Published on
Calvin woke early the morning after Halloween, in a great mood.

His folks were already at work, so he tuned the radio in the kitchen and found the old soul station. Calvin smiled and started snapping his fingers along to "My Girl" by The Temptations, as he headed to the fridge and pulled out some ingredients and made himself some breakfast. He made himself a stack of waffles, with blueberries in them, and poured himself a large glass of orange juice. He then made himself some bacon and toast, then set his breakfast platter down on the table and sat down, prepared to eat. As Calvin stuck his napkin in his shirt collar, he took a deep breath. Yes. It was a good morning.

And then before he could start eating, there was a knock at the door. Calvin groaned, stood up and walked to the living room. Twisting the front door open, he was surprised to find Rachel standing on the porch.

"Oh," he said, "hey, good morning. What are you doing here?"

"I need help," Rachel said.

"Okay...with what?"

"My friend needs a bomb," Rachel said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the car. Calvin leaned to the side and looked, surprised to see none other than Wyatt Bloom sitting in the passenger seat. Calvin scratched his head and sighed.

                                                                                              ***

"I had no idea it would do...well...that," Wyatt said as he and Rachel sat at a nearby diner that morning before heading to Calvin's. They had just ordered a large basket of fries and were sharing them, but Wyatt wasn't too hungry, so Rachel was the one actually eating them.

"Why'd you do this in the first place?" Rachel asked.

"Cause I...I wanted to make a difference," Wyatt said, "I've spent my life in an industry dedicated to the destruction of our planet and its natural resources, and then when my daughter was diagnosed with ASD, I just...I realized how much worse I was making the world for her specifically, and I wanted to leave her a better world than that. We just...we didn't really think things through. We didn't mean to destroy any kind of buildings or anything, we just wanted to do a little sabotage."

"And now?"

"Now I need to find a way to cover it up," Wyatt said, "In some way, in some capacity."

"I mean, you know they're going to discover it before you can erase any evidence, right? There's no way we're getting a bomb in there before they get there today," Rachel said, grasping a handful of seasoned chili friends and shoving them into her mouth; "besides," she continued while chewing, "all that's gonna do is create an even more intense investigation."

"Who said anything about a bomb? Where'd you get bomb from? Who do you know that even makes bombs?"

Rachel wanted to slap herself. Wyatt reached across the table and grabbed the basket of fries, pulling them away from her.

"Hey!" she said loudly, mouth still half full of fry, making Wyatt chuckle.

"Rachel, tell me...who do you know that makes bombs?" he asked, his voice low.

"...I got a guy," she said.

"You got a guy?"

"I always wanted to say that," she said, shrugging.

                                                                                            ***

Wyatt and Rachel entered Calvin's kitchen, as Calvin sat back down at the table to finish eating his breakfast. Wyatt looked around the kitchen, hands in his coat pocket, as Rachel sat down with Calvin and nervously watched Wyatt before turning her attention back to Calvin, lowering her voice so as not to alert Wyatt.

"I'm sorry, I know this is sudden and weird, but he's in a nasty situation and his wife is my friend and...you gotta help me, man," Rachel said.

"I got no qualms helping you, Rachel, you know that," Calvin said, making her smile until he added, pointing his fork at Wyatt, "it's him I got a problem helping."

"Why? What'd Wyatt do to you?" Rachel asked, furrowing her brow.

"It's not about what he did to me, it's about what he did to my sister," Calvin said, "even if it wasn't intentional, she still suffered as a result, and that's just something I can't forgive."

"Do it for me, please," Rachel said, pleading, "Scarlett's my friend, and she doesn't deserve to deal with this if he gets arrested or something. Come on, Cal. I helped you."

Calvin chewed his lip, then tossed his fork down on his plate and groaned. Just then he looked to the side and saw Wyatt coming up to the table. Calvin folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, watching Wyatt as he looked around the kitchen, then took a piece of bacon from the breakfast plate and bit into it.

"Sorry," he said, chewing, "I didn't eat breakfast."

"...so you want a bomb, huh?" Calvin asked, "follow me to my shed."

Calvin slid his chair away from the table and opened the glass door that led to the backyard. Wyatt followed, Rachel behind him shutting the door as they exited the house. The three of them walked briskly across the backyard and Calvin unlocked the shed. He flung the door open and let Rachel and Wyatt enter. Calvin then came in behind them and shut the door, locking it once more. Wyatt looked around the shed, noticing the photo on the table beside all the mechanical pieces.

"...this your family?" he asked.

"Was," Calvin replied, "They're dead."

"Jesus, I'm so sorry," Wyatt said, "I couldn't imagine losing my daughter or wife."

"Yeah, it kinda destroys a person," Calvin said, "So...you do realize that if I help you with this, you can never - if caught - bring it back to me, right? I have important things to finish, and I can't have my goals hampered by whatever it is you're dealing with. Also, they likely will trace it back to you and then connect you with the prior situation as well, so be prepared for that."

"Thankfully I have a lawyer on my side already," Wyatt said, "but yes, I'm fully aware of the possible outcomes. I stand by what I did. Morgana is a horrible corporation and what they're about to do is deplorable, and somebody had to take a stand."

"Did you say Morgana?" Calvin asked as he turned away from the workbench, now facing Wyatt and Rachel once more.

"Y...yes?" Wyatt asked, "Why?"

"...Robert Grudin supports Morgana," Calvin said, "he's the one who said he'd sign off on their plans if he was elected into office. Turns out he isn't just interested in destroying families, but also the environment, good to know. Well then, if that's who we're dealing with, I'll gladly help you take him down another notch or two."

Wyatt got a funny look on his face and chuckled nervously.

"Why...why do you hate Robert Grudin? Who even IS Robert Grudin?" he asked.

"He's a local politician," Rachel said.

"And he killed my wife and daughter," Calvin said, taking Wyatt by surprise.

                                                                                               ***

That night, after going home and having dinner with his family, Wyatt Bloom couldn't sleep.

He just felt nervous. Instead, he got up, walked downstairs and paced mindlessly back and forth for what seemed like hours. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to laugh. The entire spectrum of human emotion flushed through him seemingly all at once, and he felt overwhelmed. How could he really do this? Celia didn't even know that he'd gotten the bomb; in fact, all he'd told her was that he'd take care of the mess they'd made, he never said how. Now that he had the answer, he found he was terrified to take the action.

Wyatt sat in the living room, staring at the blank television screen, looking at his reflection. He looked haggard, worn out and sad. His hair was messy, his eyes were red and overall he looked like a former shell of the man he usually was. He thought back to Calvin, and what he'd said in the shed. As soon as Grudin's name came up, Calvin seemed all the more interested to help, but Wyatt felt bad dragging him further into a crime hole than he already was. He heard someone walking behind him and he looked to see Mona standing by the couch, holding her stuffed giraffe.

"Hey little peach, what are you doing up?" he asked as she sauntered into the room, yawing, wiping her eyes.

"My tummy hurts," she said.

"Let's get you some hot chocolate," Wyatt said, "That always makes you feel better."

He stood up, took Mona by the hand and led her to the kitchen. She hopped up onto the stool at the kitchen island and watched as her father made a cup of hot chocolate. He hummed to himself, allowing himself to get lost in this moment of pure domestic bliss, not thinking about the bomb sitting in his car or the 2nd crime he was about to commit to cover up the first. He finished making the drink and slid the mug across the island to Mona, who picked it up - both hands around the mug - and sipped it cautiously.

"That better?" Wyatt asked, leaning on the island, smiling at her as she nodded and smiled; he said, "good, I'm glad."

Wyatt watched his daughter finish her drink, then he carried her back to her bedroom, turned on her comfort night light, read her a story and rubbed her back until she fell asleep. Afterwards he stood up, headed to his own bedroom and crawled into bed. He felt Scarlett pull him towards her, then climb on top of him, kissing his throat.

"Right now?" he asked, surprised.

"We're both up, why not," she whispered.

Wyatt smiled. Maybe she was right. Maybe this would be the thing to take his mind off his troubles.

Unfortunately for Wyatt, and everyone else, their troubles would be threefold by the morning.

                                                                                 ***

Rachel opened the shop that morning, expecting herself to be the only one there. Honestly, she was happy for the solitude, and for the chance to get back to some kind of normalcy after the last few days. As she headed into the back, to the staff break room, she found Sun sitting at the table, her presence taking Rachel by surprise. Rachel jumped back at the sight of her, putting her hand to her chest.

"Jesus!" she shouted, making Sun laugh as she asked, "god damn woman, why are you even here this early?"

"Couldn't deal with the parental pressure this morning," Sun said, "also I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh, everything okay?" Rachel asked as she walked further into the room and started pouring herself a cup of coffee, then tearing open a complimentary pack of biscottis. She sat down at the table as Sun turned her chair towards Rachel.

"...ever since I started working here, I've been so thankful to have a friend," Sun said, "like, I was so worried that, coming back to this town, it would make me feel so lonely, but you've been here and it's been really comforting. But I also feel uncomfortable around you."

"...is it because I'm gay?" Rachel asked.

"It is," Sun said, "but...not...I don't mean that the way it sounds. I don't mean it like I don't like queer people, I mean it like...it makes me uncomfortable because it's made me think about myself, and...fuck this is weird and hard."

Rachel stopped chewing her cookie and swallowed. She was nervous as hell all of a sudden, and unsure not only of what was coming next but whether or not she wanted to hear it.

"I think I like you," Sun finally said, "in a romantic kind of way and that makes me feel weird cause I've never liked another woman before and now I feel weird for admitting all this and now I feel weird for admitting that. I'm just one big messy weirdo, but I like you and I-"

"I waited so long for you to come back," Rachel said, "I...I know that sounds, like, super stalkerish but I was so bummed when you didn't show up at the reunion and...and happy as I am to hear this I...I don't know that I can be involved with someone again."

The words, even as they left her mouth, surprised Rachel, but they also made sense. After what she'd been through, after nearly being assaulted, she was terrified of intimacy and had a hard time trusting people again, especially in a romantic fashion, and yet...yet this was what she'd wanted for so many years. Over a decade, actually, and now she was gonna wuss out? Rachel suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

"I need to go, I'm gonna throw up," she said, suddenly rising from her chair and rushing out the door, leaving behind a very bewildered Sun Rai.

                                                                                   ***

"Dad, do horses have feelings?" Mona asked as Wyatt drove her to school the next morning. He chuckled at her question and bit his lip.

"I...have no idea, honestly," he said, "I would imagine though, I mean, everything has feelings, right?"

"So horses get crushes and stuff?" Mona asked, "Like one horse can like another horse?"

"Sure, why not? It's only natural after all to want to have babies and keep the species going," Wyatt said as he rolled up to a red light. He sighed and looked around at the outdoors. It was a gorgeous day, honestly, even if it was the start of November. He like this late fall air, and the colors of the leaves, especially early in the mornings and especially when he got to share these quieter moments with his daughter, even if they were talking about something absolutely ridiculous. Just then he noticed a car pulling up beside him, and he glanced over to notice it was Celia. She wasn't smiling. Instead, she furiously motioned for him to roll down his window, something he gladly did.

"Mornin'," he said.

"Follow me, it's an emergency," she said coldly, and then she sped off as soon as the light turned green. Wyatt shrugged, started the car back up and did as he was told. After a few minutes driving, they pulled into a nearby parking lot attached to a bar, and Wyatt unbuckled his seat belt.

"Sweetheart, I'll be right back, okay?" he asked, and Mona nodded, continuing to brush her toy horses hair. Wyatt locked the car and walked around to the other side, finding Celia; he threw his arms up and asked, "what's the big deal now?" but she wouldn't answer, and instead she headed inside. Wyatt didn't question, he just followed. Once inside, she stopped at the bar, snapped her fingers and asked for the remote control to the TV, which she was quickly given.

