is coming, to let them know it's okay to die...how does that not effect you?"

"Who said it doesn't effect me?" Father Krickett asked, "I mean, sure, perhaps I'm a bit more capable of grappling with such concepts than most people considering my line of work, but it doesn't mean I'm not scared of the same things. I think about these things too. Just because I have faith doesn't mean I don't get frightened. Faith only gets you so far, after all."

Boris nodded and sipped his coffee. He waited a moment, then spoke again.

"I want you to take care of my arrangements," he finally said, making Father Krickett nearly choke on his eggs.

"Excuse me?" he asked, mouth half full.

"You heard me."

"I did, that's the problem, yes," Father Krickett responded, asking, "run that by me again, would you?"

"I want you to take care of my arrangements," Boris said, "I've never...I've never had a friend like you before. Sure my wife and I were friends, and okay Carol and I are pretty close, and alright Polly and I got particularly buddy buddy, but...I've never had a friend like you, especially not a male friend. I want you to take care of my end of life arrangements, whenever that happens."

"...I...I don't...I don't know what to say, that's...that's a huge honor and responsibility," Father Krickett said, "but are you sure that I'm the right one for the this job? Don't you think there'd be someone better? Someone more capable? Like Whittle?"

"Whittle is a great person, and a wonderful friend, but..." Boris hesitated as he rubbed his hands together, sighing, "...I don't trust anyone as much as I trust you, John. Please do this for me."

Father Krickett smiled warmly, and nodded.

"If that's what you want, Boris, then that's what I'll do," he replied.

A moment of quiet passed, as they continued to eat in silence. Boris drank from his coffee, and then finally he set the cup back down and looked out the window at the rainclouds in the sky, the drizzle lightly pelting the glass.

"What do you think she was excited for?" Boris asked, "the idea of not being in pain?"

Father Krickett finished chewing, set his fork down, cupped his hands on the table and looked out the window with him.

"Not our place to say, but...if I had to guess," Father Krickett said, "...I'd say she was excited for anything that wasn't where she was right then."

Boris grunted in acknowledgement, and the men ate the remainder of the breakfast in silence.

                                                                                                 ***

Carol was sitting in her office, reading through a series of files with Burt sitting in the seat across from her. She sighed, set the files down and rubbed her forehead. Burt looked up from his own folder.

"Need something?" he asked.

"Yeah, an assistant," Carol replied.

"I thought I was your assistant," Burt said, sounding hurt, which made Carol chuckle.

"You do a good job, Burt, but you know what I mean. Someone young and vibrant and full of life," Carol said.

"Jeez Carol, I'm not dead yet," Burt replied under his breath.

The door to the office opened, and Boris stepped inside. Burt smiled at his friend, and then noticed his face. Burt quickly excused himself from the room, leaving Boris alone with Carol. Boris sat down in the chair Burt had previously occupied and looked across the desk at Carol, who rested her arms on the desk, folded.

"What's going on? You don't normally come around lately," she said.

"...are you afraid of dying, Carol?" Boris asked.

"I mean, isn't everyone?" Carol asked, shrugging, "and those who say they aren't are just liars, if you ask me. What brought this on?"

"Someone I knew died today, and I was the last person to talk to her. I've been the last person to talk to a few people lately before they die. I guess it's making me think about the idea of the end of my own life. What comes after, if anything, and the fear that'll likely course through my brain beforehand."

"Perfectly understandable thing to think about," Carol said.

"The woman who died today, she said she was excited. She was excited for the afterlife, and I can't remember the last time I was excited for my actual life. I want to have that level of dedication to any aspect of life, after or otherwise. If I'm going to get clean for Polly, I'm going to try harder to enjoy life for this woman. The people around me are the ones making me a better person."

"Gee, what are you gonna do when I die?" Carol asked, smirking.

"Doesn't matter, cause it ain't ever gonna happen," Boris said, smiling back at her.

"You wanna help me with some paperwork?" Carol asked.

"Yeah, that's what I wanna do with my remaining time on earth," Boris said sarcastically, making them both laugh.
Published on
Wyatt was sitting at his desk in the office, tapping his pen on the table repeatedly as he chewed on his lip, his eyes never leaving the sight of the poster attached to the wall nearby which simply read "There's No Such Thing As An Endangered Forest". He had a nasty, gnawing feeling in his stomach, and he couldn't shake it all morning, no matter what he did. Finally he stood up, walked over to the frame in which the poster hung, and pulled it off the wall. He then headed out of his office, walked all the way downstairs, opened up the backdoor of the building, lifted up the lid of their dumpster and tossed it inside. He then went back indoors and went back to work. The nasty gnawing feeling didn't go away, but it felt a little bit better at least without having to look his guilt directly in the face.

