Buffy expected Willow to interrogate her, demanding to know where she'd been for so long. Ever since the car accident, Willow had clung to Buffy, afraid to be left alone. She didn't yet trust herself to be able to stop dealing with magic on her own. But Willow didn't look up when Buffy entered. She was busy with her laptop.

"Hi, Buffy," Anya greeted her. "We saved a jelly donut for you."

"Thanks, but I'm not very hungry."

"Oh. I didn't know it ruins your appetite."

"What does?"

"Your mom dying a year ago today."

"Anya!" Willow scolded.

"What? We're all thinking the same thing, but I always get yelled at for saying it."

"Relax, guys," said Buffy. "You don't have to tiptoe around me. It makes me feel like I have two heads or something."

Anya propped her elbows on the counter. "I don't understand. I didn't understand when she died, and I don't understand this. Why doesn't anyone talk about Joyce?"

Willow came over. "We talk about her."

"Sometimes Dawn says 'remember when,' but those aren't real memories. And Giles would say, 'Your mother would want you to,' to get Buffy to do something. But other than that, it's like she never existed."

"She existed. We have Buffy," Willow said.

"But I miss Joyce." Anya brushed tears from her cheek. "I hate being mortal," she muttered. "Whenever I'm sad, my face gets all wet."

Buffy took her hand. "I miss her too. And I'm tired of how everyone gets quiet whenever the subject of death comes up. I don't want to talk about when she died . . . or when I died. But I don't want to forget about her either."

"Well, it's too late," Anya said. "I'm starting to forget stuff."

"This changes now. We all have to be honest with each other again. Without some tap dancing demon making us sing the truth . . . though I have to admit, that was some nice choreography."

They lapsed into silence.

"Okay," said Willow. "Let's get the honesty rolling. Where were you?"

"Is it that big of a deal?" Buffy asked.

"Yes," Anya replied. "You said you wouldn't be gone long, but you were."

"I went to church and lit a candle for my mom."

"Buffy, you might consider being a little more specific. Remember? Hellmouth equals pray hard equals forty-three churches."

"Forty-four," Anya interjected. "The Moonies put up a shrine by the highway last month."

"There are still Moonies around? Wow . . . I went to St. Michael's down the street. I would have said something if I'd known I was going to sit there and cry as long as I did."

"Oh, Buffy-"

She cut Willow off. "It's something I needed to do alone, and it's done and I feel better. Kind of. Anyway, I met the priest there. Nice guy. Younger than I expected, but-what?"

Willow's mouth hung open. Anya had gone pale.

"Buffy, a priest?" said Willow.

"Just don't bring him around here," Anya added darkly.

"What's the big?" Buffy asked, even though she knew it perfectly well.

"I'm sure St. Michael's isn't in cahoots with the forces of evil, but think about it." Willow pointed to herself. "Jewish. Gay. Witch. Are we seeing the conflict here?"

Anya shuddered. "Priests exorcise demons."

"But you're an ex-demon."

"Who knows what he could do to me? He could shake that water spritzer thing in my face or swing that ball of incense and I'd get all old and wrinkly."

"Well, I don't think you'll have anything to worry about. He didn't seem too amped on the idea of meeting everyone. He just walked me back here and left," Buffy said.

Anya gasped. "He was right outside?" She dashed over to a mirror and inspected her face.

"What's she doing?" Buffy asked Willow.

"Making sure all those residual priest vibes didn't do any damage."