"Hey! Earth to Celia! What's the big damn deal?" Wyatt asked, but she snapped her fingers in his face and then pointed at the television. Wyatt's gaze slowly moved towards the television, which was on a breaking news report. A lovely little home in a quiet little suburb was on the television, surrounded by cop cars. Wyatt didn't recognize the place, but he had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"-if you're just joining us," the announcer said as Celia turned the sound up, "then allow me to reiterate this breaking news. Local resident Oliver Brighton, safety inspector for the Morgana landscaping and construction company, is dead. It's speculated that Brighton, after a recent incident at their latest work site cost him his job, came home wherein he killed his wife and both daughters before taking his own life. As of this moment, there's not a lot of information about-"

Celia muted the TV and looked at Wyatt, his jaw hanging. He slowly looked at her, and their eyes locked.

"...what the fuck did we do?" she whispered.

From the parking lot, a car horn beeped, and Wyatt could hear Mona shouting.

"Daddy! I'm gonna be late for school!"
Published on

Palmer was sitting on the grass, watching nearby students practicing Tennis, while she ate a package of Graham Crackers. She couldn't stop thinking about her father, which a school therapist had told her was understandable, considering the recent events. They'd told her, "when someone dies, we often spend a lot more time thinking about them than we did while they were still with us", and Palmer admitted that, yeah, when he was still here, she had rarely thought about him. She heard the sound of shoes approaching her, and looked to her right to see Anita seating herself, eating nachos from a cardboard container clearly from a food truck.


"Watcha doin'?" she asked.


"Watching people play Tennis," Palmer said.


"Everything okay?"


"...I don't know," Palmer said, "I was at my moms house this past weekend, to help her with some stuff regarding my dad, and I learned that my sister was his favorite. It's been messing with me ever since. What's worse is how it wasn't even all that surprising. I mean, he rarely came to anything I did, extracurricular based, and after a certain age we just didn't speak much at all. I never really understood why, and I just sorta banked on the idea that we'd have time to sort that all out. Never occurred to me that that might not in fact be a possibility."


Anita nodded and scooped more nachos in her mouth, chewed, then looked at the Tennis players and then back at Palmer. She reached over and put a hand on her leg, smiling.


"What happened?" she asked, "At your moms? Tell me about it."


Palmer returned the smile, and sighed.


"Alright," she said.


                                                                       ***


The previous weekend, Palmer had gone back down to her mothers to help her deal with some paperwork and other things regarding their fathers death. Dodie stayed in her bedroom the whole time, which Palmer didn't mind, considering she wouldn't have time to spend with her anyway, as her mother was keeping her busy. As they sifted through box after box of paperwork - wills, deeds, medical records and more - Palmer came across a small beige photo album.


"What is this?" she asked, slowly opening it.


"It's a photo album," Regina said.


"Well, obviously," Palmer said, making her mom chuckle as she added, "I just mean why haven't I ever seen it? It's not familiar in the slightest."


"Parents are allowed to keep some private things, aren't they?" Regina asked as she opened up a small envelope and started reading through the letter inside.


"What if it's...porn?" Palmer asked, and her mom threw her head back and cackled.


"I highly doubt it's porn, but if it is, then I apologize for subjecting you to your fathers taste in adult materials," Regina said, making Palmer laugh a little. It was nice, just the two of them, trying to make the mood lighter when dealing with such an upsetting situation. Despite the possibility of discovering her deceased dads whacking material, Palmer opened the photo album anyway.


"Oh," she said, "it's just pictures of us."


"I told you it wouldn't be porn. Nobody puts porn in a photo album," Regina replied.


"Some people are classy," Palmer stated as she started to slowly flip through the pages, "...these are not photos I've ever seen, I don't think. These must have been his personal favorites or something. I remember when these were taken, I've just never seen them."


The photos ranged from vacation shots to shots from around the house to a handful of birthday shots, but there was one that caught Palmer's attention above all the rest, and that was the last photo in the album. It was of Dodie, and she was dressed as a dinosaur for Halloween. She looked to be about 4, and it was an extremely cute image. She had a plastic pumpkin pail grasped in her costumed hand, and she was standing on their back patio. But it wasn't the photo that caught Palmer's attention, no, it was the scrawled hand written words beside it that did. She recognized it as her fathers handwriting immediately.


                                                                  "My favorite."


And Palmer felt herself shrivel up a little inside. She already had enough of a complex about her relationship with her father - and thus her inherent worth and value as a person because of it - but now...this just added fuel to the fires of insecurity.


                                                                         ***


"That's it? It just said 'my favorite'?" Anita asked, the both of them now lying on their backs on the grass.


"Yeah. I always had a sneaking suspicion, and it wasn't so much a suspicion as it was a blatant certainty, but...seeing it spelled out, literally, like that...it just kinda hurt. My dad and I used to be close when I was little, but I don't know what happened. As I got older, he seemed to have no interest in me, and instead focused primarily on my sister. It was almost like he only liked us when we were little girls."


"Most men, even fathers, don't know how to deal with adolescent women," Anita said, "when my mom told my dad that I had my first period, he just shrugged and said 'well, these things happen'."


Palmer laughed, she couldn't help it, and she appreciated having Anita around to raise her spirits.


"I'm just saying," Anita continued, "I wouldn't take it personally."


"My sister is his favorite and I'm supposed to not take that personally?" Palmer asked.


"Sounds stupid when you say it, but sure," Anita replied, making Palmer smile.


Maybe Anita was right. Maybe she shouldn't take it personally. After all, after a while, she had even stopped trying to put in any effort to have a relationship with him. It wasn't like they never spoke, or they argued, or had any kind of bad relationship. They were friendly with one another, they hugged, they did talk. But it felt more like a relative she didn't see very often than a father she should know very well. Either way, Palmer knew she had to get her mind off it.


What she didn't know, however, was that Dodie couldn't get her mind off it.


                                                                         ***


"Palmer says I was dads favorite," Dodie said the morning after Palmer had left to go back to college. She was sitting in the living room, eating cereal and watching an educational show. Regina was getting her lunch ready for school in the kitchen, but upon hearing this, she stopped and immediately joined Dodie in the living room.


"She did what now?"


"She says I was dads favorite," Dodie repeated, "she said she found a photo book and it said I was dads favorite in it."


"You know, I'm starting to wish you two were the kind of sisters who couldn't stand one another," Regina mumbled, sitting down on the couch, "...does that bother you? Knowing that you were his favorite?"


"Why was I his favorite?"


"...Palmer reminded him of his sister," Regina said, "He and his sister did not get along, and you may have noticed she didn't show up for the services. I think it just...made him uncomfortable. He felt bad about it, if that means anything. He'd tell me constantly how he'd wish he could be closer with her, and how he could be a better dad to her, but he was never really able to overcome that sisterly connection. You, on the other hand, reminded him of me. He loved me, so he adored you."


"...but Palmer's good," Dodie said, "I like her."


"Well yes, and he did love her, she was his daughter too, but...Dodie, adults are stupid. I'm not gonna be cliche and say 'oh adulthood is complicated' because it isn't and relationships aren't complex or anything. It's actually all very simple, but people tend to overthink and overanalyze things. He loved her. Especially when she was your age, he loved her to death. A lot of people assume their parents play favorites, if they have siblings. Your father was just...more open about it, I guess."


Regina stood up and headed back into the kitchen to finish preparing Dodie's lunchbox. Dodie finished eating and watched her show in silence, thinking about her father, and about her sister. What had been so bad about her fathers sister that he couldn't stand being around his own daughter, just because they were somewhat alike? She didn't understand.


"Here you go," Regina said as she came back into the living room, lunchbox in hand, "put that in your bookbag."


Dodie should've felt happy about being a favorite, but instead she felt ashamed, like she was somehow taking their father away from Palmer in an entirely different way. She tucked the lunchbox into her bookbag and then clipped it shut. Maybe a good day at school would take her mind off the situation, but she doubted it. She thought about their father all the time.


                                                                          ***


"Well, for what it's worth, I'm not my fathers favorite," Arthur said.


Arthur, Anita and Palmer were all seated in the cafeteria, having ordered in a pizza. They had procured a little table in the corner, far enough away to drive any potential interest in their food off. Anita reached for yet another slice and took a bite as Arthur wiped his mouth on a napkin and shrugged.


"Which is somehow even more depressing, as I don't even have siblings," Arthur said, making Anita almost choke on her food.


"Damn dude, that is sad," she mumbled, making Palmer laugh a little.


"I just feel like he never knew me and he never seemed all that interested in knowing me," Palmer said, "like...like he was somehow ashamed of me or something. Like I did something at some early age to put him off of me entirely for the rest of his life."


"Even if you did, which I doubt, I'm certain it wasn't intentional," Anita said.


"Yeah, kids are not responsible for their parents shortcomings," Arthur said.


Just then a guy in a sweater and tan slacks walked up to the table and tapped Palmer on the shoulder. She looked up at him.


"Yeah?" she asked, pushing pizza crust in her mouth.


"You have a phone call," he said.


Palmer got up and followed him to the nearby phone, then watched as he walked away. She picked up the phone and lifted the receiver to her face.


"Hello?" she asked.


"I don't think I'm dads favorite," Dodie said.


"Oh yeah?" Palmer asked, smirking, happy to hear from her little sister, "and what makes you say that?"


"Because if I were dads favorite, he wouldn't have hid that away," Dodie said, "He would've made it really obvious, right? He wouldn't have hidden it in a box somewhere that nobody could find or see."


"I don't know, maybe he did it so it wouldn't hurt my feelings," Palmer said, "I'm not about to try and understand dad now. We never understood eachother before."


"...well, even if I was his favorite, you're my favorite, so it all evens out," Dodie said, and Palmer felt her heart swell. She had to try hard to keep herself from crying right there in the cafeteria. After the sisters said their goodbyes, Palmer instead left and headed out into the hall, allowing herself to cry a little there. When she was done, she came back inside, rejoined her friends, and continued eating her pizza. At least she was a favorite to someone.


                                                                           ***


The thing is...Regina knew the truth.


Her husband loved both his daughters, and he may have openly called Dodie his favorite, but she also knew that, secretly, he adored Palmer. Even if she reminded him of his estranged sister, he still adored her. He'd always loved his sister, and having Palmer was sort of like having his sister back. It was tough, sure, but it was also wonderful. The trouble was...he didn't know how to handle her. And as she got older, as she became more of her own woman and not so much daddy's little girl, he began to see the person she would be, and while proud, he was, again, unsure of how to approach her.


Lying in bed the night Palmer left again for school, Regina flipped through the little photo album by herself, smiling at all the wonderful memories captured within in, and when she came to the back of the book - the photo of Dodie during Halloween - she pulled that photo off the page and revealed the photo underneath it. Something Palmer somehow hadn't noticed. The photo underneath was of her husbands sister, also during Halloween, when they were kids. She was dressed as a pirate, and that was the photo that the phrasing had originally belonged to.


Regina sighed and set the book back down on the bedside table, shut her lamp off and rested her head on her pillow.


"Fuck," she mumbled, "...what a mess family is."

Published on
Elise Bentley was having an excellent morning.

She'd gotten up early, she had a new outfit for the day and she'd managed to get her makeup and hair just perfect. She even was thrilled to discover that her favorite fast food place that served breakfast hadn't actually run out of stuff by the time she'd gotten there for a change. As she entered her office, she checked her watch, and saw the time. She smiled. In just an hour or so she'd be meeting with Boris Wachowski, and hopefully have a new, and extremely talented, poet on her hands for her literary magazine.

Yes, Elise Bentley was having an excellent morning.

Boris Wachowski, however, was another story entirely.

                                                                                              ***

"My back is killing me," Boris said, groaning as he lowered himself into his chair at the kitchen table; he sipped the coffee from the mug Whittle placed in front of him and then added, "I really wish I could just get one of those titanium spines you read about in medical journals."

"Are you taking Chrissy to school or am I?" Whittle asked, and both Boris and Chrissy looked at one another, then looked back at Whittle.

"It's....Saturday," Boris said.

"It is?"

"Yeah."

"...oh. God I guess I've been kind of off lately," Whittle said, sitting down as well, "jeez. I had no idea. Well, in that case, do you wanna go with me to the salon and get our nails done?"

"Okay!" Chrissy said, sounding excitable.

