"This is weird," Trent muttered, staring at the grave. It looked pretty fresh, pretty clean. Shiny, even.

"Why?" Mae asked.

"It's...I don't know how to feel. I mean, okay, I know how I should feel, just not what I do feel. I should be sad. I guess I am, kinda, but not really? I don't know. I feel like an asshole. He's family, we talked kind of regularly, I liked him...although now I'm rethinking that if he actually was a member of this fucking cult?" He glanced around suddenly, wondering if anyone was listening. But he couldn't see anyone around.

"I dunno, man," Mae replied awkwardly. "I'm still putting it all together...actually, there is a grave I want to visit."

"Who?" he asked.

"My grandpa."

"Okay."

"When you're done."

Trent looked at the headstone again, then sighed. "I'm done."

"Okay." She took his hand and led him deeper into the graveyard. Mae hadn't talked about any other relatives beyond her parents and her aunt.

After a bit, they came to another headstone, this was obviously older, worn out. The death date was about eight years ago, in 2009.

"Hey, grandpa," Mae said. "I finally got a boyfriend! I mean, like, I know I told you about Cole, but he doesn't really count, I think. Trent's, like, awesome. And really nice. You told me that. I kept asking what should I look for in a boyfriend...well, girlfriend. You never cared about that. I think mom and dad are still kinda weirded out by it, but they're nice at least. They're probably so relieved Trent is my boyfriend. Ha! Joke's on them! I'm still gonna have a girlfriend, maybe two...but you were right. You said nice was most important, hardworking was next, but I can't really make that claim, because it wouldn't be fair, because I'm not hardworking, like, at all."

She stopped suddenly, her shoulders slumping. "I still wish you'd come back, but I hope if you're somehow still aware, like a ghost or something, you're happy. But maybe nothingness is better? I still don't know for sure about ghosts...but if old horrible gods can exist, why can't ghosts? Sorry, I'm rambling. Gotta see mom. Love you grandpa."

She led him away, out of the cemetery, towards the church.

"Sorry if that was like total psycho weird or whatever," Mae said.

"It wasn't," Trent replied. "I get it. People talk to graves all the time. I'm sorry about your grandpa."

Mae let out a sigh of frustration.

"What?" he asked. "If I said something wrong I-"

"No! That's the thing! You said everything right! Goddamnit! Why are you so fucking...understanding!?" she snapped, stopping suddenly.

"I...do you not want me to be?" he replied. "Where the fuck is this coming from?"

She moaned and turned away. "I don't know! I'm sorry! It's just-I feel like such an asshole sometimes when you're so fucking nice to me! And I can, like, tell that it's real, and not just fake niceness. You really mean it! I don't deserve this!"

"I'm...sorry, Mae," he murmured.

"No, I'm sorry. I get so angry. At people, at things, at the weather, at myself. I feel so fucking stupid sometimes, because my stupid brain forgets stuff like all the time, and sometimes the words won't work, and I can't fucking talk, but of course my brain can remember all the stupid asshole things I've said and done! I don't deserve this kindness."

"Forget about deserve, Mae," Trent said. "You chose to be in this relationship, and I chose to be in this relationship."

"I didn't choose how I feel about you-"

"No, but you chose to engage with me. You chose to talk to me, to help me, to come onto me. You've chosen to stay with me every night, to spend just about every waking moment around me. To do all this stuff with me. And I chose to do the same with you. Mae...just...you deserve to be happy. You think I'm perfect? Or Bea? Everyone has done and said shitty things. Some more than others. You have to believe in yourself, Mae."

"I'm not sure I know how," she muttered.

"I understand that." He hugged her suddenly and she hugged him back tightly. "You're a good person, Mae. You want to help people. You want to make people happy. And you actually try to do that. That's, like, a big deal. Everyone's talk when it comes to what they want to do, but so many people just give up or don't actually do anything. You do things. That matters, Mae." He pulled back slightly and looked down at her. "Look at me." She looked up at him with her big red eyes. "It matters. And you matter. Okay?"

She stared at him for a long time, then slowly nodded. "Okay. Yeah...sorry."

"It's okay, Mae. You've been through a lot. A lot. And I'm so sorry. You don't deserve it. You're suffering, and you deserve to be happy. I want to make you happy like how you want to make Bea happy, okay?"

She smiled and then laid her head against his chest again. "Even though I'm like so fucking short?"

"Even though you're so short, Mae," he replied.

"I guess it is a thing that guys like short chicks...can we wrestle?" she asked.

"What? God, I keep expecting to get used to you asking me weird-ass questions but I never do. The weirdest shit comes out of your mouth."

She giggled. "I always wanted to wrestle with my gir-boyfriend. Whatever. Can we?"

"Like on the floor or the bed?"

"Bed is more comfy, I'm finding."

