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Cue "Love Sick," Bob Dylan,

track one, "Time Out of Mind."

Yeah, that's good.

That's real good.

We open tight on a man.

Oh, hold up, hold up, hold up,
hold up, let me rephrase.

We open on our hero.

We push in on his face.

Motherfucker,
I said push in on that shit.

Mid-20s, handsome, gay...

gay in that cool
cat kind of way.

Gay like
"Billy on the Street" gay.

Gay like, "It's who I am,
it's not all I am, baby."

Yeah, that's one
cool cat we got over here.

But right now,
this cat's anything but cool.

This cat's in crisis.

I feel ashamed, I guess.

I know this doesn't
make me look very good,

but it's, uh,
breaking me, and, um...

Let it go, brother,

let it go like a proud asshole.

Let it go, let it go.

I just...

He and I have been
together for so long.

I know it sounds cliché,
but I guess...

I like knowing he's
on my team, you know?

I know, my brother.
I hear you, my brother.

Let it go.

Well, this new guy
has come along.

Hmm, proceed.

He's new, he's exciting,

and he's so much younger.

Aw, ain't no shame, brother.

I know I can't stick
with someone out of loyalty.

And you know this.

Okay, I'm gonna do it.

I'm gonna put Sterling Shepard
in my flex wide receiver spot

and drop Larry Fitzgerald

and maybe I'll pick up
Miami D off waivers, too.

Say what now?

Henry.

You know we've talked about how
obsessing over fantasy football

can't simply replace
obsessing over food.

Okay, my bad.

That motherfucker
is not our hero.

Look at that pretty
therapist over there.

Calming his anorexic fantasy
football-loving ass down.

Push in on her for a sec.

Okay.

JACKSON
I said push in, man! Come on!

Oh, yeah.

Now I'm seeing it.

That's a hero right there.

Amazing smile,
the silky smooth hair.

Let me look at you, girl.

Whoo! That's what
I'm talking 'bout.

Now we in bidness,
ladies and gentlemen.

We got ourselves a hero.

Now, like any great hero,
our hero wasn't perfect.

She smoked, first of all,

which they normally don't
let you show in movies anymore,

even though we all
still smoke sometimes.

You know you smoke sometimes.

You and the wife
have a date night,

you each have two martinis,
you guys are feeling wild

so you buy a pack of
smokes on the way home

and you each smoke one
in the 7-Eleven parking lot.

Then she makes you
throw out the pack,

but instead of throwing it
out, you hide it in a plant,

and some nights,
you sneak out and have one.

But she smells
that shit on you

like she's
a nicotine detective.

She smells that shit on you

like she's Mariska Hargitay
on "Law & Order: SVU,"

- Hey.
- Marg Helgenberger on "CSI,"

Big fan.

S. Epatha Merkerson
on "Law & Order,"

Angie Harmon on "Rizzoli
& Isles..."

What the fuck?!

Oh, my God.

Holy shit!

Holy shit!

She just got straight-up
run over by a bus!

Ma'am?

She's gonna be okay, everybody.

Probably a little banged up,
but she's gonna be fine.

She's our hero,
she's gonna be...

Fuck!

Ma'am?

Ma'am, can you hear me?

Will Dempsey was 35 years old

when he gave up on his

Sam Jackson Unreliable
Narrator screenplay.

Will was not well,

but you don't need me
to tell you that.

Top o' the morning to you,
good sir.

- Oh, boy.
- What could I get for you?

Double espresso, large cup.

You got it.

- And what's your name?
- Will.

Is that Will with
one "L" or two "L"s?

It's two "L" s.

W-I-L-L.

Fuck you so much.

- Will!
- Yep.

Double espresso, large cup.

Oh, delicious.

Thank you.

Just gonna do a long pour here.

Double.

Thank you. You want one?

No, thanks.

- It's Xanax.
- Still no.

Boo humbug.

It's actually "bah humbug."

That's what she said.

It's Dylan!
"Standing in the Doorway."

Third track on
"Time Out of Mind."

It's his comeback album.

The whole thing's like
a giant fucking Keats poem.

- Sir?
- You're gonna love it.

Just give it a chance.
You're gonna make me leave?

- I am.
- Bah humbug.

Sir? Okay. Strum outside.
Here we go.

Here we go.
Thank you very much.

- Sir.
- You got to give it a chance!