Just then the front door opened and Father Krickett walked in, in his casual clothes. A salmon colored button up shirt with the collar done and black slacks with brown loafers. He stopped at the table and looked around at everyone, smiling politely.

"Good morning," he said.

"Mornin'," Boris replied.

"What's everyone up to for this weekend?" Father Krickett asked, taking a seat beside Boris.

"I'm taking Chrissy so we can go get our nails done," Whittle said, "What about you two?"

"I got nothin' planned," Boris said, "Actually might even just go back to bed and lay down. My back hurt so much."

"I brought your mail," Father Krickett said, plopping it down onto the table, "and resting isn't an option, because you have an appointment."

"I...I do?" Boris asked, "...is it with death?"

"No! Jeez!" Father Krickett responded, laughing loudly, "God no, just...open this and read it."

Father Krickett slid a letter into Boris's hands and waited. Boris hesitated at first, then carefully ripped it open and slid the letter out. He unfolded it, leaned back in his chair and read it to himself. After a few moments, he was finished, and he had to reread it just to believe it. Finally he lowered it, looked at Father Krickett and grimaced.

"This can't be real, right?"

"Indeed it is, and I'm taking you," he replied.

"What is it?" Whittle asked.

"A literary magazine wants to meet with Boris about his poetry," Father Krickett said, "I submitted some stuff for you and it seems they're interested, so we have a meeting this afternoon."

Boris was without words. Somehow this was both what he'd always wanted and also what he'd always feared happening. He didn't know whether to slap John or hug him. Eventually, he did neither, and instead got up to go get dressed and brush his teeth and hair. Whittle also left to go get dressed, leaving Father Krickett behind with Chrissy at the table.

"Can I ask you a question?" Chrissy asked as Father Krickett buttered a piece of toast.

"Of course," he said, biting into it and chewing.

"...are you like a guardian angel?" Chrissy asked, "I mean, I know you're not dead, but...you seem to watch over Boris a lot more than an ordinary priest would, and it's..."

"Sweet?"

"Creepy."

"Fair. To be honest, we have a complicated relationship," Father Krickett said, clearing his throat, "um, I...I'm not really sure I know exactly how to explain it, but...he's the sort of man that I would have fallen for romantically had he been my age. He's funny, he's driven, he's constantly changing, but more than anything else, he's kind. He comes off as gruff, sure, but in the end, he's a real loving person who cares deeply about those around him."

"So...what you have is romantic?"

"No, of course not," Father Krickett said, "I'm a part of the church, and he's much too old - nor do I think he's queer - but overall I still feel protective of him because of that. Let me put it this way, do you have a teacher you have a crush on?"

"Yeah," Chrissy said, scooting her eggs around on her plate and blushing, "yeah, Mr. Lacks. He's my science teacher. He's really handsome and kind, and we like a lot of the same science stuff. Why?"

"Because it's kind of like that. A person you obviously can't be with, but can fantasize about being with, you know? As a kid it's normal to have crushes on people older than you, and that doesn't change with age. I've found plenty of men older than me attractive. Boris just happens to be a special case in particular because I know him."

Chrissy nodded and shoveled eggs in her mouth, then chewed and swallowed before pushing her bangs from her eyes and looking back at John and cocking her head to the side.

"Yeah?" he asked, buttering yet another piece of toast.

"...why do you stay with the church if you can't be with someone, especially if you can't be with someone in particular because of the churches beliefs? That seems like giving into their bigotry," Chrissy said, making Father Krickett think for a moment.

"Because, in all honesty, if I didn't have the church, I wouldn't really have anything," he finally said, just as Boris came back out, ready to go. The two men said goodbye to Chrissy and then left the apartment, leaving her alone to think about the state of the world. To Chrissy, if she couldn't be with someone she loved because someone told her it was wrong, she'd be with them anyway.

Your happiness should never come at the expense of someone elses comfort.

                                                                                                 ***

"Why do you have a baby monitor in your office?" Dennis asked, picking it up and jiggling it a little.

"It's so I can listen to the other higher ups and see if they turn someone down during their meetings, and if they do but I think the writer is worth saving, I'll swoop in after the meeting and snag them anyway," Elise said, not even looking up from her desk.

"Wow, that's pretty underhanded of you," Dennis said, setting the baby monitor back down.

"Well, we are in corporate america," Elise said, making Dennis chuckle. Dennis strolled across the room, his hands shoved in his pants pockets as he looked at the art hung on the walls and eventually he flopped down in the chair by the window, looking outside.

"So..." he said, "you think this guy is really worth it?"

"I think that nobody gives the elderly a chance to prove their worth," Elise said, "and I think that alone would be good publicity, but I also do think he's a pretty solid writer and poet, yes. You know me, man, I don't just pick people for fun unless I really think they have something worth sharing."

There came a knock on the door and her assistant, Niah, poked her head into the room.

"Um, they're here," she said, before leaving.

"Welp," Dennis said, getting up, "I'll go gather 'em. Let's see what it is we're working with."

Elise cleaned her desk off a bit, refilled the candy jar on the desk and then adjusted her hair a little using her compact. She snapped it shut and slipped it into her coat pocket as the door opened once more and Dennis, Boris and Father Krickett walked in. The three men took their seats - Dennis back in the chair by the window, Boris and John in seats across the desk from Elise - and Elise smiled at them all.

"Thank you for coming in to meet with me," Elise said.

"Thanks for being interested," Boris said.

"How could I not be? After reading some of the stuff that was sent in, I immediately knew I had to meet you," Elise said, cupping her hands on the desk and leaning forward, smirking as she asked, "have you been writing poetry for a long time?"

"Very," Boris said, "I started doing it to court my wife, and then I did it to help my daughter fall asleep. Eventually I gave up because I had to get a paying job and nobody was interested in poetry, so I just...put it on the backburner and only wrote a few pieces in private here and there over the years, often to satiate my own emotions."

"Well, nobody may have been interested then, but we are now," Dennis said.

"Boris, can you just tell me...why do you write poetry over general fiction or even genre fiction? What is it about poetry that pulls you in?" Elise asked.

"I guess," Boris said, crossing his legs and thinking, tapping his nails on the arm of the chair, "...I guess because it's harder to convey exactly what you mean in a medium that's reserved for dialogue and plot. Poetry is pure form, pure feeling. It's the closest thing we have to expression of the soul verbally. People talk a lot of shit about purple prose in writing but that's almost all poetry is sometimes, and it's all the better for it."

"You really know your stuff, I'm impressed," Dennis said.

Boris smirked at this, nodded in his direction, then continued saying, "and I suppose it also was a way for me to work out my internalized issues about myself, my life, my family at the time. It was helpful. Sure, I wrote things for my wife and daughter, like I said, but I also wrote those things for myself. It was like writing it made it real. Like...like feeling it wasn't enough, and I had to somehow bring it into the world another way."

"...interesting," Elise said, "Well obviously we're interested. We run a slew of magazines here, but I overhead the literary magazine called Scope, and I'd love to have you write a few pieces and see how it works out, if you're interested, of course."

Boris chewed his lip and thought for a moment, then straightened up and, pulling his hat off, rubbed his balding head.

"I just have one request," he said, "if I do this. I don't want to be paid for the pieces. I want what I would get compensation wise to be sent to charities for disabled and terminally ill children. That's my only stipulation."

"That sounds fair, if you really wanna do that," Elise said.

"Besides, who knows, maybe we'll find another way to pay you anyway," Dennis chimed in.

"That's admirable, but not entirely necessary," Boris said, as he and Father Krickett started to stand up, ready to exit; as he tossed his scarf around his neck, Boris added, "you know, I always wondered what it'd be like to be a professional writer. I always wondered if I'd feel any different than I did beforehand. Turns out it changes nothing except your expectation for failure to be publicly visible."

And with that, he smiled and exited the room, Father Krickett on his heels, leaving Elise and Dennis sitting there, utterly dumbfounded. Dennis finally stood up, scratched the back of his head and shut the office door before turning on his heel and looking back at Elise.

"What a weird old man," Dennis said.

"I love him," Elise said, grinning from ear to ear.

                                                                                                 ***

Sitting in the diner after their meeting - Boris having ordered a stack of waffles even though it was well after lunch now and John having ordered a lambchop - the men were both uncertain of how to feel about what had just transpired. Boris felt like he should thank Father Krickett, after all, it was his persistence that got Boris the offer, but Boris also felt slightly irritated that he hadn't simply left well enough alone. Now he had expectations to let down, and that made him all the more nervous. Last thing an old man needs is higher blood pressure, he thought to himself.

"So," Father Krickett asked while cutting into his slab of meat, "any idea on what you'll be submitting first?"

"Yeah, a piece entitled 'People Should Mind Their Own Business'," Boris said snidely, "based on actual recent feelings."

"I deserve that I guess," Father Krickett said, chuckling as he lifted a piece of meat into his mouth and chewed, pointing his fork at Boris, "but I just hate to see you squander potential while you've still got it. When we first met, you said you felt like you weren't doing enough with your old age, that you didn't want to just die and have the last part of your life read like a todo list. Woke up. Got dressed. Read the newspaper. You said you wanted to do things with the time you had left, be someone better."

"I did say those things, but when the chips are down, and the moment comes, it can quickly remind you how terrifying it is to try and attain a legacy that will outlive you. I caused a lot of pain and grief to people, albeit not purposefully, and I'm scared that what I write will only hurt people further."

"It's not like you write cruel things. If anything, it'll help. I mean, think about how many people, even years from now once we're both dead and buried, might come across your work and think 'finally, someone who gets how I feel!'. They'll be appreciative that you took a stand however many years prior to make your feelings known, so that they could feel known later on."

Boris thought about this for a bit, then nodded.

"Fair enough," he finally replied, pouring more syrup onto his waffles and cutting into them, adding, "but that doesn't make it any less frightening or daunting a task to undergo. Creativity isn't like a faucet you can just turn on and off, I've gotta be in the right frame of mind, the right emotional place. That's why deadlines and I never worked out."

"Be good enough for the publisher to fight to keep you onboard and you can forego any deadlines," Father Krickett said, "Let me tell you a story. When I first started preaching, like seriously preaching in this church here, I was told that we do things by the book. A strict set of rules. Here's how we word things, here's words we avoid using, here's phrasing that people expect to hear, and if you didn't follow these rules, then you were considered an unreliable asset. A dangerous asset, even. But the thing is, because I went around those, preached my own way, and as a result got a lot of people coming to sermons because of the way I preached, the church couldn't outright fire me. I was bringing them people! I was worth something. How I preached was worth bending their precious little rules. People like other people who don't play by the rules, especially if they're doing it for good reasons and not selfish ones."

Boris leaned back and chewed his waffle bite, then swallowed. He looked around the diner and thought about how he hadn't been writing well lately, how he hadn't felt very good about his work these days, and how he'd love to change that. Perhaps now this was the chance to do so.

"Well," he finally said, "can't make my life any worse, can it? Just seems unsettling, like it's a challenge. Good things never happen to me, because when they do, they're followed by even worse things, so it's almost as if the universe is daring me to accept this. And I'm gonna, cause at this point, what more could the universe do that it hasn't already done?"

"That's the spirit," Father Krickett said, as they clinked their glasses together.

                                                                                                ***

Ellen was laying in her hospital bed the following day when the door opened and Boris entered. She put down her book and looked at him, somewhat surprised and somewhat confused. He pulled a chair around and seated himself beside the bed.

"Dad? What are you doing here? I don't have any therapy today, and you didn't say you were gonna come visit, so-"

"Do you remember when you were a little girl and I used to read you poetry?" he asked, and she smiled.

"Yeah, I do remember that, actually. Not very well, but faintly," she replied.

"Then let's make some new memories too," Boris said, pulling out his journal and turning to a certain page, "I recently got an offer to do some poetry for a literary magazine and I'm trying to work on some stuff. For a long time I thought that perhaps the way I viewed the world was what was wrong with my writing, and it turns out I was right. I shouldn't say how I see the world. I should say how I wanna see the world. What I want the world to be."

Ellen smiled warmly, and reached out, holding his hand.

