When they got home, Mae was waiting for them.
Like, actually waiting for them, dressed in jeans, boots, and a hoodie, sitting at the foot of the stairs, looking a little anxious.
"What's wrong?" Trent asked.
"Can you help me with something today?" she replied. "Drive me somewhere?"
"Yeah, sure," he said. "What's wrong?"
"I'll...explain on the way," she replied, standing up. She looked at Bea. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah. I was emotional but Trent got me pierogi and made me feel better," she replied.
"Good...ugh!" she moaned suddenly, clenching her hands into fists at her sides.
"What's wrong?" Trent asked.
"I just-that reminded me of yet another shitty thing I did…"
"Oh, right, the pierogi," he murmured.
"Wait, what shitty thing did you do involving pierogi?" Bea asked.
"I stole from that guy once a long time ago and he caught me and he's still mad about it."
"Mae!" Bea cried. "Don't steal things! We've been over this."
"It was like ten years ago and I already feel like shit about this!" Mae yelled back, sounding genuinely upset instead of her usual hyperbolic self.
Bea backed off. "I'm sorry."
Mae sighed heavily. "Me too. Sorry to yell. I just-can we go? I've been thinking about this ever since I woke up, and also off and on for months now, and just-we should go."
"All right." He kissed Bea. "You gonna be here when we get back?"
"Yeah, I'm in this house for the day and I'm not leaving it," Bea replied. "That party wore me the fuck out."
"Same," Mae groaned. "Let's get this over with."
"Okay."
Trent headed right back out and he and Mae got into his Jeep. Firing up the engine, he backed out, then hesitated, idling in the street. "Uh...where we going?"
"The church," Mae replied.
"Okay...we apologizing to your mom about something?" he asked, driving off.
"No. She's off today, thank fucking God." Mae fell silent, and the silence filled the vehicle. Trent waited. Finally, she groaned again and rubbed one eye. "It's about Pastor Kate," she said finally.
"What'd you do to her?" he asked, incredulous.
She groaned again. "I...got frustrated. I was looking for help with something, and she couldn't help me, and I got mad, and I yelled at her, and I shouldn't have. I said something mean and I was just-I was wrong. It's bothered me ever since, and I should have apologized to her a long time ago, but I didn't. I had a dream last night about her and now it's just, like, I should just do it because I realized I've been waiting for myself to feel ready and I'll never feel ready for it. So fuck it, let's just do it."
"I'm really proud of you," Trent said after a moment.
"What?" she asked, shooting him a look.
"For doing this."
"I'm not doing it for, like, points," she murmured.
"That's why I'm proud of you. This is what growing up looks like, Mae. You fucked up, you hurt someone, you're taking responsibility for it and apologizing."
"Growing up sucks," she muttered.
"It does, but this is worth doing. And I don't know, I don't want to come across like you should care so much about whether or not I'm proud of you, but-"
"Trent, I care a shitload about what you think of me," Mae said. "I mean you're my boyfriend and I'm in love with you, of course I care what you think of me. When you tell me you're proud of me it makes me feel all warm and shit, but also, like...guilty? I don't know, like, I don't fucking deserve to have my awesome boyfriend be proud of me-"
"Mae," he said, and she fell silent, "...how can I put this?" he muttered. "You're not unbiased when it comes to yourself, and to be honest, you kind of oscillate wildly at times between feeling great about yourself and feeling like shit about yourself."
"Honestly, when it seems like I feel good about myself, I'm mostly lying."
"Which proves my point further. You don't have the clearest view of yourself. For a lot of reasons. I mean, none of us really do. And I think part of trying to get saner is recognizing that, and being more honest with yourself. In both directions. You're being more honest with yourself when you're being shitty, or you've done shitty things, and that's good. We should own it when we fuck up. But you also have to go the other way. When you do something good, or well, or whatever, own that, too."
"It's hard," she murmured, looking out the window. "Feels like I'm just talking myself up. And it just feels like a lie. I don't know…"
"You're kicking ass as Gasmask," he said.
"Am I?" she asked.
"Yeah. You've seen the same footage I have. You're in the zone when you put that gasmask on. It's creepy, actually."
