Despite his earlier intentions, Clay found himself once more in Trina's guest house. His resolve, like a pendulum, had swung the other way, and he once more felt angry at Ellie, this time for making him do what he'd done to Dylan. Dylan hadn't spoken to him since that day in the garage when he'd compared the red-haired girl to Katie, and he hadn't answered any of Clay's phone calls.

Clay had originally intended to come to Trina's guest house to break things off with her, to tell her of his recent epiphany that he couldn't do this to Avery. But then he'd gotten to her guest house, seen Trina in her newly purchased lingerie, and decided one more time couldn't hurt.

Now, they were in that period of post-coitus cuddling, and Clay didn't feel like cuddling. He felt like hitting himself in the head a few times.

But recent the memory Ellie forcing him to be so cruel to Dylan came to his mind. Recalling the look on Dylan's face, he hated himself.

He needed this. He needed Trina. He needed something to make himself feel better.

Except then he thought of Avery, and he knew this moment with Trina would be like one of those packaged desserts that looked good, tasted good, and made him feel like shit.

Trying to muster the courage to say something to Trina, he thought better of it. What kind of dick would he be to tell her they couldn't do this anymore after they'd already had sex? He'd look like the asshole who had wanted to get in one last ride.

So, no, he would wait until after this night.

"My babysitter said she could stay all night," Trina cooed in his ear. "You could fall asleep here."

"I better not," he told her, getting up. "My absence won't go unnoticed." As he said these words, he realized, sadly, that he wasn't even sure if they were true.

"You'll stay for a shower, right?"

He almost said no, but he needed to get Trina's fluids off of him, so he nodded and hopped in the shower, and she hopped in behind him. She kissed him twice more while they were under the stream of water, and he wondered if she could sense hesitation, his reluctant receptiveness to her affections. His rational thinking made her far less tempting, even in spite of how good she looked with water trickling down her face and over her lips.

After showering, Clay came home to find Ellie asleep. He kissed her on the head, and she didn't stir.

All night, thoughts of all his recent regrets disrupted his sleep, and even when he managed to fall asleep, he fell into dreams that played out and accentuated those same regrets. He dreamed of his ex-wife holding Ellie as Ellie cried. He dreamed of Dylan relapsing. He dreamed Trina was pregnant with a baby girl, which she birthed into a pink cradle, which he hid, and he dreamed of someone spray painting "cradle robber" on his house in large red letters.

He awoke feeling anything but refreshed, and Ellie sat awake beside him.

"What do you want for breakfast?" she asked him, and her words sounded dutiful but not loving.

"Actually, I think I'm gonna pick up some breakfast and head over to Dylan's. He still hasn't returned any of my phone calls. I just want to make sure the two of us are okay. I want him to know that our concerns are coming from a place of care."

He expected pushback from Ellie, but she surprised him by nodding in agreement and telling him, "I think that's a good idea. He's been really cold towards me, too."

He headed out, taking his truck to the drive-through cafe, where he picked up some coffees and some breakfast burritos.

Then, he went to Dylan's apartment, where he rang the doorbell twice. After no answer, he almost gave up, but then Dylan opened the door, bleary-eyed. "Why the fuck are you here? The sun's been out for, like, six minutes."

"I brought breakfast."

Talia spotted him from inside, and screamed, "Grampa!" She looked like she'd just woken up, too, her eyes barely open and her face marked by pillow-made creases. She'd undoubtedly inherited Dylan's late morning tendencies.

She ran over, and Clay picked her up and held her close, so thankful she didn't have any reason to be angry with him. He put her back down, crouched, and said, "Guess what I got for my favorite granddaughter?"

"What?"

"A strawberry croissant." Taking the pastry out of the brown paper bag, he held it up to her.

"Yummy!" She took the wrapped croissant from him, running inside to eat it at the counter. Dylan begrudgingly moved aside to let Clay in, snatching one of the coffees from his hands as he passed. Clay went over to the counter, setting the brown paper bag and the compostable drink holder and his cell phone on the countertop. He took out a breakfast burrito and began to unwrap it, eyeing Dylan.

"So, what's up with this?" Dylan asked after he'd had a few sips of his coffee.

"I miss you," Clay told him. When Dylan said nothing, he continued. "Look. I just came to say...I'm sorry about what I said. You're right. I don't know anything about that girl. I shouldn't make assumptions. You're old enough to make your own choices."

"Did Ellie put you up to it?" Dylan asked bluntly.

"Ellie's just trying to help. She has a right to be concerned, Dylan, especially given your past. She just doesn't want me to enable you to make bad choices again. She was just trying to be a good friend. I realize now she was wrong about that girl, but she cares about you, Dylan."

Dylan looked pensive, and Clay couldn't read his expression. Looking over at the counter, he saw Talia had gotten croissant flakes all over the countertop, barstool, and floor, and strawberry jam covered her face. The remainder of the treat sat on the counter, so he went to the sink, got a paper towel and wet it, then washed Talia's face.

"Are we cool?" Clay asked once he was finished, since Dylan still hadn't said anything.

"Sure."

"You know I love you, right?"

"Gag me, please. Save it for your wife."

"I would if she liked hearing it," Clay said, and after seeing Dylan register his words, he realized it was the first time he'd revealed to Dylan that his marriage wasn't doing that great.

Dylan's face evidenced his discomfort with the admission. He cleared his throat and said, "Look, I have to tell you something, Dad."

"You can tell me anything, Dylan. You know that, right?" Clay wanted them to feel like they could be open with one another.

"I invited Mom and Tim for Thanksgiving. She thinks it was your idea, actually."

Immediately thinking of his dream, Clay stammered. "What?" That was not what he was expecting to hear.

"I'm sorry. I did it 'cause I was pissed at you, but now she's like, really excited. I don't want to uninvite her, but if you really don't want to have her, I'll just have her over here. We can eat turkey at my counter."

"I...just..." Clay didn't know what to say. Sharing Thanksgiving dinner with his wife and his ex-wife and his ex-wife's husband did not sound like something he wanted to do, but he was on a mission: to repair his relationships. He'd come here to repair his relationship with Dylan, and he couldn't do that by uninviting him to Thanksgiving, so he said, "I guess we'll make things work."

The whole way home, Clay mulled over his predicament. He would need to tell Ellie when he got home, and she would not be happy. But they had an ultimatum: they could either have everyone at Thanksgiving dinner, or no one.

It wasn't until Clay pulled into the driveway that he realized he didn't have his phone. Knowing he must've left it at Dylan's, he drove the eight minutes back to his apartment.

When Dylan answered his front door, he had the phone in his hand. "Looking for this?" he asked.

"Yep."