"By the way, all the money is going to disabled or terminally ill children, so I'm not even doing this for financial compensation."

Ellen felt like she wanted to cry. She was still, admittedly, having trouble remembering who her father had been, but the man she was looking at she was becoming proud to call her dad now.

"I hope you like this, I wrote it a few weeks ago," he said, "It's gonna be my first submission for publication next month. It's called 'Polly'."
Published on
Calvin had loved Halloween as a child.

As an adult, he'd still loved it, especially once his daughter was born. Together, they would go and pick out a set of costumes together, and decorate the house together, and all in all it was the time they both looked forward to most in the year. Now, however, Halloween was marked heavily by her absence. Sitting on his parents front porch swing, sipping a beer and watching all the kids running around in costumes from door to door...he couldn't help but feel an odd combination of loss and anger. Loss because he no longer was able to do this, and anger that others could. If some kids came up to the porch, he was polite and handed out candy, but otherwise he was more or less content to people watch.

He heard the front door and screen door swing open, and he looked over to see his father, Barry, walk out onto the porch. He looked at Calvin, and the two waved at one another. Barry then walked over to the swing and sat down beside Calvin, reaching into the bowl and pulling out a few pieces of candy, unwrapping and popping them into his mouth.

"You doing okay, buddy?" Barry asked.

"Doing as okay as I can, I guess," Calvin.

"I know it's hard," Barry said, "I'm sorry. I'd like to say it gets easier, but I can't because I've never gone through this, so it'd mean nothing coming from me. Still, I wish I could say something that would be comforting on some level."

"Thanks dad," Calvin said, slightly smirking, "I appreciate your innate inclination towards trying to be comforting."

Barry laughed, which made Calvin chuckle with him. A pair of young boys raced up the stairs and asked for candy, which Calvin happily gave them as Barry waved at the parents waiting on the lawn. After the boys raced back down, Calvin looked into the bowl and sighed. Barry patted his son on the shoulder and stood back up.

"Your mom's making dinner if you want anything," he said, but Calvin just shrugged.

"I think I'm just gonna stay out here a while," he said quietly, "It's nice seeing the kids."

                                                                                                  ***

"Happy Halloween!" Rachel said as Scarlett opened the front door. Rachel was dressed as a mummy, having wrapped toilet paper all around herself, while Scarlett was dressed as a black cat. Scarlett laughed and hugged Rachel before inviting her in.

"Boy, that's a lot of toilet paper," Scarlett said, shutting the door behind her, "You sure that's a good way to spend your hard earned cash?"

"Are you kidding me? This isn't mine. This came from work. What do I look like I'm made of money?" Rachel asked, making her laugh again as she looked around and added, "Where's your kids?"

"Wyatt took Mona trick or treating, while his mom took our son for the night," Scarlett said, "I stayed behind to drink and pass out candy."

"Well lucky for you then that I brought both alcohol and candy," Rachel said, holding up dueling grocery bags, "let's get this party started."

Rachel headed into the living room, Scarlett following behind her. As Rachel set the bags down on the coffee table, she turned and looked back at Scarlett, who was grabbing a small bottle opener from a nearby table and walking over with it.

"I see you went with the classic hot girl costume," Rachel said.

"Of course, it'd be a sin if I didn't," Scarlett said, "They'd revoke my hot bitches club card."

Rachel reached inside the bag, pulled out a six pack of dark beer and handed one to Scarlett, then took one for herself. Scarlet popped the bottlecaps off both bottles and they toasted, then drank in unison. After a moment, Rachel sighed and flopped down onto the couch, Scarlett doing the same.

"I'm surprised Wyatt took the kid," Rachel said, "Hopefully he's able to handle that."

"He's so good with Mona, she honestly prefers him."

"Doesn't that feel weird?" Rachel asked.

"Not really, everyone was the favorite at some point when it came to their parents," Scarlett said, "I accepted a long time ago that she was daddy's little girl, and I'm happy that she has that. Lord knows I was never like that with my father. I mean, he loves me, I love him, but...it's not the same."

"...I don't even talk to my parents," Rachel said, "kinda makes holidays lonely."

"Well, now you have a family to spend the holidays with," Scarlett said, patting Rachel on the leg before hopping back off the couch, "Oh! I just remembered! I got jello shots!"

                                                                                                     ***

"Dad, we are going trick or treating, right?" Mona, dressed as a ladybug, asked from the backseat.

"We are, yes," Wyatt said from the drivers seat, glancing over at Celia in the passengers seat, who grimaced at him; he looked back at Mona and asked, "Can you put your noise cancelling headphones on? It's gonna get a bit loud for a moment while I open the windows."

He knew she would listen, as she hated the sound of wind rushing past the car when the windows were open. Mona nodded, pulled her headphones off the seat beside her and slid them over her ears. The only downside was now Wyatt had to actually open the windows, if only momentarily. He rolled them down, then turned the radio on to cover his and Celia's voices.

"I cannot believe you brought her," Celia said, "How are we going to do this if she's here?"

"Trust me, she'd never tell anyone anything," Wyatt said, "Especially if we make it worth her while after the fact."

"We're going to commit sabotage, for gods sake," Celia muttered, starting to sound frustrated, "How do you expect to-"

"Celia, let me worry about my kid, okay?" Wyatt asked, which made her quit asking questions; sure Wyatt had had his doubts about taking Mona with them, but he knew that he could trust her, he could count on her, especially if - as he'd said - they made it worth her while afterwards. Heading towards the construction area Morgana was about to begin work on, Wyatt felt a mix of emotions inside him. Part of him was terrified at what he'd gotten involved in, or was about to be involved in, but another part of him felt proud, like he'd never done anything so righteous in his life and this was a long time coming.

                                                                                                 ***

"When we were in high school, did you ever go to one of Kendra Killgore's Halloween parties?" Scarlett asked as she slumped more and more into the couch, shoving M&M's in her mouth.

"Not really. I wasn't really a party person," Rachel said.

"Neither was I, actually. Contrary to popular belief, cheerleaders aren't just party girl airheads. I only went to one and only because she asked me to help her throw it, and we had been best friends in middle school so I felt weirdly obligated," Scarlett said, sipping her beer, "anyway, we throw this party and Wyatt came with me and at some point during the night I got suddenly overwhelmed and I had to hide in a hall closet with him so I could get away from all the noise and stuff."

"That's sweet that he hid with you," Rachel said, smiling.

"That's Wyatt for you. Everyone expects him to be this judgemental douchebag but he really isn't that at all. He's such a nice guy, and an actual nice guy, not a guy who says they're nice simply to get into your pants. Anyway, we're in there and he's talking in this low voice, telling me it'll be okay, that I'll be okay, and that if I just focus on something other than the noise that it won't bother me as much...when our daughter got diagnosed recently with ASD, I knew he immediately would be good at dealing with it. He's just...really capable at taking care of those he cares about. I wish I was."

"You don't think you're a good mom?" Rachel asked, and Scarlett shrugged.

"I don't know," she said, "To be honest, I don't know that I ever really expected to be a mom, exactly. I mean, I wasn't against it or anything, I just...I'm pretty self absorbed, and I'll admit that. I love my children to death, but I do think I'm not a great mom."

"You seem like a better mom than mine," Rachel said, "So that's a step in the right direction."

Just then a knock came at the door, and the girls heard a symphony of shrill kids shout "trick or treat!" at the top of their lungs. They smiled at one another, grabbed the candy bowl and pounced off the couch, rushing to the front door where they were met with cheers.

                                                                                                  ***

Wyatt pulled the car into the construction lot and waited for a moment after shutting the engine off. He took a deep sigh, then looked at Celia, who looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"You ready?" she asked.

"Indeed," he said.

"You got a mask? In case they got cameras?"

"Indeed," he repeated, pulling a mask over his face, "I'm Batman."

"You're such a dork," Celia chuckled.

"What are we doing?" Mona asked, pulling her headphones off and looking at them. Wyatt and Celia looked back at her, then exchanged a glance, and then realized they couldn't hide it from her. Wyatt took a deep breath and reached back, putting his hand on his daughters knee.

"I'm gonna do something that's going to make the world a better place, not just for everyone, but for you too, but you can never tell anyone we did this, do you understand? We're like...a secret spy team. You wanna make the world a better place, don't you?" he asked, and Mona nodded; he smiled and patted her knee, adding, "Atta girl."

Wyatt opened his car door and got out, heading towards a nearby bulldozer. He looked around, then climbed up it and felt around. Surprisingly, he found the keys just sitting there, and so he sat down and pushed them into the ignition, starting the bulldozer up. As the sound roared out of it, Mona shouted at the sound, then pulled her headphones back on over her ears. Celia reached back and held her hand.

"Shh, it's okay, it's alright, just cover it up," she whispered.

"Jesus, how does anyone work these things?" Wyatt asked. Surprisingly, despite working in a similar field, he'd never actually drove any kind of major construction equipment. Suddenly the bulldozer shifted beneath him, thrusting him forward violently, making his face hit the windshield. He groaned, the fell out of the bulldozer and rolled down it onto the dirt below.

"Daddy!" Mona shouted.

"Jesus," Celia said, suddenly lunging from the car and rushing to where he'd fallen. As she knelt down beside him, she could hear him groaning, so she knew he was at least alive. Just then she looked up and noticed the bulldozer, still going on its own, had somehow turned and then crunched into a nearby mobile office. Celia and Wyatt just sat there, completely in shock. A moment later, after regaining herself, Celia lifted Wyatt back up and helped him back to the car.

"Daddy? Are you okay?" Mona asked, and Wyatt nodded, pulling his mask off and running his hand through his hair.

"I think so," he said, "I think a tooth is loose, but otherwise I'm fine. Luckily my nose didn't break."

"Daddy?" Mona asked.

"Yeah baby?"

"Can we go trick or treating now?" she asked, making both Wyatt and Celia chuckle.

Kids always knew how to make things better.

                                                                                                ***

"I want what you have," Rachel said, both women lying on the floor of the living room now, still eating candy out of the bowl, both about three beers into the six pack.

"What? You wanna murder me and replace me like some kind of Stepford Wife?" Scarlett asked.

"No," Rachel said, both of them laughing, "no I...I just...I want the kind of love you have in your life. I want that with this girl. I just can't bring myself to do it, which is stupid, cause love's all that really matters in the world, isn't it? Caring about one another?"

"It should be if it isn't," Scarlett said, groaning as she sat up and adjusted her cat ears, saying, "I mean, we all act so combative but we shouldn't be. We're all the same species. We should all be helping one another, caring about one another, whether we're blood related or not. I think you should just go for it, tell this girl how you feel and-"

"I can't," Rachel said quietly.

"Why not?" Scarlett asked, "I mean, I know you said you're worried about ruining the friendship, but-"

"It's more my parents than worrying about the friendship," Rachel replied, "I'm so scared of disappointing them."

"You being happy would disappoint them?"

"Actually I wouldn't put that past them," Rachel said, both women chuckling again before she added, "but no, it's more the being gay thing. They act liberally. They act like they're open minded, but behind closed doors they're somewhat closed minded, especially when it comes to people in their immediate lives. I'm just scared of disappointing them, which makes no sense considering they don't care about disappointing me."

Scarlett looked over her shoulder at Rachel and shook her head.

"I say go for it," she said, shrugging, "I mean, look at what you have now. Parents who don't love you and a girl who might but you aren't sure. At least if the outcome is that she does, then you'll have someone who loves you, even if your parents still don't. I'd say that outcome is worth the effort."

"...maybe," Rachel said, chewing on her lip.

"Oh my godddd I have to peeee," Scarlett said, getting up and hurrying off to the bathroom. Rachel got up and started to clean up the candy wrappers when she heard the front door open. She looked up and saw Mona running upstairs, her bag full of candy, and then Wyatt stumbled into the doorway to the living room.

"You're here a lot now," he said.

"What happened to your face?" Rachel asked.

"It's not noticeable is it?" he asked, touching his face, "shit it hurts. Where's my wife?"

"In the bathroom," Rachel said.

"You leaving?" he asked.