                                                                                               ***

"I'm destroying the planet," Wyatt said sourly as he and Celia sat at their table at the nearby bistro for lunch; he continued, "my children are going to have to live with the decisions I've either made or helped make for the sake of money, and their children are going to have to suffer as a result as well. It's making me sick."

"Well, I don't think you're solely to blame," Celia said, "but I do think it's good you're recognizing your hand in it nonetheless. You know, I work with a lot of people who would like to enact change, but can't afford to leave their higher paying jobs. I could put you in with one of those groups. You could do some outdoor petitioning, maybe start a community garden...you know, just dip your toe in the water and see how it feels."

"I'm afraid to dip my toe in any water at this point, god knows what's living in it now," Wyatt replied, making her choke with laughter; he smiled and added, "but thanks, maybe it is something worth looking into."

For the last few weeks, he and Celia had been having lunch like this most days. They each worked downtown, and only about 15 minutes away from one another, so they compromised by finding a spot smack dab in the middle of their office buildings and getting lunch together there. It was a good place, because they each knew nobody from their jobs would travel that far from their respective offices for lunch, so they had nothing to worry about in regards to being seen together, not that they were doing anything besides having lunch.

"What's it like? You know...to care about the planet?" Wyatt asked, "Cause my dad, god...he doesn't give a shit about the Earth. He says we have every right to destroy it simply because we live on it. He says the idea of resources vanishing entirely is ridiculous, because why wouldn't the planet just continuously make new resources? Course my dad isn't the sharpest cheese in the drawer."

Celia laughed again and nodded, replying with, "Yeah, well, leave that to the generation that thought tupperware was the greatest invention since the invention of inventions."

Wyatt smirked. He appreciated Celia's viewpoint on things, and he was beginning to open up to the idea of trying to help the planet instead of hurting it. He and Scarlett had gotten Mona tested a week earlier, and they were simply waiting for a diagnosis, but it seemed like ever since the parent/teacher conference he'd become so much more invested in making the world better for his children, and the children around him, than worse. How much effort would it take before he felt like he'd done right by his kids? Hard to say.

But if there was one thing Wyatt was, it was dedicated.

                                                                                                ***

"I'm late, I know, I'm sorry!" Rachel said as she entered the employee section in the back of the coffee shop, adding, "and I know, how can I be late when I live literally upstairs from the place? Well, it's possible that my alarm didn't go off because it's possible that I threw it at the wall last week and-"

Rachel stopped, hands still behind her back as she was tying her apron. She didn't speak. She could barely breath. There, sitting at the table in front of her, was Sun Rai. Her manager, an older woman named Debra, was standing there, holding a clipboard.

"Rachel?" Debra asked, finally pulling Rachel back from her shock.

"Uh, what?" Rachel asked.

"You're late, but it's fine because I'll be on register today while you train our newest employee," Debra said, motioning to Sun, "I'll leave you two to get acquainted."

Debra turned and exited the break room leaving the girls alone.

"...you're here," Rachel finally said, "...you...you didn't come to the reunion, but you're here."

"I didn't go to my high school reunion because I wasn't in town," Sun said, an eyebrow raised, "Do I know you?"

"I'm Rachel Minnow," Rachel said, holding out her hand and shaking Sun's, adding, "uh, we...we went to high school together. We had gym class together, do you re-"

Sun stood up and hugged her, surprising Rachel, who cautiously hugged her back.

"I do remember you!" she said, "You were one of the only kids who were nice to me. I'd ask you how you've been, but considering where we're working..."

Rachel laughed.

"Yeah, it, uh, it hasn't been great," Rachel said as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail, "What about you though, what are you doing here? I figured you were some successful something somewhere or other."

"Boy you're good with words," Sun said, smirking, as she sat back down in her chair and sipped her coffee, "Actually I was a successful something somewhere, but I had to come back home, so. Couldn't stay there anymore. Dad needs me, plus I just...I needed to get away from where I was."

"And back to where you escaped from?" Rachel asked, surprising Sun. Rachel turned and grimaced, scratching her forehead as she added, "I'm...I'm sorry, that was rude. Um, it's just that, to so many people we tried so hard to get away from where we're from. Yet, like a magnet, it continually pulls us back to it, and it seems like no matter how much effort we put in, we'll never really be clear of the place."

"...is this part of my training, or are you just always this maudlin?" Sun asked, making Rachel laugh.

"Well," Rachel said, "I'm happy you're back."

"Well, that makes one person," Sun said.

                                                                                                ***

Wyatt was stood in an aisle of the hardware store, looking at weed killers. He had a clipboard in his hand, taking inventory, but he couldn't get past the imagery on the weed killer bottle; a dozen or so ants killed surrounding a dandelion, which was also wilting presumably from the weed killer. Wyatt reached out and gently touched the bottle, his stomach churning.