- No. Get out.
- Give it a chance.

It's gonna grow on you.
You're gonna love it!

Will hadn't
always been not well.

It had really only been
since his wife had left him.

You know what,
we'll get to that.

Right now, let's just
enjoy them as they were.

- Give it a chance.
- It'll grow on you.

He sound,
he sounds like he's suffering.

He is suffering.

- He's suffering like...
- From a throat infection.

...every
great artist is suffering.

I think it's sinusitis,
is what it is.

No one rocks a sinus
infection like Bob Dylan.

- I'll give him that.
- Just, just...

just, like, just give him
a chance.

Well, he ain't
the only one suffering.

Come here, Fuckface.

- Uh-oh.
- Hello, buddy.

Hey, little buddy. What?

- You feeling left out?
- See, Fuckface gets it.

Come here, Fuckface.

Will loved his
wife Abby with an intensity

usually reserved for stalkers.

She was everything a man
could ask for in a wife.

She was nurturing
and she was beautiful,

and she ate any kind of
sushi the chef served to her,

even the uni.

Yes, Will was sure of it:

Abby Dempsey was
absolutely perfect.

At least back then she was.

Listen to this for 30 seconds,

and then try and tell me
Bob Dylan's not a poet.

Okay. Let's listen
to Hoobastank now.

See? No, no, no, no, no,
no, no. Just 30 seconds...

- To Mars?
- Thir...

- Okay, let's pop that in.
- Just 30 seconds.

Baby, we've been
listening to him gargle

Shh.

- ...for, like, a month.
- Because... I know,

- because I'm in a phase.
- I can't hear this, like,

- Chewbacca noise anymore.
- I'm in a phase...

I just want you to just
lean into it with me, okay?

Will you please?

This is an important album.

I mean, this is
the comeback album.

They thought he was done.
Everybody just wrote him off.

They said you don't come
back from the crazy he had,

and then boom.

'97, "Time Out of Mind."

He won three Grammys,
including Album of the Year.

He beat Radiohead
and Paul McCartney.

It was this intense,
unexpected genius.

Just hard and dark and...

and... I mean, he said,
"I'm Bob Dylan, you're not.

Eat a dick."

He told everybody
to eat a dick?

Metaphorically, he told
everyone to eat a dick.

So, listen... like, okay.

Okay, okay.

Shh, just listen to this.

Listen to this.
The man's a genius.

He's pulling from
the poetry of Keats.

He's getting...

Shh. Stop it. Stop.

Shh, shh. Stop.

Stop.

This is important to me.

Okay?

Thank you.

Appreciate this with me.

Stop.

It sounds like he has a huge
cock lodged in his throat.

You are an asshole.

You are an asshole.

No. No, no.

No. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

Fuckface, Fuckface, Fuckface!
We're crushing him.

Careful, careful, careful,
careful.

Oh, I'm sorry, Fuckface.

- No.
- He's okay.

Hey, we have to get up.

- I have to take a shower.
- What?

And we have to go
to your parents'.

- But you said that...
- We're gonna be late.

You said that we could
listen to Smash Mouth after.

- No, I did not.
- Yes, you did.

Hey.

Are you pregnant?

What's going on here?

Surprise!

You ever gonna
ask me out, Will?

I'm just waiting
for the right moment.

That's good to know.

All right.

I'll see you around.

Abby, I'm waiting
for the right moment

'cause when I ask you out,

there's not gonna be
any turning back for me.

I'm not gonna date anybody
else for the rest of my life,

I'm not gonna love anybody
else for the rest of my life,

I'm not gonna really
care about anything else

for the rest of my life.

I'm waiting for
the right moment, Abby,

'cause when I ask you out,

it's gonna be the most
important moment of my life.

And I just want to make
sure that I get it right.

So, how you doing today, Will?

Will.

Sorry. Did you say something?

Yes, I said,
"How are you doing?"

Uh... you know.

Same.

Okay.

I tried masturbating
the other day.

I tried thinking of Abby, but
I couldn't really get it done,

so then I, um...

I tried thinking of you...

but, you know,
you jerk off to your therapist,

you should be
institutionalized.

You were institutionalized.

Touché.

She left six months ago today.

That's right.

And you've been in a facility

for almost half that time,

and now I, I can't
help but wonder...

Will, are you listening to me?

Okay.

So, I'm just wondering
how you're doing

being back in the world again.