That seemed to get her excited. "Really? Like, does it scare you?"
"I mean...more unnerves me, as opposed to scare me." He paused. "Do you want to scare me?"
"Maybe a little," she admitted. "I don't know why, but I do kinda want to scare people sometimes...maybe it's because they'll take me more seriously."
"I take you seriously."
"I know. You're really brave, though. I didn't see it at first, or maybe I did but I didn't fully recognize it, but you're brave like Bea is. You're tough. And I feel weak. And guilty. Because it's like you always have to put up with me. You always have to carry me to bed, or put up with my weird sense of humor, or me ignoring you when I need to be alone or go do my stupid YouTube stuff, or the fact that I'm a leach with no job and no car and no license-"
"Mae, come on! You aren't a leach! You aren't weak! You faced down a cult, twice! You faced down an old god!" He took a breath, let it out in a sharp exhalation. "Sorry, I didn't mean to get loud like that, just-it makes me mad to hear anyone putting down my awesome girlfriend. Especially if it's herself."
"Oh...that actually makes a lot of sense, I'm sorry. And none of that stuff, like, feels true. I didn't face down the cult because I'm badass like you or Bea or Selmers, I did it because I, like, had to. I just had to. I didn't really have a choice."
"Maybe that's true, I guess I won't truly know, but you still did it. But I think even if you had a choice, you still would've done it, because it's the right thing to do. You're a good person, Mae. And you aren't a leach. We've been over this."
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. It just comes up in my brain, screaming at me that I'm this failure who's never going to do anything meaningful with my life. I'm just brain damaged and fucked up-" She let out another loud groan. "Shut up, Mae," she muttered. "I'm sorry," she said again, "I know you don't want to hear this."
He winced, considering that.
"What?" Mae asked.
"I…" Trent sighed. "This is a really fine line to walk," he said finally. "I don't want to hear you talking shit about yourself, and don't think it's a particularly healthy line of thought to feed...but I also don't want you to think I want you to just shut up when you have bad thoughts. I don't want you to not feel like you can't come to me when you're feeling like shit and you have all these awful thoughts in your head. Just...come to me for help, when you feel the sadness coming on. Don't think you have to just deal with it alone, okay...please? One of us, at least. You know I'll always listen to you. No matter what it is, I'll listen to you."
"Thank you," she whispered. "No one's really told me that before." She reached up and brushed at her eyes. "Ugh, I'm tired of crying."
"It's not a bad thing," he said.
"I know. I get that. I'm not ashamed to cry, like...I'm just tired of it! But I guess we've got a lot to cry about."
"You do," he agreed. They came to the church parking lot. It was just about empty. He parked in one of the spots and killed the engine. "Well, we're here," he said, undoing his seatbelt.
"Wait," she said, putting her hand on his wrist, "before we go do this, can we talk about, like, one fun thing? Just to lighten the mood?"
"All right...but you're still doing this," Trent said.
"I know, I'm stalling, not bailing...and thanks, for trying to hold me accountable. But can I just say, that last night, was the fucking hottest sex I've ever seen? Jen-like, I don't really believe in succubi, but holy shit, I'd believe that Jen was a succubus. She was like a porn star, or a hooker. A real high class one. You looked, just...totally out of it with lust."
"I was," he admitted, chuckling awkwardly. "Feels weird to talk about this in front of a church."
"Oh whatever, God isn't real," Mae replied, "I know that now."
"...like for real? Like you know?"
"Yes. It's complicated, but yeah, I met God. And he isn't God. He's just another powerful thing. Like the Black Goat, but not evil. Just an asshole...I'll tell you later."
"Uh...okay. Is the afterlife real?" Trent asked.
"Dunno, actually. But I don't think so. I think...you just sort of fade out. Like a candle slowly dying. And your energy just disperses. And you are no more."
"That's...really comforting, actually."
"For real? Most people freak when they think they're gonna die and be gone forever."
He sighed. "You know, I've thought about it. Heaven and Hell? The Afterlife? And like...it's all bad. I mean, I think being alive forever would eventually become torture no matter what. Like, eventually you're gonna get sick of it, and just want to be done with it. So, you know, as long as I feel like I had a good life and a fair shot, I can fade out happily."