"I will if you want me to," she replied, "but I think my presence is more dictated by your wife than you."

Wyatt smirked and sat down on the arm of the couch, reaching up into his mouth and groaning as he poked at a tooth. Rachel immediately came over and knelt down to eye level, telling him to put his head back. Wyatt listened and Rachel reached inside, then grabbed the tooth with her fingers and pried it out. Wyatt groaned, but quickly covered his mouth to hide the noise. Rachel stepped back, looking at the tooth, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"Did you get in a bar fight?" she asked.

"I did something stupid," Wyatt said, sounding, and looking, fairly pathetic, like he was worried Scarlett would ask questions. Just then Rachel heard Scarlett coming down the stairs, and she quickly reached into her pockets, pulled out a piece of hard candy, unwrapped it and shoved it into Wyatt's mouth.

"Bite down then scream!" she whispered urgently, and he did as he was instructed. Just as Scarlett entered the room, Wyatt screamed, opening his mouth and letting the small jawbreaker roll from his mouth onto the floor. Rachel knelt down and acted as though she were picking his tooth up off the floor.

"What the hell happened?" Scarlett asked.

"I gave him a piece of candy and it took his tooth out!" Rachel said, "Wyatt, I am so sorry, are you okay?"

Wyatt nodded, going along with the ruse even if completely uncertain why exactly Rachel was helping him. Rachel pushed the tooth into Scarlett's hand. She looked down at it, and then grimaced.

"Ew," she said.

"We've had kids together, you're not allowed to be disgusted by a singular tooth," Wyatt said, making her laugh.

"I should get going," Rachel said, "I'd suggest going to a dentist quickly and getting that taken care of."

Rachel gathered her things, hugged Scarlett goodbye and headed for the front door, Wyatt coming along with her. As they walked onto the porch, shutting the door behind them, Wyatt grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around to face him.

"What the hell was that about?" he asked.

"Your wife is my friend, and a happy wife means a happy life, so you owe me," she said, "what happened anyway?"

"...I did something I shouldn't have," he muttered.

"Yeah, well...I know what that's like," Rachel said.

                                                                                                 ***

Oliver Brighton had a normal morning the day after Halloween.

He ate breakfast, he read the newspaper, he took his kids to school and then he headed to work. As he pulled up to the location, he found quite a scene. A bulldozer crunched into the mobile office, a group of men trying to clear the wreckage, and his supervisor, a woman named Melinda Barr, who walked briskly up to him, a really angry look on her face.

"What the hell happened here?" Oliver asked, pushing his glasses up.

"That was gonna be my question to you," Melinda said, "You're supposed to prevent this sort of thing. What the hell, Oliver?"

"I...I don't...what happened?"

"Someone left the keys in the bulldozer and drove it right into the office, it's pretty cut and dry," Melinda said, "but you're our safety supervisor, you're supposed to prevent these sorts of things. This is going to stall our operations by months, as now we're gonna have to have an outside safety supervisor come in and make sure this work site is in fact safe to work at."

"Well, you don't need someone else to come in and do that, I'll write off on it, you know that. Anything to get-"

"No, we need an outsider if we don't wanna wind up in court," Melinda said, "If we had you do it, because you work for the company, it'd look like we're trying to get away with something. By having an outside safety supervisor come in, at least we can say we're trying to do things by the book."

"Okay, fair enough. What should I do?" Oliver asked, following he as she started to walk back to the group of men.

"Find another job," she said, which stopped him in his tracks.

"Wh...what?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Oliver, but this is too big to ignore," Melinda said, "I have to deal with this. You're fired. Not my orders."

And with that she turned away and headed off to deal with the men. Oliver stood there, staring at the sight, aware his world was crumbling around him. Oliver turned and slowly walked back to his car. He got in, shut the door behind him and just stared at the sight in front of him. He felt rage building inside him. Everything he'd built up for himself, in a legitimate career, had suddenly come to an abrupt end. Oliver reached to the glovebox and opened it, looking at the handgun in it, then shut the glovebox and started the car.

He then started the car, and started to drive away.
Published on
The apartment was a mess. Materials were thrown everywhere, glue was running down the wall and the shoebox they'd been working in was tipped over onto the floor. Father Krickett wiped his forehead with his sleeve and exhaled, leaning against the wall, looking across the room at Boris who was slumped on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

"This was a bad idea," Boris finally said.

"Gee, you think?" Father Krickett asked.

"What made us think we could help with this?" Boris asked, "I mean, we don't know anything about homes! We're probably the least two qualified men on the planet to be helping with such a project. Ridiculous to think we could."

Father Krickett slid down the wall and onto the floor, his eyes landing on the shoebox. He reached up and ran his hand through his short blonde hair, wishing he knew what to say or what to do, but something in the old man brought something combative out in him, and he both hated and loved it. Boris made him feel things he hadn't felt in years.He scanned the room again, his eyes running from Boris back down to the floor and again landing on the shoebox.

"We need to finish what we started," Father Krickett finally said.

"Are you kidding me?" Boris asked, "We're gonna kill one another if we try that."

"Here's to hoping," Father Krickett mumbled, making Boris chuckle.

Yes, it was hard trying to make a visual representation of family. but it was something they both needed to try and do.

                                                                                     ***

"I have to make a shoebox diorama of our home," Chrissy said, sitting at the dinner table the previous evening, "But I don't really know how to do that. I mean, how do you make a visual representation of something that is so hard to understand as it is?"

"What's hard to understand?" Boris asked, piling peas onto his plate, "you live here, with us, and we take care of you. I'd say that's pretty simple."

"Because it isn't 'normal'," Chrissy said, making air quotes, "Because what we have is really unusual, so how do I represent that? I mean, you're not my grandpa and Whittle's not my mom-"

"What about me?" Father Krickett asked as he took his seat at the table after getting himself a drink.

"-and he's not my priest," Chrissy said, making him laugh as she finished, "I live with a nurse, a priest and an old man. That's not a family. That's the start to a joke."

"For what it's worth," Whittle said, "A lot of people have unconventional families and they do just fine. Hell, single parents are still considered a somewhat unconventional family, even though it's been a normalized thing since forever. Plenty of people have families made up of people they aren't related to. We aren't any different than any of your classmates who have moms and dads at homes."

"It's true," Father Krickett said, reaching for a roll to split open and put butter on, as he said, "after all, the way it's shaken out for you, you know you're taken care of. You live with a nurse, who cares for your health, a priest, who cares for your soul, and a Boris."

"...I don't care about anything?" Boris asked, glancing at the priest.

"I don't know, do you?" Father Krickett asked.

"...no, you're right, not particularly," Boris said, making everyone laugh a little as he looked across the table at Chrissy and said, pointing with his fork, "except you. I care about you. We can help you, if you need it. I'd love to work on something. Give me something to do this weekend besides all the nothing I normally do."

"I'd like to but I can't, I have a prior engagement," Whittle said, "but best of luck to you if you do."

"Fine, but you're the one missing all the fun," Boris said.

Whittle smiled as she watched and listened to everyone banter while she ate the dinner Father Krickett and Boris had helped make together. This was the kind of family she liked, in all honesty. For a short time, she'd wondered if she'd made the right decision about leaving her boyfriend, but this, what they had here, was far more suitable for her, and for everyone else it seemed. Oh sure, Father Krickett didn't live with them, but he was there often enough that it felt as if he did. Honestly, she thought, Chrissy was lucky. She'd have killed to have had this setup at her age.

                                                                                        ***

"So, I'm thinking streamers, everyone likes streamers, right? And a disco ball," Carol said as she and Burt walked down the hall, Burt jotting everything down on a little notepad.

"How are we gonna get that stuff on the ceiling?" Burt asked, "I don't trust anyone here to climb a ladder, do you?"

"We'll hire people to prepare for us," Carol said.

Just then, they passed by a large walk in storage closet and stopped, backing up and peering inside. Inside the closet was Boris, standing on a small stepladder as Father Krickett stood beside it, keeping it steady. Father Krickett smiled and waved at Carol and Burt as they walked inside, joining them, a curious look on their faces.

"What are you doing?" Carol asked.

"Looking for arts and crafts supplies," Boris said.

"Why you robbing us? The preschool closed?" Burt asked.

"It's because this is what we had access to. And yes, the preschool was closed, in fact," Boris said, "Hold that ladder steady, dammit! I don't wanna fall on my ass!"

"Like you have an ass anymore to fall on," Carol scoffed, crossing her arms and asking, "So, what is this even for?"

"We're helping Chrissy with a project, a shoebox diorama of her home life," Father Krickett said, "But we don't have any supplies and he's too cheap to buy them himself, so here we are. Thank goodness you guys have a lot of stuff, because otherwise I think he actually may have tried to rob that preschool."

"I'd fight preschoolers, I think I could take them," Boris said, making everyone laugh.

"Well," Carol said, "if you're going to borrow stuff, the payment can be easy. I need you to help get the cafeteria ready for the Senior Prom. Think you guys could help with that?"

"Sure thing," Father Krickett said, "we'd be happy to."

Carol nodded, then turned and exited the room, leaving the boys to their thievery. Burt caught up with her and continued down the hall with her, still writing down her suggestions for the Senior Prom. Back in the storage closet, Father Krickett looked back from the door up the small ladder at Boris and grimaced.

"What's a senior prom?" he asked.

"It's something Carol's throwing to celebrate everyone in the home," Boris said, "I'll explain more later. Hold it steady, I've almost got all the glue."

                                                                                         ***

Unfortunately for the boys, come the weekend, Chrissy was sick and in bed. Whittle hesitated going on her date, but Boris insisted she do it, saying he and Father Krickett would watch her while she was gone, in addition to doing her diorama. Whittle argued for a bit, but eventually conceded and left, leaving the old man and the priest in charge. They broke out the supplies, scattered them on the coffee table and got to work.

"The thing about a diorama," Father Krickett said, "is that it's not supposed to be perfectly accurate. It's simply supposed to represent the makers idealized vision of what it is they're seeing."

"Deep," Boris said, "but if it isn't accurate, then aren't they just lying?"

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," Father Krickett said, cutting into some construction paper, shrugging, "Everyone views their homefront as something different. Every member of a family sees something different in what their experience is."

"Like I would know anything about what makes a good home," Boris said.

"I know the feeling. Coming from a home full of grief, it makes it hard to find a reason to try and make a new home," Father Krickett said, "Even if what happened wasn't entirely my fault. My brother dying wasn't because of me. Still, it makes it hard to care about creating something that's meant to be permanent, when I'm not sure the permanance is permanent. Life is so fleeting that even a home eventually becomes uninhabitable over time."

"Gee, you're a bundle of sunshine," Boris said, smirking, as Father Krickett glued a little design to the construction paper, trying to make a proper wallpaper for the shoebox.

"I just mean that home is a weird concept to begin with, and it can mean many different things to many people or nothing to many others," Father Krickett said, "They call the church the house of God, and yet it doesn't feel homely. It feels cold and empty. But to me, that's what home feels like. My own house, as a result, feels weirdly incorrect because it's warm and cozy."

"Home isn't the place, home is the people," Boris said, "It's a construct of an idea. We try and make homes be the buildings, but it isn't, it's the people who reside in those buildings. That's why it can hurt when it all falls apart, because you;re not coming from a broken domicile, you're coming from a broken group of folks."

"Interesting viewpoint," Father Krickett said.

"Take home furnishings for instance," Boris said, "people like to put so much thought into what goes into their homes, but it's all outward visual extensions of the self. You don't get nice furniture or good artwork on the walls to represent yourself, you get it to hopefully trick visitors into seeing a different, often better, version of yourself. A version you aspire to be but could never reach."

"Well that's a tad cynical, don't you think?" Father Krickett asked and Boris scoffed, standing up and throwing his arms into the air.

"I mean, in my experience, the house is a lie. Photos are lies. The only thing true are lived experiences. Everything else is a ruse. A smokescreen," Boris said, "You're not the church, because, unlike the church, you're not cold and unwelcoming."

