For the first week, she didn't make him do anything. She held him all night, though he refused to sleep, and then let him snore all day when he inevitably crashed around five in the morning. She let him watch TV, though she and he were perfectly aware he only stared at the screen. She made him food he only picked at and didn't say anything when she threw the scraps away. She cleaned the bird droppings off of the Impala that he hadn't touched in days before he ever got a chance to see the mess. She let him get drunk on the third day and had the smell from the hangover gone before Ben got home. She had a fresh pair of clothes laid out for him whenever he found the strength to take a shower.

But he had to start somewhere.

So then it was please cut back on the beer, Ben's old enough to realize and it's a depressant and I know, Lise. And then it was two slices of pizza, crust included, and half of a third. It was rubbing his back and you need sleep, I'll wake you if something happens, I promise, I promise, you won't have a nightmare and a drowsy okay. It was asking him to switch the clothes to the dryer and maybe fold them when they were done. It was him putting on jeans and picking up the milk while she got the eggs. It was playing a video game with Ben before bed. It was cleaning the guns and putting the Impala in the garage. It was their first fight over what channel to watch, their first night out, their first time picking Ben up together. It was the first time he burnt morning breakfast, the first time he surprised her with flowers, the first time he held her instead of the other way around.

It was their beginning.