"I really like that," Mae murmured, smiling at him. They both looked out the windshield as the front door to the church opened and a woman walked out. She paused when she looked around and saw them, then stared at them, frowning slightly, no doubt confused. Mae sighed heavily. "Well, might as well do this."
"Yep," Trent said. "Do you want to be alone or…?"
"No, I want you there for moral support," she replied.
"Got it."
They got out of the Jeep and began walking towards her. "Hello, Mae," she said. "Your mother isn't working today…"
"I know. Hello Pastor Kate. I actually came to talk to you," Mae replied.
"What about?" She seemed...guarded.
"Uh...can we, like, sit somewhere?" Mae asked.
"Yes, come with me. I was just going to Rubello," she replied, leading them over across the lot to the statue.
"What for?" Mae asked.
"To...contemplate."
They finished their walk and stood for a moment staring at the statue, then sat down on the platform it was built atop.
"I came to apologize," Mae said in a small voice after a moment of silence had passed.
"For what?" Kate asked.
"I came to you for help awhile ago, months ago. I told you I met God. And I needed help, and...you didn't tell me anything I wanted to hear, and I...got mad. And I was very rude. And I feel bad about that, and you didn't deserve it, and I'm sorry," Mae said, staring down at her hands clasped together in her lap.
"I forgive you, Mae," Pastor Kate said, and Mae sighed softly in relief. "I could tell even then that you were in a time of turmoil, though I didn't quite realize just how much turmoil. I was...rather distracted myself at the time."
"Thank you...that makes me feel better," Mae murmured, still not looking at her. "But…"
"But?" Kate asked.
Mae sighed. "I should leave it alone. I'm sure you're busy and I already apologized."
"Honestly, I'm not busy right now, and I'm...curious, about your 'but'," Kate replied.
Mae snorted. "You're curious about my butt," she said. Kate sighed. "Sorry, sorry," Mae said. "I'm-that was stupid, but I can't help it sometimes. It's...I'm worried it's rude."
Kate was silent for a moment, pursing her lips. "In full honestly, rude questions are often more interesting than not rude questions...at least for me. So many people hold their tongues around me, and end up saying nothing to me, because they're afraid I'll judge them, just because I work for the church. And you, Mae Borowski...are the first person to really talk to me without hesitation or fear. And, as much as it flustered and bothered me that day, it was also strangely relieving, and refreshing. So...ask your rude question."
"Okay then," Mae said, "I've thought about what you said a lot. And I just...I can't square it. Not completely. You admitted you don't believe in God, but you're a pastor."
"I admitted that I don't always believe in God, Mae," Kate replied.
"Right. Sorry. I guess it's just...religious people are always talking about God and Jesus and devotion and faith, and like, man, the guys on TV are almost frothing at the mouth about their beliefs, like they're so sure, and I just don't understand it. I thought about it some more, and what you said felt like...you were being honest, that your faith wavers sometimes, and sometimes you don't really believe in God. And that made me really start thinking: surely they can't all believe all the time, right? Like it just doesn't seem possible the more I think about it. Which means that pretty much all of them must also not believe in God some of the time, but they say they never waver. So are they lying? If they're lying about that, what else are they lying about?"
"You're throwing a lot at me, Mae," Kate said after a moment.
"I'm sorry. This has been in my brain for months now, and now it's all coming out, because I've had no one else to really talk with about this specific problem," Mae replied.
"I'll tell you what I can," Kate said.
"Okay, I'm listening."
"People are complicated." She paused, seemed to consider. "You are friends with that orange fox...Gregg?"
"Yes, Gregg. He's, like, one of my best friends in the whole world."
"And he has been for a long time?"
"Yes."
"And I assume there have been times where you were angry with him? Where you found yourself thinking, 'he's a jerk', yes?"
Mae hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, sometimes."
"But you are still his friend and you still love him."
"Yes."
"So then, you don't need to think Gregg is amazing one hundred percent of the time to have a true, meaningful friendship with him, right?"