"I never said it was unwelcoming-"

"But it is, isn't it? I mean, let's face it, a good portion of the general public feel unsafe there," Boris said, "I don't know what it is I'm trying to say, John, I'm just...I'm just saying that a building doesn't represent a person, you know? This apartment? It's just a place to be, man. It doesn't say anything about its inhabitants."

Father Krickett stood up and, jar of glue in his hands, started pacing, peering down at the table from time to time.

"I suppose you have a point, but every child deserves to grow up in a stable environment, don't you think?" he asked, "I mean, by that logic, doesn't that mean the building then inherits the responsibility of those who inhabit it?"

"It can't inherit anything, it's not a living being," Boris said, "ahhh, what do either of us know about family anyway."

"A hell of a lot more than the little girl who lives here," Father Krickett said sternly, surprising Boris, as he added, "I mean, she didn't even know what kind of diorama to do, and now look, we're making it for her. Granted she's sick, so that's why it's fallen on us, but...but here's a child who doesn't know what a home is supposed to be. Do you wanna be realistic, cold and cruel, and create a visual representation of what a home actually is, or do you wanna give her some hope and something to wish for and create a visual representation of what a home should be?"

Boris stared at Father Krickett, then furrowed his brow and waved his hand.

"Whatever, forget it," he said.

"Yeah, shrug it off, like you do with everything," Father Krickett, which got his attention again.

"Excuse me?"

"You always run from bad situations. You ran from your life after the accident, you ran from your problems with Polly and then you ran from what happened with her by becoming dependent on pain medication. No wonder you don't see a home as something that could be something good, because you never spent any time in one. If anything, a hotel is a better example of a living situation for you, because you're always on the move."

"How dare you!" Boris shouted, grabbing the construction paper and throwing it on the floor, adding, "I don't just run! I've come a long way from that! Yes, I'll grant you that's what I used to do, but that isn't the case anymore! And what's it matter to you? What are you even doing here, John? Why are you so involved in this pathetic little excuse for a life I have if you think so lowly of me?"

"I don't think lowly of you and that's the problem!" Father Krickett shouted back, "that's the goddamned issue, is how, like Polly, we both think more highly of you than you do of yourself! The things you're capable of and the things you've done, but you don't see that! All you see is failure and disappointment! When are you gonna open your eyes and start seeing what you're made of instead of what you think you're made of!"

Father Krickett then turned and threw the jar of glue against the wall, screaming, surprising Boris.

"I'm so sick of this, Boris! I'm so sick of seeing you continually believe that just because things have been bad that they'll always be bad, that your lived experiences will continue to define and dominate your future experiences instead of realizing your can make better ones! So you were a bad father, so what! So were a thousand other men! Guess who else is a bad father? I am! I'm a bad father! I'm a bad priest! Because I'd prefer to spend my time saving the soul of one old man instead of the hundreds of other people who might benefit from my help!"

"My soul doesn't need saving!" Boris yelled.

"Oh you're goddamned right it doesn't," Father Krickett said, half laughing, tears running down his face, "Because you...you don't even have one! Right? Isn't that what you believe? That you don't even have a soul? Well the body is the home of the soul, so I guess once your body shuts down your soul will be permanently nomadic, so let's hope it can get an apartment. We're all just houses! We're all just renters in these flesh prisons! That's what you're not seeing!"

"Oh how existential of you," Boris said, sitting down on the couch again as Father Krickett leaned against the wall across from him; Boris continued, "...so you're saying this diorama isn't about the apartment, it's about HER. It's about how she views herself, and our input on her personhood?"

"I don't know what I'm saying," Father Krickett said.

"Why do you even care so much?" Boris asked, "If there's others out there who could use you, why stick around here and continue to be berated? Why do you-"

"Because I love you, man!" Father Krickett said loudly, "because I...because I love you, man."

Neither men said a word for what felt like an hour.

The apartment was a mess. Materials were thrown everywhere, glue was running down the wall and the shoebox they'd been working in was tipped over onto the floor. Father Krickett wiped his forehead with his sleeve and exhaled, leaning against the wall, looking across the room at Boris who was slumped on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

"This was a bad idea," Boris finally said.

"Gee, you think?" Father Krickett asked.

"What made us think we could help with this?" Boris asked, "I mean, we don't know anything about homes! We're probably the least two qualified men on the planet to be helping with such a project. Ridiculous to think we could."

Father Krickett slid down the wall and onto the floor, his eyes landing on the shoebox. He reached up and ran his hand through his short blonde hair, wishing he knew what to say or what to do, but something in the old man brought something combative out in him, and he both hated and loved it. Boris made him feel things he hadn't felt in years.He scanned the room again, his eyes running from Boris back down to the floor and again landing on the shoebox.

"We need to finish what we started," Father Krickett finally said.

"Are you kidding me?" Boris asked, "We're gonna kill one another if we try that."

"Here's to hoping," Father Krickett mumbled, making Boris chuckle.

Yes, it was hard trying to make a visual representation of family. but it was something they both needed to try and do. As they got up and started to clean, they heard the front door open. Whittle was standing there, looking somewhat surprised.

"What the hell did you do to my apartment?!" she shouted.

"Why aren't you on your date?" Boris asked.

"He had to reschedule. There's glue on the fucking walls!" she shouted.

Just then they all heard a cough, and all 3 of them looked up to the hallway to see Chrissy standing there. Her eyes were red, like she had been crying. She was squeezing her plushie to her chest and then tossed her hair back behind her a little out of her eyes.

"Can I have a glass of water?" she asked quietly.

"...yeah, yeah go back to bed, I'll bring it to you," Whittle said as she entered the apartment, set her things down on the kitchen table and then filled a water glass up, heading down the hall, not even looking back at the men in the living room. As she opened the bedroom door, she saw Chrissy sitting on her bed, crossed legged, the lights off. Whittle entered and shut the door behind her, sitting on the bed and handing Chrissy the water as she reached behind her and rubbed her back.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked.

"not really," Chrissy said, "everywhere I go adults fight."

"...when I was your age, my parents argued a lot too. I think that's partially why I was so willing to take you in, because I knew where you were coming from. My situation wasn't as bad as yours, but it was rough at times. But I think the thing to remember here is that your parents were fighting about themselves, and Boris and John are fighting about you."

"That makes it better?" Chrissy asked.

"Hell yeah it is, kid. How many kids are lucky enough to have adults argue about the best way to raise a kid because they care so much about them? Your parents argued because they were mad with themselves for failing themselves, but Boris and John are arguing because they're mad with themselves for failing you. That's a pretty important difference, I'd say. You're a very loved kid."

Chrissy smiled as she looked into her water glass, then took a big sip.

"Will you tuck me back in?" she asked.

"Of course pumpkin," Whittle said.

After Whittle put Chrissy back to bed, she came back out into the living room, but both men were gone, and the room was cleaned. She sighed, sat down at the kitchen table and started eating her take out. What had her life become? Different, difficult at times...but better than it was. She smiled to herself. Frankly that's what everyone in this apartment had now, and it was better than where they'd come from she thought.

                                                                                   ***

Father Krickett and Boris were seated in the school hallway. Boris was holding the diorama in his lap, but neither men would look at eachother, instead opting to watch the kids all go to their respective classes as the school day started. Father Krickett was wearing corderoy pants and a turtleneck with a sports jacket on it, while Boris was in a sweater with a collared shirt peaking out the top, and old black jeans. Eventually Father Krickett cleared his throat and looked at Boris.

"...I'm sorry," he said, "for making things weird or whatever it was I did."

"...you know," Boris said, "if things were different...another time period, if I were a different age, I might be more inclined to return your feelings. Nevertheless, I appreciate your concern, and for what it's worth, I love you too, man. I can't imagine my life without you in it. You're my best friend."

"Same here," Father Krickett said, "I just hope this abomination passes for coursework."

"If it doesn't, then we'll just redo it," Boris said.

"Yeah, sure, and maybe this time we'll just bypass all the yelling and instead kill eachother outright," Father Krickett said, making Boris chuckle as he added, "...I don't think you're wrong, for what it's worth. I think homes are often a facade, but they don't have to be, and especially for a child they shouldn't be. I just wanna make sure Chrissy grows up in a better home than any of us did."

"...yeah, that's what I want to," Boris replied, "I just want her to grow up at least feeling like someone cared enough to TRY."

Just then they looked up from the diorama at Chrissy, now standing in front of them, looking down at the diorama. Eventually all their eyes met.

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

"We brought your diorama. We managed to finish it last night," Boris said, handing it to her, "...sorry it's such a mess."

"Like I'd expect anything less," Chrissy said, "but, ya know, that's how I like it. Perfection is boring. I like how messy we all are. I like how messy our home life is. It's weird and it's unusual, but that just makes life more interesting, right? I mean...we're all weirdos, but at least we're weirdos together."

Boris and Father Krickett smiled at her, then one another.

"Thanks for helping, guys," she said, hugging them both, "I don't care what grade I get, cause at least I know the people who helped make mine really cared."

The bell rang, and Chrissy turned, rushing off to class, waving bye to them over her shoulder. Father Krickett put his hand on Boris's shoulder as Boris slid his hands into his pants pockets, the two men standing in the hall, watching her run down the hall to her classroom.

"Come on," Father Krickett, "I'll buy you breakfast."

"You always buy me breakfast."

"Yeah but this time it'll be for a good cause."

"What, me not starving isn't a good enough cause for you? Isn't the church supposed to want to feed the needy?" Boris asked as they turned and walked down the hallway toward the front doors of the school.

"Boris?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Alrighty."
Published on

Palmer stretched, exhaling, as Arthur handed her her headband. She took it and put it on, then thanked him.


"No thanks necessary," Arthur said, shoving his hands into his coat pockets, his black curly hair bouncing in the wind, "Are you sure this is what you should be doing right now? Shouldn't you be...I don't know...resting?"


"No. I need to stay occupied. Focused. Anything to take my mind off everything," Palmer said, as she stared at the girl stretching beside her. Her name was Anita Cook, and Palmer hated her with a passion, but she couldn't understand why. She looked back at Arthur and nodded.


"Alright, well, I'm gonna take a seat, get some work done while you run," Arthur said.


"You don't wanna go to the library or something?" Palmer asked.


"Nah, the fresh air will do me good," Arthur said, turning and heading back to the bleachers. Palmer was incredibly grateful to have Arthur as a friend right now, and she wasn't sure how she would've gotten through the last month without him, honestly. Palmer then looked back at the track ahead of her, and waited for the whistle to ring into the air. As soon as it did, she and Anita took off like a shot, quickly outpacing every other runner there.


                                                                              ***


Dodie was standing near her appointed horse in the stables, trying to lift his hooves so she could clean them. Unfortunately, she was still not strong enough. Thankfully, her partner - a teenage girl named Sarah - was there, and she smiled and easily lifted the horses hoof. Dodie knelt and started scraping the stuff from between his shoes.


"Thank you," Dodie said quietly.


"How are you feeling?" Sarah asked.


"...empty," Dodie finally said after a moment of hesitation, "I don't feel good. I don't feel much of anything. I just miss my dad."


"I'm sure. I'm so sorry," Sarah said, letting the horses leg down as Dodie stood back up and put the tool back on the wall, then picked up a small brush and started to combing the horses mane.


"I like working with Gus, but I only get to do it once a week," Dodie said, "I'd love to own him, but mom doesn't wanna pay for a stable spot, and vet stuff."


"Understandable, a horse is a pretty pricey pet," Sarah said, "but isn't it nice that you get to do this once a week at least?"


"I guess," Dodie said, shrugging.


Sarah felt bad. Ever since her fathers death, Dodie had lost her sense of childlike joy that she used to have, and understandably so, given what had happened. Still, she wished there was some way she could make Dodie feel better. As her partner in their horse training, Sarah often felt partially responsible for the well being of the little girl she was paired with.


"How about, instead of me doing the trail riding this week, you do it?" Sarah asked.


"Really?" Dodie asked, looking up, "but that's for advanced riders."


"Well how you ever gonna become an advanced rider if you don't try it?" Sarah asked.