"Wyatt?" a voice asked, making him jump as he turned to see one of his younger employees, Ben, standing there.

"Jesus Benjamin!" he shouted, "don't sneak up on people like that!"

"Uh, I was just curious where you wanted this shipment of-"

"Ben, can I ask you a question?" Wyatt asked.

"Uh...I...I guess, sure?"

"Do you think the planet's in trouble?" Wyatt asked, "Do you...do you think we should be doing more, as a species, to perpetuate our longevity instead of killing innocent animals and ruining precious land? I'm standing here, and I'm staring at this weed killer, and...and we consider anything smaller than us a 'pest', you know? Ants, gophers, fucking dandelions. Anything that shouldn't be where we think is okay to be is considered a nuisance, yet we never seem to admit to ourselves that we're the ones who moved in uninvited. We're like an untrained dog mother earth just brought inside without thinking twice, and all we've done is bite the hand that feeds."

Ben rubbed his arm, surprised but also a bit confused as to Wyatt's speech. He cleared his throat and waited for Wyatt to finish.

"What am I doing here?" Wyatt asked, "You know? Look at this shit, there's poison in this. There's poison in this and we're putting it on the place we live on. The place our children live on. And somehow we think that's okay, somehow we justify the actions we take because oh, we won't be around for the consequences, as if that makes it alright. Ben, please, tell me we're not the bad guys."

Ben shrugged and grimaced.

"I mean...we're the bad guys, Wyatt," Ben said, "There's...there's no arguing that."

"Fuck," Wyatt said under his breath, "...alright, you know what? New store policy. We're not stocking anything with poison in it, and we're not stocking anything that might kill an animal. I don't care if people take offense at my stance, I'll take the hit for it, but I refuse to continue to be an active participant in the ongoing destruction of the planet."

Ben nodded, looking at the weed killer, saying, "I'll pack it all up and have it shipped back asap."

"Than you," Wyatt said, turning and walking away down the aisle.

"Uh, where are you going?" Ben called after him.

"To see a lady about a purpose," Wyatt answered.

                                                                                          ***

"God, how do you stand it here?" Sun asked as they sat at a small table in the corner on their break, eating bear claws and people watching; Sun continued with, "like, all these people who think they're better than you. Though, shameful to admit, I used to be like them, so. Who's the real hypocrite here?"

"Mostly I just fantasize about slowly killing everyone in their sleep," Rachel said, "...what do you mean you used to be like them?"

"Before I moved back home I was working at a hospital, doing internship while I was getting my degree," Sun said, "and I used to go get coffee for everyone, and I was kind of rude to the people who served me. The people who were just trying to survive themselves. I just thought because I'd worked hard, or because I was in a field that was inherently considered 'worthwhile' - because nobody sees the service industry as worthwhile despite them literally giving us things we need everyday - that somehow I was better than them or something. I feel so bad about that now."

"Eh, I think being a doctor is more worthwhile," Rachel said, shrugging, "but perhaps I'm just so jaded that I can't help but be critical anymore. I mean, sure, the service industry is a necessity and sure, nobody deserves to be treated poorly because of the line of work they're in, but let's be real here...a barista never removed somebody's kidney to save their life."

Sun giggled and the sound of her laughter filled Rachel's heart with joy. She hadn't heard Sun's voice, Sun's laughter, in ages, and it was just as beautiful as she could remember it.

"I mean, I wanted to be an artist," Rachel said, "So maybe I'm not the one who should be making judgements about peoples career decisions."

"I'm glad you're here," Sun said, "There's nothing worse than getting a new job with nobody you know."

Rachel wanted to cry at this statement. She'd been so upset at Sun not showing up at the reunion, and now she was going to get to see her every day, all day, and she began to feel like, perhaps, she did win in the end after all.

                                                                                                ***

Celia was sitting on her couch, reading a book, when a knock came at her front door. She put a bookmark between her pages, stood up and walked to the door, answering it, only to find Wyatt standing on her porch. She was, admittedly, surprised.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

"Well, you're here," she replied, making him smirk.

"You know what I mean. Your kid's not here?"

"Of course not, it's the middle of the day. They're at school," Celia said, "Please, come inside."

She stepped aside, allowing Wyatt to enter the building. He smoothed out his hair as he entered and Celia shut the door behind him. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall as he paced across her living room floor.

"What are you even doing here?" she asked.

"I had an epiphany today," Wyatt said, "I'm the bad guy. I don't wanna be the bad guy anymore. I don't wanna be remembered by history as one of the men who helped doom the planet and his own species for the almighty dollar. That isn't a legacy to be proud of. Who's going to remember me if nobody's around to remember me?"