"...yes, that makes sense."
"Then do I need to believe in God one hundred percent of the time to have a true, meaningful relationship with my religion? To do my job?" she asked.
Mae frowned, remaining silent for a long moment. "But it isn't the same," she said finally.
"Why not?"
"Because with me and Gregg, we're friends, just two dumb people in a tiny town in the Rust Belt. But, like...God is supposed to be, I mean, well, God. Right? All powerful, all knowing, all seeing? I guess, ugh, shit-ooh, sorry. Um. How do I put this? I have a point-oh! God is crazy powerful, and I feel like if you believe in him just a little, then you'd have to believe in him like all the way, all the time, right? Like if you believe that there is this entity that sees everything and can do anything then why would there be any reason to doubt? Does that make sense?"
Kate nodded. "I understand the point you are trying to make, and...for some people, it's that easy. But I think even for those people, doubt creeps in from time to time. They just bury it. People are complicated, life is complicated, and messy. Those TV evangelicals? Even they don't believe all the time, and if they say they do, they're lying, even though lying is bad. And some of them are completely lying, some of them don't believe at all, but they know they can get rich if they pretend to believe. And they are very, very evil, bad people. But Mae, maybe this can answer your question: I believe, truly, that God is less concerned with whether or not we believe in Him, and more concerned that we help each other. I became a pastor because I believed it to be the way I could most help people and because, well, I was raised in a very churchgoing house."
"Okay, that!" Mae said, leaping to her feet suddenly. "That! If something as totally random as what house you were raised in can determine whether or not you believe in the all-knowing creator of the entire universe, then how does that make sense?! If you had grown up in an atheist household, would you still believe in God at all? I don't believe, and I grew up in a churchgoing household. If it's that fragile, and it purports to be an undeniable truth, then doesn't that fragility falsify it?!"
"Mae," Trent murmured.
"It's okay," Kate said, "I'm actually enjoying this conversation. I believe in questioning things. And...you're right, Mae."
"I am?" she asked, blinking in surprise.
"Yes. I mean, it's a fundamental question in religion: how can we believe in God if there exists no proof? And if I'd grown up in an atheist household, well...I'd like to believe that I'd have found my calling anyway, but I'll never truly know…" She sighed suddenly, losing the slight smile she'd adopted. "The truth of the matter is...I don't really have any concrete answers for you Mae. I must admit that after everything that happened to our little town, and the vaguest notion of the picture that I've managed to get of the broader implications of the forces at work here...I'm less sure in my faith than ever before."
"Aw...man. I'm sorry," Mae murmured. "I didn't want to, like, make you believe in God less…"
"It wasn't you," Kate said, thought Trent had the briefest inclination that she was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth, "it's just...the world around us. If you want the most honest truth I have available, after everything that's happened...I think what truly matters the most isn't how often you read your bible, how often you go to church, or how often you pray, what matters the most is how often you help other people, and try to make the world a better place. I would rather someone donate their time or money, or help out at a soup kitchen, or give someone in a time of need shelter and kindness, than come to church, if it's a choice between those two things."
"I agree," Mae said. "And I'm trying."
"I believe you," Kate said. "In truth I believe both of you are doing much. I don't know the details but I've been able to gather that the two of you were instrumental in bringing down that cult of murderers. That's...rather big. And from what Candy tells me, you two have opened your home to Selma. I know she's had a very difficult time, I've heard people say many unkind things about her."
"Well, it's really Trent's home, I just sleep and play video games there," Mae said.
"It's our home," Trent said. "Ann, uh, Selma is...significant to us. She's our friend, and she's been through a lot, and we did open our home to her, but at this point, it's her home, too."
"I see. That's very beautiful," Kate said, and Trent genuinely wondered if she had any idea about the nature of their relationship, or even suspected, or simply found the notion beautiful regardless of the relationship.
"We're happy together," he said. "She's a great roommate and friend."
"Yep. Speaking of which, we should probably get back home. I want to just be a cave troll today and hide in the shadows," Mae said.
"Mae, wait, there's...something I wanted to ask," Kate said, and now she got to her feet.