Uh, you know. Same.

I did the writing exercise
you asked me to do.

Really? I'm surprised.

You've been so resistant
to writing down your feelings.

Oh, no, I didn't do that.
I wrote a movie instead.

I did, like, uh, like, well,
like, five pages of a movie.

It was very bad.

Abby and I always talked about
writing a screenplay together.

Like a...

husband and wife
Tarantino, you know?

...I'm "Super Fly T.N.T."

You wouldn't have liked it.

My screenplay.

You were in it, kind of.

Abby wasn't, which, you know,
I know was the whole point.

I met this guy,
when I was institutionalized.

This really sweet guy.

Horrible life.

All he could talk about without
crying was fantasy football,

so he talked about it a lot.

I liked that guy.

Great face.

A movie star face, you know.

Oh, poor motherfucker
was the only guy there

that seemed worse
off than I was.

We'd have dinner
every night together.

And then one night
he didn't show up,

which sucked for him
'cause it was pizza night.

Turned out he'd...

How'd that make you feel?

Happy for him.

Or at least relieved.

I mean, you know,
he was pretty miserable.

And I'm no doctor,

but I don't think he's
ever gonna feel any better.

Okay, well, that brings me
back to my initial question.

How are you feeling?

Uh, you know. Same.

You keep saying that.

I keep meaning it.

Have you spoken to her,
Will, since you've been out?

Abby, please,
can you come back to me?

- I'm sorry.
- This sucks, man.

- This fucking sucks.
- I got to go. I'm sorry.

- I got to go.
- Please.

No.

Have you been to your
parents', like we discussed?

I don't want to.

Will, part of the reason
that you were discharged

and put into my...

I don't want to!

Sorry. That was weird.

Yesterday, you said that
you'd been feeling aimless.

Well, I usually have
pretty good aim, so...

Thanks, friend.

I ain't your friend, palooka.

- This is for you, Peggy Sue.
- Oh, my.

Thanks, daddy-O.

We'll name him Fuckface.

Sit, Fuckface, sit.

Good, dog.

Marry me.

Seriously.

Let's get married.

We've been dating
less than a year.

Yeah, I know.

And I feel like I've shown
incredible restraint

waiting this long.

Say yes.

- You want to say yes.
- No, I don't.

You want to say
yes so bad it hurts.

- You're cocky.
- I'm right.

Say yes.

Say yes.

Or I swear to God,
if you don't say yes,

I will shoot this nimrod
on general principle.

Stop it.

Please say,
"Yes, I'll marry you,"

or I'll fucking shoot myself...

- Stop! Will!
- Say, "Yes, I'll marry you."

Stop!

Sorry. That was weird.

I love you.

You're the love of my life,
I'm sure of it.

But sometimes it scares
me how much you feel.

You know?

It's not something
I ever thought I would...

be scared of, but...

I may not be equipped
to be loved this much.

I'll find another way.

- No...
- I'll find another way.

Hey. I will.

I will love you

however you're best
equipped to handle it, Abby.

I will love you...

on odd days of the week...

Baby, I will spend
the rest of my life

making your life better,
not worse.

I want to dance.

I want to win.

I want that trophy.

Ah, what a gyp.

Come on.

Ooh!

Oh!

One... Everybody.

Two...

Three!

We'd have to get a dog.

Okay.

I mean, I want kids, too,
but not yet.

Okay.

Dog first. Small dog.

Yeah.

My parents died young;
it makes me sad sometimes.

I know.

It'd probably make me
a terrible mother.

I disagree, but... okay.

Mainly, my big
thing is the dog.

Small dog.

I am totally on board
with the dog idea.

Okay, I'll marry you.

- Okay.
- Okay.

You want to meet my parents?

Sure.

Cool.

Thanks.

- How are you?!
- Oh, my God, Abby!

Look at you!

- Oh...
- Oh, you look beautiful!

- How are you both?
- Great.

- Everybody's good?
- Yeah.

- Hey, buddy boy.
- Hey, Pop.

- Look at you!
- How are you, man?

- Good.
- Oh, my...

- You're positively...
- Revolting.

- No! Stop. No.
- Yeah. And gassy.

- You popped.
- She is, Mom. She's really gassy.

- That means it's gonna be a boy.
- Really?

Yeah. I practically
needed a hazmat suit

when your mother was
pregnant with you.

