"Well," she said, twisting some grass around in her hand, "Do you suppose that you can work those sort of things out?"
"What things?" I asked her.
"You know, like the little things that annoy me about him. The little things that annoy him about
me. Do you make it work, even when there are those things?"
"I think yeah. I think you can, but I don't know. I've never gotten that far," I admitted to this
wide-eyed girl in front of me. She looked away and took another drag of her cigarette.
I fell back, onto the grass. We were sitting out in the middle of a field, in the night. But the moon
illuminated everything. When I looked at her, I could see every sin of mine reflecting back at me. The lessons I've learned. I could see the last year of my life cut into strange sections, since I'd last seen her. I ignore her, some of the time, I think. Which is horrible, I thought, when she was being honest with me. Well, she gauges how much she can trust me after I've spilled the beans on my own life. I always go first with those truths, I think.
The moonlight.
"People have to work those things out," I said, finally. "Because if you love him, it's not going to
matter. You're going to love him for the good things."
"I hope so."