"Yeah?"
"The conversation we had, where you told me you met God…"
"Yeah?" Mae repeated.
Kate looked uncomfortable. "I've had many conversations of a religious nature, and I've gotten so that I can tell things about people. It isn't perfect, but usually I can tell when someone is telling me something that they have conviction for. Usually, when I'm having a religious conversation, there's either troubled uncertainty, or fervent conviction, or righteous anger. Usually the emotions are intense. And although it got a bit intense near the end of the conversation, when you told me you met God, you said it as though you were just stating a fact. You said 'I met God' with the same emotional investment as 'I saw a butterfly in the park'."
"I...guess I did," Mae replied. "What about it?"
"How do you know you met God? I know we spoke about this somewhat at the time, but I'm still not entirely clear. You said you had a dream…"
Mae fixed Pastor Kate with a firm stare that seemed very unlike her. She took on a gravity that Trent rarely saw. A cold wind gusted across the parking lot and Kate shivered, hugging herself suddenly. "Are you sure you want to know, Pastor Kate?" she asked.
Kate looked back at her for what felt like a long time, then at Trent, then over at the church. Finally, she slowly looked back at Mae. "...yes."
"If you're sure."
Kate swallowed. "I'm sure."
Mae sighed softly. "I've thought about it a lot. There are these beings, these huge, really, really powerful things. They're so far beyond what we know and what we understand that we aren't even aware of them and mostly they aren't aware of us. You could call them gods. One of them took an interest in us, and it tore a hole in reality to come through. For some reason, it wanted us to feed it people. Another one of these things noticed the hole and came to investigate. Some people sort of fell through the hole while they were dreaming, and found the second entity, call it the Sky Cat. This is what I met. And I think it was just sort of curious what was through the hole, but after awhile, people just kept showing up in their dreams, meeting it, and asking 'whoa are you God?', and it got sick of that. It told me it was leaving soon, and closing the hole."
She stopped suddenly and closed her eyes. "I have memory problems. Like bad ones, sometimes. But for some reason I remember all this perfectly. Like a movie that just plays in full detail when I'm thinking about it. I'm there, in this massive dark desert, standing at the foot of a dune, maybe twenty feet tall, a gentle slope. Behind it is the sky, and it's all stars. There's so many of them. And it's up there, this cat the size of a house. It has shaggy fur. And you know how they sit? Like with all their paws tucked under? It was like that. And it had these huge glowing white eyes. And it spoke to me, but without actually speaking. Its voice was like...I don't know how to describe it.
"But I asked if it was God, and it said no. And other people had asked it that. And it said 'Seconds ago little creatures are coming, and they are asking if I am God. And I am asking what God is. And they are telling me. And I am not this God. And this God is nowhere.' We talked some more, but it said something that really stuck with me. It said, 'And moments ago is the beginning. And I am here then and here now. And there is nowhere for God to be hiding.'"
"...what does that mean?" Kate asked softly.
"I think it means that this...entity, whatever it was, was so powerful, that it existed in the past, the present, and the future, and it could see everything, everywhere. Like it could see everything. And not just see it, but understand it. Almost like how you can just search a whole computer, looking for one specific thing, and know if it's there or not? It could do that, but, like, with reality. And it didn't seem to have an agenda, like a reason to lie? Or mislead me? I think it was just sort of curious, and didn't care one way or the other, but it was telling the truth. I think other people who stumbled across it in their dreams explained to it what God was, and it looked across all of everything, and found that there does not exist, anywhere, at any point in time, something like God. It wasn't trying to make me despair, or upset, or anything, it was just telling me. Like asking someone for the time, you know? There is nowhere, in all of time, in all of space, for this thing we call God to exist. It isn't real, it never was real, it never will be real."
For a long moment, none of them spoke.
"Doesn't that scare you?" Kate asked finally, her voice so quiet Trent almost couldn't understand her. She was staring up at the sky.
"No," Mae replied. Kate looked at her.
"Why? How is that not scary?"
"I mean, it's scary, but it doesn't scare me," Mae said.
"Why?"