Dodie smiled for the first time in weeks, and this made Sarah feel better. She could stand to give Dodie one of her trail riding days, if it meant making Dodie feel better. Sarah had never lost either of her parents, so she could only imagine what Dodie must be feeling. She couldn't imagine losing her father so suddenly, and so violently. If horse riding was what distracted Dodie and made her feel better, then Sarah felt like it was the least she could do to help her feel happy again.


                                                                              ***


Palmer was sitting on the bleachers beside Arthur after the race had ended, and she was drinking from her plastic water bottle while Arthur continued doing course work. After a few minutes, he put his pencil down and looked over at her.


"What?" she asked.


"You're pretty fast," Arthur said, "did you ever run before coming to college?"


"I went for the occasional jog, but otherwise no," Palmer said, "I don't know what's really possessed me to take interest in it now, I guess it's just nice to have a hobby that takes place outdoors for a change. Feels like between course work, classes and general hobbies, I spend most of my time indoors."


"All that sitting can't be good for us," Arthur said, reaching behind him and rubbing his lower back, making Palmer chuckle. As they sat there, the girl she'd raced beside, Anita, walked by, checking her nails and not even paying any notice to her surroundings. Palmer felt herself want to shout something mean at her, and couldn't even explain why. She'd never been rude to people for no reason before, especially not other girls. She'd always fancied herself a feminist, always raising other girls up, not putting them down, so this behavior really made her feel bad.


"Ya know," Palmer eventually said, "I wonder if I should actually join the track team."


"You think you're that interested in running?" Arthur asked, making Palmer shrug.


"I mean, what have I got to lose?" Palmer asked, "Besides, give me something physical to do. Exercise is good."


"Is it?"


"That's what I'm told."


Arthur smirked, Palmer herself smiling as she took another long sip from her water bottle. She had never been a part of any teams or clubs in high school, but she could certainly use something to distract herself from how she felt these days, and running felt more or less appropriate, considering she was using it as a literal metaphor to escape her problems.


                                                                           ***


Dodie was definitely what would be considered a "horse girl", a hobby her father had all but encouraged. He'd used to come to her training, sit around and watch, encourage her, and she loved having him there. Since his death, her mother had done this a few times, but she more often than not had to run errands instead during the time Dodie was training. Sitting on her bed at home, looking at a large book full of horses, she couldn't help but feel somewhat excited about doing the trail ride that weekend. Suddenly the bedroom door opened and her mother stood there, wiping her hands on a dish towel, like she'd been washing something.


"Watcha doin'?" Regina asked.


"Looking at horses," Dodie said, "Sarah said I could do her trail ride this weekend."


"Well that was really nice of her," Regina said, walking in and sitting down beside Dodie, rubbing her back, "so...what do you want for dinner?"


"I don't know. Hamburgers? Can we get fast food?" Dodie asked.


"We could. I didn't really wanna cook anyway," Regina said, "Get your coat on and we'll go."


Dodie did as she was told. She slipped her shoes back on, pulled her jacket on and together, she and her mother headed out to the car. It was raining lightly, but they didn't mind. Dodie got into the backseat and Regina pulled out of the driveway, then headed toward their favorite fast food place downtown. As they pulled up into the drive through, Dodie peeked out her window and looked at the board, seeing the toys that came with the kids meals, and saw that the toys for the girls were horses. She immediately felt a pang of need.


"Can I get a kids meal?" Dodie asked.


"You sure? You don't get as much food," Regina asked, looking in the rearview mirror back at her.


"Yeah, please," Dodie said.


Regina looked over at the board, looking for whatever it was she might want for herself and then spotted the kids meal and realized why Dodie had asked. She smiled to herself and appreciated that Dodie was still such a kid. After they ordered and were given their food, Regina started driving home. Pulling up into the driveway, Regina got out of the car and walked around to Dodie's door, sliding it open only to find Dodie sitting in her seat, holding her horse toy in her hands, choking back tears.


"What's wrong?" Regina asked immediately, kneeling to her eye level and stroking her hair.


"...I miss dad," she said, and Regina pulled her daughter into her chest, soothing her.


"I know baby, I do too," she said.


She used to have a father. All she had now were horses. Sure they were nice...


...but they weren't the same.


                                                                           ***


Anita Cook was in the locker room, rubbing lotion on her leg, when she saw a pair of feet stop near her. She looked up, her braids falling back behind her as her eyes landed on Palmer, who was standing there watching her. Anita stood fully up and rubbed her hands together.


"Can I help you?" she asked.


"I hate you and I don't know why and it makes me incredibly upset," Palmer said, being surprisingly direct.


"Well," Anita said, putting her hands on her hips, "that does sound upsetting. I don't even know your name, so I can't imagine why you might hate me. We've never even spoken."


"I think...I think it's subconscious," Palmer said, leaning against the lockers, "A little over a month ago, my father died. Seeing your parents coming by to cheer you on during your runs, it just...it makes my blood boil. Not only is my father gone, but he was never really all that openly supportive of whatever I did. He was super supportive of my sister, for some reason, and that always made me feel awkward."


"I definitely understand feeling awkward right now," Anita said, making Palmer smirk.


"I don't wanna hate you. It isn't fair to you, or me. I'm just...I guess I'm weirdly jealous that not only is your father still alive, but he's far more supportive than mine ever was. I guess part of it was my fault. I never really did anything to warrant support. I was never in any clubs or groups or played sports or anything, but still, he could've said he supported whatever my hobbies or interests were, ya know?"


Anita pulled her uniform off and pulled her regular shirt on over herself, pulling her braids out from the collar and letting them fall behind her, not interrupting, just listening.


"Why did you start running?" Palmer asked.


"I just like the feeling," Anita said, shrugging, "I guess I like it because it's a fairly solitary activity. I'm not an introvert or anything, but I'm also not exactly a social butterfly, and I hate playing stuff with others, so this is a good sport for me. I was always kinda athletic, but I always preferred solitary sports, like bowling. Things that don't automatically require a team or a league or whatever."


Palmer nodded, looking at her nails.


"...why are you running?" Anita asked.


"Because I'm a goddamned cliche," Palmer said, "I'm literally using it as a metaphor, because I'm such a trope. How original. Running from my problems..."


A moment passed as Anita picked up her own backpack and slung it around her shoulders, then looked back at Palmer.


"You wanna come running with me sometime?" Anita asked, "Like, not here at the school, but on an actual run."


"...really? Even after I openly admitted I hate you for no valid reason?" Palmer asked.


"Least I can do is try and make you like me," Anita said, smiling.


Palmer felt warm inside. She'd rarely had any girl friends who actually enjoyed hanging out with her, and since coming to this college the only friend she'd managed to make was Arthur. Seems like perhaps her fathers death did ultimately have a silver lining of some kind.


"I'd really appreciate that, yeah," Palmer said.


"Walk with me to my class, we'll make a plan," Anita said.


Palmer followed Anita out of the locker room and back into the school proper. It'd been so long since she'd actually done something with someone that wasn't grief related, and she felt appreciative of this change of pace. Unfortunately for Palmer, Dodie was having the opposite situation.


                                                                             ***


"I don't think she should do your ride," Regina said to Sarah, the two of them standing in the stalls while Sarah brushed her horse.


"Why?" Sarah asked.


"Because I don't think she's emotionally ready," Regina said, "I don't wanna hold my daughter back from the things that matter to her, but she...she's doing so poorly since her father died and I just don't think it's the right time. If maybe, in a few months, you wanna give her the offer again, then sure, but...not yet. Not right now."


Regina looked over her shoulder at the barn doors, seeing in the driveway Dodie sitting in the car and she sighed.


"...she wasn't anywhere near ready. My other daughter wasn't ready either, but she's apparently seeming to be more capable of handling this, but Dodie's only in 3rd grade. Her sister's in college. Dodie didn't expect to grow up without a father, and she doesn't know how the world works anymore. When you're that young and something that traumatic happens to you, it turns the world into this terrifying place instead of something curious and wonderful."


Sarah nodded, brushing her hair back behind her shoulders and pulling it up into a ponytail.


"...I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it just...it isn't the right time," Regina asked.


"I understand," Sarah said, "Can I ask you a question?"


"Of course."


"Were you ready?" Sarah asked, catching Regina by surprise.


In the last month or so since her husbands death, she'd been consoled, comforted, and even given plates and plates of food from friends and neighbors. But she'd never really taken a moment to consider whether or not she herself had expected his death either, or if she too were as shocked and potentially traumatized as her daughters were. She chewed her lip for a moment and then shook her head.


"No, I really...I really wasn't," she said, "He was my whole life, besides the girls, and...and he was my best friend and..."


She lost it. She started crying. She felt Sarah hugging her, and was surprised by this random teenagers generosity and kindness. After a few minutes she managed to recompose herself and finish her sentence, albeit her voice still shaky.


"...I'm sorry," she whispered, "I just...I haven't really processed it myself just yet. I've been so busy trying to make Dodie feel better that...that I haven't really had any time to grieve for me, you know? He was the love of my life, and I thought he'd always be here, at least until we were older. I never could've expected that he might not be."


"I've never really lost anyone," Sarah said, "but I understand, or at least I'm trying to. If you'd like, my mother does grief counseling. You could talk to her, and probably for free, considering how close Dodie and I work together here."


"...that's not a bad idea," Regina said, and then, checking her watch added, "I have to go. I'm sorry."


As she turned and began to leave, Sarah watched this poor woman get back into her car and pull away. Sarah had never expected to be involved in something like this. She'd always just assumed she and Dodie would be friends because of their interest in horses - sort of a voluntary big sister situation - and it'd never occurred to her that someday she might become more invested simply because of her proximity. Sarah turned back to the horse and continued brushing, thinking to herself how she would react if she lost one of her parents.


Sadly, she didn't have an answer, and she wasn't in any kind of hurry to find out.


                                                                               ***


That weekend, Anita drove Palmer up to a small old trail that she liked to use for running. Palmer and Anita both wore tanktops and shorts and sneakers, and Anita told Palmer she'd most likely want to put her hair up, because the worst thing to deal with was hair whipping in your face when you ran. As she parked and the girls got out, Palmer took in the nice clean forest air and shut her eyes.


"Smells good out here doesn't it?" Anita asked, and Palmer nodded in agreement.


"It does," she said, kneeling down and doing up the velcro on her sneakers.


"You ready?" Anita asked.


"Ready as I'll ever be," Palmer said.


With that, the two girls took off running down the provided paths. What a mantra she was coming to live by, Palmer realized. She was now facing everything with the fact that she was as ready as she'd ever be, and she'd never really be ready, so she'd better get used to winging it.


Life kinda sucked like that, but at least she had a running mate.

Published on
"What the hell is tapioca?" Burt asked as he and Carol stood in line getting lunch. She shrugged and plopped another jello square onto her tray.

"I don't know, some kind of pudding I'd guess," Carol said.

"Everyone assumes old people eat the grossest shit. Tapioca, oatmeal, liver and onions...don't they realize that our palette hasn't changed just because we've aged? I want cheeseburgers god dammit," Burt said, making her chuckle as they carried their trays back to the table, finding Larry already seated and eating an enormous burrito; Burt looked at him agog, and asked, "Where did you get that?"

"From a little vendor outside," Larry said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "You should try leaving the home once in a while. It's amazing what things you can find two feet from the door."

"I'm gonna kill you and eat your lunch," Burt mumbled.

"Hey," Carol said, interrupting the bickering as she shifted her food around her plate, "...what do you guys think about, like, a senior prom?"

"What about it?" Larry asked.

"Like, you remember going to prom, right? We all presumably went to prom," Carol said.

"I like that you said presumably," Burt said.

"Well, who knows, you could've been a loser who stayed at home and danced with his mom, I just didn't wanna make any assumptions," Carol replied, smirking, "but do you guys think that would be a good idea? Sort of a little party to celebrate the fact that we're seniors? Seniority has a lot of perks to it, aside from being closer to death than anyone else."

"I think it's a cool idea," Larry said, "We could get suits and dresses and do decorations and maybe order catering."