"Astute observation," Celia said.

"So I just..." Wyatt said, scratching his cheek, "I need to do something more. Something better. I need to do some kind of protest work or something. I can't keep doing what I do and ignoring the long term effects for short term results. Just because something makes me money doesn't make it okay to do. Ask the people involved in illegal pornography. Sure, they make buckets of money, but that doesn't make it morally okay."

"A weird comparison, but alright," Celia said, half laughing, "Well, we can sign you up for protests and events and whatnot. Any help is appreciated. I'm proud of you, honestly, it takes a lot to admit you're doing the wrong thing, especially when you're directly involved."

"Scarlett would never say she's proud of me," Wyatt said, surprising Celia as she crossed the room to the kitchen to pour Wyatt a drink; he continued, "I mean, she loves me, she's my best friend, but...she also loves the money. She loves what I bring to the family, and the lifestyle. She'd be angry at me for leaving it behind."

"Well," Celia said, uncorking a bottle of wine and pouring some into a glass for him, handing it to him across the counter as she said, "I can't blame her. It's hard to turn down comfortable living for the sake of continued living for the future of the species. I'm not short sighted, Wyatt. I see why these people do what they do, and I understand it. Just because I don't agree with it doesn't mean I don't get it. You can be wrong for understandable reasons."

Wyatt took the glass, nodded, and then downed the entire thing in one swallow. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and sighed.

"I need to know that I did everything I could to make my childrens lives, and in effect, their childrens lives, better...not worse," Wyatt said, "How can I be a good father by hurting mother earth? That's just misogyny."

"Well I wouldn't go that far, but sure, I get the sentiment," Celia said, chuckling, "It takes a big man to admit he cares about something other than himself."

"Well I am the biggest man," Wyatt said, "I am huge in manliness."

Celia laughed and patted his shoulder as she headed down the hall to her home office.

"Come on, let's look at some of the possible groups we could assign you to."

                                                                                             ***

Rachel flopped down on the couch when she got home, just sighing, staring up at the ceiling. Sun Rai was back in her life suddenly, out of the blue, and her world felt so much brighter because of it. It was amazing what just having the right person around do for someone. She wanted to go onto the roof of her apartment and just scream about how happy she was, but instead she took a shower, made some soup and fell asleep on the couch to an old western movie.

Unfortunately for Sun, her homecoming wasn't as good for her as it was for Rachel. When she arrived at her parents house that night after work, she found her father already asleep in his recliner. She muted the TV, then gently woke him up and took him to his bedroom, where she helped him lay down and put the blankets up around him. Afterwards she wound up in the kitchen, where she found her mother, Shen, making some tea and reading a magazine.

"Dad's in bed," Sun said.

"Thank you," Shen said, "What do you think of this patio furniture?" she asked, holding the magazine out so Sun could see it.

"I think it's garish," Sun said, "But if that's the look you're going for then it's spot on."

"How was work?" Shen asked.

"...you know what?" Sun asked as she opened the freezer and pulled out a carton of ice cream, "...it was good. I had a good day. I haven't had an actual good day in a long time, but I had a good day today, mom."

Shen smiled, walked across the room and kissed her daughter on the forehead.

"I'm happy for you," she said, patting her cheek, "I'm going to bed. Sleep good, Cricket."

After Shen disappeared, Sun sat down at the kitchen table and ate ice cream out of the carton, thinking about her new life, her new job, her new old friend, and she smiled. Rachel was wrong. There was no such thing as a more respectful line of work. In fact, work didn't even need to fulfill you. You just had to be happy that you were managing to survive. Still, she appreciated Rachel's point of view. She picked up the phone off the wall and dialed a number.

After a few rings, Rachel answered, sounding groggy; Sun asked, "I didn't wake you did I? Okay. Sorry. Do you wanna do something? I don't wanna be at home right now. Okay, come get me and we'll go."

Sun hadn't had friends in her last job, her last life. That was the best thing she got out of this return home. Not the job. Fuck the job. No. The best thing she got was the friend. Because friends are worth more than careers. It had just taken her a long time to see that, and admit it. So Rachel came and picked her up, and the two of them went to a nearby minigolf course. They had ice cream bars and they had pizza and they played minigolf, and for the first time in a long, long time, Rachel and Sun Rai were both happy again.

All in all, Sun was right...it really was a pretty good day.
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About

So Happy Together is a dramedy about couple Aubrey & Brent. After Aubrey plays an April Fools joke on Brent that she's pregnant, Brent confesses out of panic that he actually has a secret daughter with an ex wife, and everything changes overnight.