"Yeah, if that's what you want."

"It's exactly what I want."

"Then we'll wrestle later on tonight."

"And then sex?"

He sighed and looked around, then laughed. "Yes, and then sex."

"Awesome!" She heaved a sigh suddenly. "Come on, let's go see my mom."

They started walking towards the church, hand in hand.

"Why don't you like your parents, Mae?" Trent asked.

They were laying in bed together beneath the blankets in the dark. They'd had a pretty typical conversation with Mae's mom, and then they'd walked home, and then they'd had dinner. Then she'd started playing The Suffering, and had immediately fallen in love. While she did that, Trent had finally started writing.

It wasn't anything that would get him paid, but it was something he thought was cool, and something he hoped Mae would enjoy.

"I mean...I do like them. I love them. I just...there's some bad blood there…" Mae replied awkwardly, stumbling through her sentence.

"What?" Trent asked.

She sighed. "So don't get me wrong. I love mom and dad. They're so great. They've done a lot for me, and put up with a lot of my stupid bullshit. But, like...they just decided that I was gonna go to college. Like when I was fucking born. Before I was born. Like there was no alternative. And they worked their asses off, and saved all this money, and then spent all this money. Both to help smooth over that time I went fucking insane and beat a kid half to death with a baseball bat, and also sending me to college. And now they're probably going to lose the house…"

"You mentioned that earlier, like...what happened?" he asked.

"I don't even know. Something about whatever type of mortgage they have? I don't even think they own the house anymore. I don't know, they won't really tell me, and I'm not sure I'd get it even if they did. Bottom line: I fucked up, more than once, and now I'm gonna lose my house. And I feel so fucking shitty for that. And it's like...they don't quite blame me for it...but they don't not blame me for it, either. Although I think my dad really doesn't blame me, and my mom does. She really wanted me to go to college and like I'd be the first Borowski to graduate college and just-fuck! It's not my fault I'm fucked in the head!"

"It isn't," he agreed, hugging her beneath the blankets.

"Although sometimes I feel like it is. Or, like, I could be handling it better. So many people are fucked in the head but they just get over it or deal with it-"

"You don't really know," Trent said. "You can't use other people as a metric to gauge your own response to trauma and mental instability."

"That's the kind of thing that everyone says but also everyone does except for maybe like a few people. I feel like most people who say that are just lying," Mae mumbled.

Trent thought about it for a moment. "I think...it's less lying and more...setting an ideal to hold yourself up to. You don't have to be perfect, you really can't be perfect, but it's what you should be aiming for. I mean, what good does it do to just make yourself miserable over your imperfections? Although I mean I understand, I do it too. I know how shitty it feels, and I don't want you to feel like that."

"I appreciate that," Mae murmured. "I'm sorry I'm being difficult. I do that."

"You're not being difficult, you're just...having troubles. Everyone does...can I touch your ear?" he asked.

"What...why?"

"I don't know, it's like...this thing I've been thinking about. I see you do it a lot. I guess...it seems to bother you and I guess...fuck, I don't even know. I don't know why, but I just feel like you want me to? But you won't ask?"

"...maybe," Mae murmured. "It's like...this thing that's wrong with me, and I hate it, but I can't hide it. I don't want anyone to touch it, but like...I want you to touch it. I don't know why. I guess it's like...you accepting me? Even the shitty parts."

"So can I?" he asked.

"...yeah."

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Okay."

He reached up and carefully ran his fingertips along her mangled ear. He felt her shiver but she didn't say anything. Trent went slowly, carefully, moving his fingertips along the back of her ear, then along the edge, feeling the bumps and contours of where that dog had bitten her badly so many years ago. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No. It used to, but it stopped years ago. Stupid dog," Mae replied.

"Why'd it bite you?"

"For once, it wasn't my fault. Dog attacked me outta nowhere. I was walking home from school. No idea where it came from, or whose it was, or why it did that. Thankfully it didn't have rabies or anything. But oh man, it hurt so bad. Ugh. I'm a shit magnet."

"Maybe," Trent said. "Some people are, and it's not their fault. It's just the way the dice fall."

"You keep saying that," Mae murmured.

"Saying what?"

"That it's not my fault."

"It isn't. Bad things happen to people, not because they deserve it, but because that's just how the world works sometimes. That dog isn't your fault. Your mental illness isn't your fault. I mean, some of the things you chose to do...yeah, they're you're fault, but not as much, I think. You're traumatized, and that doesn't give you an excuse to be an asshole, but I think it at least is a mitigating factor." He gently massaged her ear between his fingertips for a bit before letting go and wrapping his arm around her. "It's important to remember: the things that happen to you aren't necessarily your fault, but how you respond to them is."

"Yeah...you're right," she murmured.