"My friend Angus told me something once. And I think it makes the most sense of anything I've heard. He says, 'I believe in a universe that doesn't care, and people who do'."
"Pratchett," Trent muttered. They both looked at him.
"What?" Mae asked.
"Terry Pratchett. British author. He's dead now, sort of recently, actually. He was a really, really smart guy. He wrote a bunch of fantasy novels, but they all had, like, a point to make. And one of them...there was this great moment that was about, of all things, Christmas. Basically, their version of Santa disappears, and the Grim Reaper takes up the mantle, and someone asks him why? Why bother? And he says something like, 'Take the universe and grind it down to the finest powder. Sift it through the finest sieve. And show me one single atom of justice, one molecule of mercy. There is none.' And his point is, there is nothing in the whole universe that is making us be nice to each other, help each other, make life better for each other, which means we have to be the ones who do it." He shook his head suddenly.
"I don't want to offend you but...I think God was made up because we have always worshiped. Every tribe, every nation, every civilization has worshiped something. Because they always run into the same problem: people are mean and cruel. Not all of us, and not all of the time, but enough that in order for civilization to run, you need to make people believe that they're being watched, and they'll be punished if they do bad things. And we can't watch everyone all the time, so we made up God. Sometimes God was the sun, sometimes it was animals, sometimes it was the wind. And to be honest, I guess I can't really blame them, I just wish more people thought that it was worth being nice even if no one's watching," Trent explained.
Pastor Kate smile sadly. "I do, too."
A cold wind once more blew across the parking lot and for a long time none of them spoke.
"I'm sorry," Mae said quietly. "Sometimes I wish I didn't know that God isn't real. It's people like you that make me wish that, Pastor Kate. Because you're actually nice. Because you don't really care if someone believes in God or not, you'll help them...did I upset you? I didn't want to, but I warned you. And you asked for the truth."
Kate sighed. "Yes, you did. And yes, I did."
"How do you, um, feel about it?" Mae murmured, shifting uncomfortably.
"I feel like...I will never be sure, truly, one way or another if God is real. And if that's the case, if there's evidence for and against God's existence, then I will choose to believe in a benevolent God and continue to do His work," she replied.
"I'm glad," Mae said.
"I'm curious. Why? In your mind, you are completely sure God is not real. From your perspective, I am choosing to believe a delusion."
"Because…" Mae looked around them, at the trees, at the sky, at the graveyard, "because so much of this is just BS. Because none of it really matters, except in that it matters to us. In that we matter to each other. The universe doesn't care, but we do. And probably everyone believes in something that isn't true, and it helps them. Sometimes that's good and sometimes that's bad, but in this case it's good. You aren't just BS, Pastor Kate. You're real. You actually care. You actually want to help people, like for real. You wanted to help Bruce, and you would have if he hadn't gone home."
Kate lost her smile and looked over to the forest. "Yes," she murmured.
"Why do you seem sad about that?" Mae asked.
She sighed. "I just...really wanted to help him."
"But he doesn't need help anymore, he went home to his family. I'm sure they'll help him."
"Yes...I'm sure they will," Kate murmured. Trent frowned, sure that he was missing something. But Kate looked at him, briefly, so very briefly, but in that brief instant she seemed to somehow communicate do not pursue this.
He realized, suddenly, that something bad must have happened to this guy Bruce, but Mae didn't know it. He'd had a bad ending, but Mae thought he'd had a happy ending…
Maybe that was better.
Kate sure thought so, and whatever he thought about religion, he trusted her, and her judgment, so he didn't pursue it.
"Well, I should get back to work," Kate said. "Thank you for this talk. It meant a lot to me."
"Really?" Mae asked.
"Really...more than I can honestly express. You are a wonderful person, Mae. And you seem very nice too, Trent. I'm glad the two of you have found each other...take care of each other." She began to turn away, then turned back. "Oh, and, of course, the church is always open to you. But truly, no pressure."
"That is very appreciated," Trent replied. "On both accounts."
"See you later, Pastor K! I hope your churching goes well," Mae said as they began heading back for the Jeep.
"I hope...whatever it is you do goes well," Kate replied.
They got into the Jeep and began driving home.