Stop that!

- It's true.
- Farts mean it's a boy!

That almost makes
them worth it.

Anything happening down there?

Linda, I'm afraid to
ask, but did you make that...

Meat loaf is coming
out of the oven right now.

- Oh, yeah!
- I have never craved anything

like this in my life. Lead me
to that meat loaf and...

I hate fucking meat loaf.

...and backhanded
compliment me all day long.

I'm just grateful she didn't
burn down the fucking kitchen.

What'd you do to get the foot

- unstuck from the...
- You just push.

I'm not a big fan of, like,

when the face goes like this...

Dog dishes.

...against the
outside of the belly.

- It's like an alien.
- How do you know it's the face?

- Looks like an alien.
- You actually see the face?

- I'm pretty sure it's a face.
- No, I don't... that's creepy.

Is it possible
that it's clawing out?

This is... Mom.

You're aware that the baby's
not gonna actually live with

- you guys, right?
- I got a little carried away.

- This one's very cute.
- Sue me.

- Isn't that cute?
- Yes.

You better eat some of this
before she gets it all.

- Okay.
- Baby clothes, baby jumpers.

Tell me something,
what the hell's

a baby jumper for, anyway?

Why does a baby need to jump?

All I know is I spend all day

breaking down
the goddamn Amazon boxes.

Oh, shush, you.

Here, honey, a little
bit more. Come on.

He's good. He's good.

- Ay. Ay-yi-yi.
- There's two, there's two of me.

- Oh.
- Oh, piggy-wiggy.

I can't believe
I'm gonna be a grandma!

I still can't believe it.

- All right, settle down.
- Still can't believe it.

- Abby?
- Mm-hmm?

Don't take this the wrong way.

- Oh, here it comes.
- Yep.

But, selfishly speaking,

I'm just so glad
your parents are dead.

- And... boom.
- Oh, stop it.

Abby knows what I mean.

Really, yeah?
She does? You do?

She's gonna explain.

What I mean is...
all I ever wanted

was for Will to marry a
woman with dead parents,

so I wouldn't have to
share the grandchildren,

and, and he did.

I mean, my prayer came true.

Jesus Christ, Mom!

It's okay!
She knows what I mean.

- Hey, Abby, by the way...
- Mm.

...did you get a look at
that book I sent you yet?

No.

It's really good.
It's about preschool

- and anxiety separation.
- Oh, good.

That feels like a first
priority thing.

'Cause when you...

Sorry, I will, I will admit.
I admit, I'm sorry.

Just talk about
her dead parents again, Mom.

Thank you.

- It's about separation anxiety.
- Yeah.

So when you drop 'em off at
preschool for the first day...

...and they, they go
nuts and they go limp.

- Yeah.
- Live your own life!

- Mind your own fucking...
- Shush. Shush.

When you drop
the kid off at preschool,

if they get hysterical
and inconsolable...

Both Abby's parents

died in a car accident
when she was a little girl.

Abby was in the car.
She was seven.

Okay.

"Okay" seems kind of
like a strange response

to that new information.

Well, I was caught
a little off guard.

You don't talk
about Abby a lot.

You don't ask about her a lot.

Will, I ask about
her constantly.

Tomato, potato.

Tomato, to-mah-to.

Let's just call
the whole thing off.

Well, the sessions
are mandated, so...

No. Uh, the...

- ...the song, the...
- What? I... I'm not following.

Oh, my God,

this is some kind of
rhythm we have, huh, Doc?

Maybe this is why
I can't jerk off to you.

Sorry, that was
very inappropriate.

I was institutionalized.

Why don't you just
tell me about Abby.

What, what was she like?
I'd like to hear about her.

You want me to tell
you about Abby?

Well, then you've come
to the right place, Doc,

because I am the foremost
expert on all things Abby.

Or... I was.

No, I still am.

I mean, it's not like somebody
else has learned more about

her in the last six months.

Or I guess somebody could have.

I mean... I've been locked away

and Lord knows what she's
been up to, wherever she is.

- Will?
- Right.

You want to know about Abby.

Let me tell you about Abby.

You got it.
Last one. Last one.

Abby Lesher was
born June 30, 1985.

Legend has it that,
when she was born,

she didn't make a single peep.

For five minutes, little
Abby just laid there

taking in the world around her,

- not so much as a single cry.
- Hi.