"And I'm not trying to make you feel bad or say I'm better than you or anything. I've fucked up a lot of shit and done shitty things."

"No, I don't-I mean, that's one of the things I like about you a lot. When you tell me these things, it doesn't feel like you're accusing me. With everyone else, it feels like they're accusing me. Sometimes they aren't, but a lot of times they are...thank you for touching my ear. It actually felt good," she said.

"You're welcome, Mae."

She squeezed him tightly. "I love you."

"I...uh, like you. A lot. Like a lot."

"Do you want me to stop saying it?" she asked.

"No. I don't. I just don't know how to respond. It feels weird…"

"Don't say it until it feels good," Mae said. "I can wait."

"Thank you." He kissed her. "You're a great girlfriend."

She giggled. "No I'm a total trash pile but thanks."

"I think you're pretty great. You'll just have to deal."

She sighed heavily. "I guess so." She was silent for a few seconds. "I met you and lost my virginity and had you hook up with two of my best friends and basically moved in with you all because I had a dream," she murmured.

"...yeah, that's true," Trent said.

"That's crazy." She yawned. "I need to sleep now."

"Me too."

He fell asleep holding her.

Trent awoke the next morning to his phone ringing.

He grabbed it off the nightstand and answered without looking to see who it was. "Hello?" he managed.

"Sorry to wake you, dude," Bea replied.

"It's fine. What's up?" he asked.

"Got your first sale. Someone wants one of those dressers in the basement. They're willing to drop five hundred on it and haul it away themselves. Also, I want that desk and I've got access to a truck so I'm coming over now. So are they. You should get up and be presentable."

"Shit. Okay. See you here."

"Yep. Thanks."

She hung up. Trent groaned and checked the time. It was just past nine o'clock. Too early for him, way too early for Mae, but she was still out like a light. With a sigh, Trent hopped up out of bed and hurried off.

Ten minutes later, he sat at the foot of the stairs, showered, scrubbed, and dressed, feeling at least a lot more awake, though still a little miserable. He was kind of like Mae: he needed a lot of sleep. Though clearly she needed more.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long. Trent opened the door as he heard car doors slamming shut and the blast of cold air helped wake him.

A light dusting of snow covered the ground and street and trees. He saw Bea and a middle-aged dog coming his way.

"...you sure we at the right place?" he asked when he saw Trent.

"Yes, Mister Gravel, this is the place. Don't worry, I know what I'm doing," Bea replied with a practiced patience.

"Well, that is true. You're definitely a chip off the old block," he agreed as they walked in. He offered his hand. "Bill Gravel."

"Trent Sinclair," Trent replied, shaking it.

"Ah. You must be related to Mister Sinclair. I was sorry to hear of his passing."

"Thanks...did you know him? He was my great-uncle."

"No, not personally," Bill replied. "But I knew of him. He had a strong reputation, did some good things around town. I'm pretty happy to own a dresser that belonged to him."

"Well perfect. It's in the basement, I'll show you."

"Oh...I was hoping you'd bring it up here," Bill said.

Bea sighed softly. "Mister Gravel, we aren't going to haul it up until you're sure you want it. Once you're sure, we'll get it out to your truck."

"Well...I guess that makes sense. Okay."

They all went down into the basement. It felt weird, but he was glad to actually begin the process. It didn't take long, thankfully. Bill looked over it, checked in the drawers, and seemed to investigate it in a way that made it seem like he was still considering his options even though he'd already made up his mind, and finally agreed.

He and Bea hauled it upstairs and up into his truck, then helped him secure it with bungee cables. Once it was secure, he handed Trent five hundred dollar bills.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said.

"You too," Trent replied.

He got into his truck and drove away.

"Now, can we do the same thing with that desk I want? I finally managed to get my dad's truck and it'd be nice to have this desk. And...could you like, come with me and help me get it up to my apartment? Because I can't do it on my own, and I don't want my dad doing it."

"Yeah, I can do that," Trent replied.

"Thank you so much," Bea said. "You're a really great boyfriend," she added as soon as they were inside, behind a closed door.

"Oh, is that what I am?" he asked. She was leaning against the door now, staring at him with a small smile. He walked over to her and put a hand on either side of her head, leaning against the door, staring at her.

Her smile grew. "I've decided I want to date you under the table. And behind closed doors."

"I thought I got a say in this," he replied.

She rolled her eyes. "Give me a break, you eye-fuck and actual-fuck me every chance you get. You told me you wanted to date me. You had your say." She lost her smile suddenly. "Unless you've changed your mind, you can do that."

"No," he replied immediately, "I haven't. I was just teasing. Of course I want to date you."

"Okay, sweet. Uh...well...wanna consummate it?"

"Hell yes, let's go wake Mae up with loud, loud sex."

Bea laughed wildly. "Okay."

He took her hand and they raced upstairs.