"Exactly. And for people with alzheimers, it'd be nice, it'd be like reliving the days they think they're living already," Carol said, "I know they say you shouldn't wallow in your memories but sometimes those are what get you through the day. Memory is important."

"I'll try to remember that," Burt muttered, making them all laugh.

                                                                                                ***

Boris parked the gremlin and got out. He stuffed the keys in his coat pocket and started walking through the parking lot, unsurprised when he heard the sound of heels rushing up behind him, and found Lorraine walking beside him now.

"Boy, you drive in style," she said, smirking.

"I do what I can to impress the ladies, yes," Boris said, smiling a little himself, "Did Ellen tell you anything at all about why she wanted us to come to her therapy session?"

"No," Lorraine said, hoisting her purse strap further up her shoulder, "No, all she said was that it was important, and that was enough for me. I no longer require explanation, I'm just trying to be there for her whenever she asks."

"Yeah, exactly," Boris said, kicking small pebbles in front of him as they approached the building. He reached out and opened the door, letting Lorraine enter first. She thanked him, and he followed her inside. They checked in at the counter, then were told to take a seat, and they would be let into the office in a few minutes, so Boris and Lorraine seated themselves. Lorraine picked up a well worn looking magazine from the table by her chair and started flipping through it.

"I used to think it was important to keep a nice household," she said, looking at the various photos in this housekeeping magazine, sighing, "but really, the household itself doesn't matter. The people inside it matter. You can keep the most disheveled home, but so long as the people inside it are tight knit, the appearance doesn't matter."

"Deep," Boris said, "You should write a philosophy book."

Lorraine looked at him, somewhat smiling at his statement, but also wishing that, for once, he'd be serious.

"...we didn't try hard enough," she finally said, flopping the magazine down in her lap, "we thought all you had to do was get married, remember? That was it. Get married, have a kid, everything else would fall into place. It'd just work. That isn't how it works."

"No it is not," Boris said, laughing a little, "but...I don't think it's fair to say we didn't try hard enough. We tried plenty. It just...didn't work. Sometimes things just don't work. Sometimes the people you wanna have in your life are...are not meant to be there that long."

He looked away and ran a hand through his thin hair, making Lorraine reach out and hold his hand.

"You really miss her," she said quietly.

"Every goddamned day. I've never missed a woman I didn't romantically love more than her," he said.

"Losing a friendship, especially a really good friendship, can be just as brutal as losing as a lover," Lorraine said, "I'm sorry that happened to you, Boris, she seemed like a good friend to you."

The door opened and a woman was standing there. She smiled and waved at the couple, insinuating they could follow her, which they did. They got out of their chairs and headed through the door, then followed the woman down the hall towards an office. Once inside they found Ellen sitting there, and she smiled weakly at them as they entered. Boris immediately got an awful feeling in his gut.

"Hi sweetheart," Lorraine said, hugging Ellen, who hugged her  back.

"Hi mom, hi dad," she said, and Boris smiled at her and hugged her lightly after Lorraine was done. The two took their seats again and looked from Ellen to the therapist, who just scrawled something on a piece of paper on a clipboard and then looked back up at everyone else.

"So," she said, "I'm Dr. Krowder, it's nice to meet you. I'm very glad you were able to meet with us today," she said, "I've been working with Ellen for a few months now, and we have made...uh...decent progress, I guess, is a way to put it. Nothing outstanding but also more than nothing at all. She's been great to work with, but she really wanted you guys to come in this week because she remembered something and she wanted to bring it up to you both."

Lorraine and Boris exchanged a seemingly nervous glance before looking back at Ellen, who was now looking at her hands in her lap.

"Okay," Boris said, "Well, whatever we can do to help her, obviously."

"Why did you and mom split up? I remember the fight, the night you left," Ellen said, still not looking at them, "and, uh..." she paused and pushed some hair back behind her ear, sniffling, "and I just never really understood why it happened. But I guess piecing it together now, it makes sense, if we had an accident and you felt responsible and whatnot..."

"That was a big part of it," Boris said.

"but why did you say what you said?" Ellen asked, causing Boris and Lorraine to, once again, exchange a glance before Boris furrowed his brow.

"What...what did I say?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"You said you never wanted a family to begin with, that mom is the one who wanted this, and that you knew you wouldn't be good at being a father," Ellen said, finally looking up at her father.

"...when your mother and I met, I was trying desperately to be a writer," Boris said, "I was taking any job I could, doing copy, whatever, but...but in my spare time I was working mostly on my poetry. She and I met at a small poetry group at a local bookstore, and she was immediately smitten."

"It's true, I can't deny it," Lorraine said, chuckling nervously.

"and likewise," Boris continued, clearing his throat and cupping his hands, "uh, I thought she was beautiful and very very intelligent, and so we immediately started dating. We just...I guess, we assumed that's what you did when you got serious. You got married, you had kids, whatever. It wasn't...it wasn't so much that I didn't..."

Boris scratched his head.

"How do I explain this," he muttered, "uh...I wasn't against having you. Does that make sense? After we got married, after you were born, yeah, I started to realize that that wasn't the life I wanted and we had both been kind of pressured socially into doing that, and while I may have regretted giving into that pressure instead of following my original plan...I never once regretted you."

"I believe that," Ellen said softly, "but I...I feel like the accident, what happened to me specifically, is what caused you two to finally split."

"No, look, we were not doing well already by that point," Boris said, "and the accident itself may have triggered it ultimately, but you weren't the reason. I was at fault. I was always at fault. I could've walked away at any point before that, and I chose not to because that's something you didn't do back then. You didn't break up your family. It made you less of a man, whatever the hell that means. So I stuck around until I literally felt so guilty for sticking around that I couldn't anymore. I felt like maybe if I'd left before that, the accident wouldn't have happened, and if it hadn't had happened, you wouldn't have needed the operation and then you wouldn't have been in a coma and we wouldn't even be here right now and it's ALL my fault."

Lorraine looked at Boris and smiled. She'd truly see the growth he'd made in the last few years, and she was once again finally recognizing the man she'd once loved so deeply.

"I just remembered the fight the other night, and it...it made me feel bad because I felt like I was the reason you guys were unhappy. Like I was why you were stuck," Ellen said.

"Sweetheart," Boris said, "you were never the reason for anything bad, okay? If anything, even if this isn't what we wanted originally, we've never regret having you. You've been the only good outcome of our life together. That's never gonna change."

Ellen smiled and wiped her eyes on her sweater sleeve, making Boris smile.

"...I love you guys," Ellen said, surprising them both; she continued, "I didn't...I don't remember everything, and what I do remember I don't remember well, but I'm glad to have parents who love me so much. I love you mom and dad."

"We love you too," Lorraine said, making Boris nod.

For the first time in a long long time, Boris felt like perhaps memories weren't such a bad thing after all.

                                                                                                   ***

"You sure you don't want a drink?" Lorraine asked, Boris now sitting in the living room back at her house, the house that had once been their house; she strolled back into the room and handed him a glass, but he waved it off.

"Naw, I gotta drive home still," Boris said as she sat down in a chair near the couch and watched him, casually sipping her drink. After a moment he cleared his throat and added, "Maybe we weren't such bad parents after all."

"You've changed," Lorraine said, "in a good way. You seem more at ease. You don't seem so tense. You seem...different. I don't know how to put it. Today in that office you were so open and honest and emotional and it was...it was something I hadn't seen in you in a long time. I remember when you took me to a quiet lake for a picnic, and you read me a poem you wrote for me, and I just thought to myself what a good man you were and how lucky I was to find you and claim you as my own. That's how I'm feeling lately. Seeing that man again."

"I missed that guy," Boris said, making them both chuckle as he added, "I started writing poetry again."

"Really?" Lorraine asked, actually surprised.

"Yeah, I...I guess I just wanted to try my hand at it and see if I still could do it," Boris said, "You expect your skills to atrophy over time but, surprise surprise, I wasn't terrible, hah. Don't think I could do it professionally anymore though. Think that time has passed."

"Sunset gold on silver blue, sentiments old but feelings new, green to red and red to brown, all this beauty when you're around; the colors and the seasons change, but nothing leaves me feeling strange, because the winter brings something fresh to see, the best part of you is how you feel for me."

Boris looked at Lorraine, who smiled weakly and stirred her drink.

"You still remember parts of it by heart," Boris said, "Impressive."

"It's not impressive," Lorraine said, "that's what love does to you. It makes you remember. Memory is, good or bad, all we have in the end. I choose to make it good."

Boris smiled and said, "I think I will have that drink after all. I can stay a while."

                                                                                               ***

Carol was sitting by Larry's garden, sunning herself on the chaise lounge; sunhat pulled over her face, sunglasses covering her eyes. She didn't even hear Boris walk up beside her and seat himself on a footstool beside her. He eventually cleared his throat and she pulled the hat up and pulled her sunglasses down, turning her head and smiling at him.

"Hey," she said, "Where you been?"

"Had a doctors appointment," Boris said, "Anything going on around here?"

"I'm throwing a senior prom," Carol said, "Bring us all back to our youth for just one evening. You wanna come?"

"Are you asking me to be your date?" Boris asked and Carol cackled.

"Right! Like I'd be caught dead going with you," she said, making him laugh, then added, "You can bring a date if you want. I know I will. Hey, do you know what tapioca is?"

"You mean besides disgusting?" Boris asked, shrugging, "No clue, why?"

"I'm thinking of serving it at the prom, if only just to piss off Burt," Carol said.

"Wow, petty."

"You gotta find ways to entertain yourself at this age," Carol said.

                                                                                                ***

That night, Boris brushed his teeth and got ready for bed. As he passed down the hallway, he heard Chrissy still awake. He opened her bedroom door slowly and peeked inside, to find her curled up on her bed under the blankets, crying. Boris entered the room and sat down on the bed.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked.

"...the kids at school keep making fun of me cause I don't have a family," Chrissy said, "but I do have family, it's just not the same kind of family they have. Why can't they understand that?"

"Kids are stupid, they got tiny brains," Boris said, then ruffled Chrissy's hair, "Except this one. This kid's got a big brain, and frankly I think science is going to have to intervene and explain how she got this way before it gets too out of hand and she overpowers us all."

Chrissy laughed and rolled onto her bed, looking at Boris.

"Did you have a good family growing up?" she asked and Boris's entire face changed. He exhaled through his nose and looked around the room. Finally, after a few minutes, he looked back at her.

"When I was a kid, family was an obligation," he said, "you stuck with them through thick and thin, even if you hated one another, because it's what was expected of you, and to do anything different was damn near blasphemy. It's not like that now, and that's a good thing, hell it's a GREAT thing, because a lot of times birth is all based around circumstances, you know? You have no control over being born, or who you're born to, and that isn't fair, and now people are taking their lives into their hands and saying, 'ya know what, you're not good for me, and I deserve better' and that's awesome."

Chrissy watched him as he paused and scratched at his chin.

"No, I didn't have a good family growing up. They weren't abusive or anything, but they were parents because they were obligated to be, not because they wanted to be. They had a child because they were expected to, not because they loved one another enough to create another person. I think your parents love you. I just think they don't love eachother, and often times the child gets caught in the middle. But hey, lucky you, you got a 2nd home! Most kids don't have that. So really, when the shit hits the fan at home, and those kids have nowhere to be, think how lucky you are and who'll be laughing then."

Chrissy smiled and nodded as Boris leaned in and kissed her on the nose.

"Sleep good kitten," he said, "Have sweet dreams."

As he exited the room and stood in the hallway, he thought of how utterly lucky he was, in fact, to have a 2nd chance himself. Not just by having the chance to raise Chrissy in some way, but to also rebuild his relationship with his own daughter. Boris headed to his bedroom and shut the door, then sat down on the bed and looked at the drawer of his bedside table. He pulled it open and pulled out a small old leather brown photo album, opening it and turning to a particular page which showed him as a child and his parents. He sighed and shook his head, then put it back into the drawer, laid down and shut the lamp off.

Not every memory is a pleasant one.

But the cool thing about memory, Boris was coming to acknowledge, was that you were always able to make new better ones.
Published on
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."
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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.

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