In the years to come, her
parents would always say,

"There wasn't anything
wrong with little Abby."

She just didn't have
anything to say yet."

Now keep in mind, I'm
getting all this secondhand.

I've never met any of the
people here, except for Abby.

Her parents died pretty soon.

Long before I come
into the picture.

- No, I know.
- And it's not like

I know the doctor
or the nurses here.

- Why would I?
- Right.

Please continue, Will.

Okay.

By all accounts, Abby's
childhood was a happy one.

Family, I've gathered you
here today 'cause I, I need

to talk about something very
serious, so no laughing.

Uh, as you may have noticed,

I... have developed a bit
of a drinking problem.

Her parents,
Jack and Elizabeth,

were kindhearted and openhearted

and all the other
kinds of "hearted."

They were literally both
elementary school teachers.

That's actually how
they, how they met.

Mind if I sit?

If Abby's mother knew

that she would meet her future
husband at exactly that moment,

you think she would have
taken such a big old bite

of that peanut butter
and jelly sandwich?

Um...

- Would you like some water?
- Mm.

Wow. You fit half the
sandwich in your mouth.

So strange to think about.

How a completely random moment
involving peanut butter,

a moment that happened
way before I was born,

would shape my entire life.

Are you glad it happened?

Ah, well, Dr. Morris,
that is the big question.

Isn't it? Because if
it hadn't happened,

Abby's parents would
never have met.

They'd never have married,
they'd never have

honeymooned in Aruba
where they conceived Abby.

They'd never have seen her

come into the world
without a peep.

They'd never have watched
her blonde hair turn brown

as she got older.

They'd never have watched her
become obsessed with dancing

and then soccer

and then horses and,
of course, Christmas.

Always Christmas.

The lights, the gifts,
and above all, the Rockettes.

So obsessed with the
Rockettes was Abby

that every year,
every single year,

her parents would have
to drive her into town

to watch the Rockettes perform.

Every single year,
except that one year...

Abby's parents died instantly.

Abby was trapped
in the backseat of the car

with them for over an hour
before they got her out.

Her father...

...her father was decapitated
by the steering column.

I know, right?

That's the detail that
always gets everybody.

I mean, the story in and of
itself is tragic of course,

but when you give
someone that image,

that singular image of
a seven year old girl

trapped in the
backseat of a car

with her decapitated father,

well, then it really
just lands, doesn't it?

Anyhoo, you wanted to
know about Abby, so...

I'll continue,
but be forewarned,

her next decade isn't so great.

Abby's parents didn't
plan on dying together,

so there was no will and
there was no plan for Abby.

And seeing as all her
grandparents were deceased,

Abby's Uncle Joe got custody.

Now, Uncle Joe
wasn't a nice man.

And when I say he
wasn't a nice man,

I don't mean like
he didn't hug her.

I mean, he bought her a
puppy and then he killed it

when it chewed up his couch.

I mean, he sporadically
molested her

for the better
part of six years,

until, at 15 years old,

Abby borrowed a gun from
some wannabe gangbanger

from her high school, she
pointed it at Uncle Joe's head

and said in no
uncertain terms...

I'll fucking kill you if
you ever touch me again.

And then she shot
him in the knee,

so he knew she wasn't playing.

Fuck! Ow!

It's like a movie, right?

I always pictured a young
Natalie Portman playing her.

I don't know who that is.

You don't know who
Natalie Portman is?

- No.
- Doc, you got to get out more.

Yeah, I'm sure you're right.

I'll tell you what.

One of these nights,
we'll do, like, a marathon

of early Portman.

Beautiful Girls,
The Professional.

You'll see what
I'm talking about.

- Okay?
- Okay.

Right.

Okay, well, uh...

well, things got
better from there.

Obviously, damage
had been done.

Decapitated father, molesting
uncle, you don't just, like,

bounce back from
that shit, but...

Abby was smart, determined,
a dreamer, a reader.

She hunkered down, she
got herself into college,

started seeing a
therapist on campus

who truly changed her life.

She even made a
very close friend.

You're gonna get me kicked out.

Could you please stop?

I'm so sorry.

Oh, my God, Doc,
look. Oh, my God.

Look.

Oh.

Look at me. This is what
I looked like in college.

I have 491 more pages.

Oh, my God, look
how young I look.

No, no, I think you look
very much the same.

Oh, well, I think I look like
a completely different person.

Yeah, tomato, to-mah-to.

Doc, look at us.

Maybe we have a
chance after all.

Yeah.

Anyway, Abby really came
into her own in college.

My aim.

She engaged in
the outside world,

she became extremely popular,

she even fell in love.

Not to toot my own
horn, but toot, toot!

She graduated top of her class
with an English lit degree.

Yeah, she wrote
her thesis on...

The Unreliable Narrator!

The Unreliable Narrator.

- What's that?
- My thesis.

Hey, guys, what's up?

Unreliable narrators are
considered a device, right?

Don't answer.
They are. They are.

And they don't get a
lot of literary analysis

because it's a
gimmick, it's a trick.

I mean, "Canterbury Tales"
gets a, gets a shout-out

because, you know, it's good,

but then typically, it's used
for popcorn crime novels

and thriller movies, like
Agatha Christie, Usual Suspects,

- so on and so forth.
- Right.

But I'm gonna argue
that every narrator,

by its very definition,
is unreliable.

Because when you tell a story,

there's always an
essential distance

between the story
itself and the telling

of said story, right?

So, therefore, every story
that has ever been told

has an unreliable narrator.

The only truly reliable
narrator would be

someone hypothetically
telling a story that unfolds

before our very eyes, which
is obviously impossible.

So, what does that tell us?

That the only truly
reliable narrator

is life itself.

But life itself is also a
completely unreliable narrator

because it is
constantly misdirecting

and misleading us and
taking us on this journey

where it is literally
impossible to predict

where it's gonna go next.

And that is my thesis!

Life as the ultimate
unreliable narrator.

- What do you think?
- Yeah.

It'll make more sense when
I write it. I love you.

Bye, guys.

I love you.

- You're up.
- I love her, Chuck.

Yeah. Come on.

- Holy shit.
- Your turn.

I love you, Abby!

Hey, before, when I
invited you over to watch

Natalie Portman movies,

you know I was just
being funny, right?

- Yes, I do.
- Okay.

'Cause I'm still married, so...

At least I think I am.

I mean, I haven't signed
any papers or anything yet,

so I don't really know
how the whole thing works.

Will, it's fine. Okay?

Take a deep breath.

And you can tell me
about your marriage now.

You want me to tell
you about my marriage?

Yeah.

So, you haven't, you haven't
really been listening

to me, then, because...

it doesn't matter what
I tell you, don't you...

I don't... Why
can't you lean into this

- just one fucking time?
- You see that, right?

Doesn't matter what I say,
'cause I could tell you

every detail about our marriage.

I could tell you every detail

about the day that
she left me, but...

why, why would my memory
even be remotely accurate?

- I'm going through a phase!
- Yeah, but why do I

- have to listen...
- And I'm asking you, just...

Maybe...
maybe I'd actually

been smothering her for years.

- No. Stop.
- Smothering her with my love

and my dreams and a baby
that she wasn't ready for.

Crushed him.

Maybe I was just
another guy that was in her life

that seemed like I
was gonna save it,

but really I was just
there to ruin it.

Maybe she was really
unhappy and this dream girl

that I created in my
mind's eye was just like

a narrative trick, to get us
through a life, you know?

I mean, this is really some

deep philosophical shit
we're talking about here.

Yes, it is. It is.

Will...

we've been seeing each
other for a while now.

And today, you're talking about
Abby a lot for the first time.

And it's good.

It's really good.

So, tell me about that day.

You had a nice
morning with Abby...

- No, no.
- ...talking about Bob Dylan.

I didn't. I didn't.
That's not what I fucking said.

I just said that it may not
have been a nice morning.

- Okay.
- I said that it could've been

a smothering, horrible morning.

Okay. It could've been a
smothering, horrible morning.

You talked about Bob Dylan,

then you went over to your
parents' house for lunch,

and then what happened?

Then she just left me.
Then she just left me.

Will, she didn't
just leave you.

She just left. Yes, she did.

Have you seen Abby since
you've been released, Will?

Come
back to me, Abby.

Please come back to me.
I'll, I'll do anything.

- Will?
- Just give me another chance.

Will?

I'm talking to my fucking wife!

But your wife wasn't
there, was she?

I don't know. What am I
doing? What are you doing?

Will...

...you're not well yet.

Okay? You're mixing meds.

You're, you're not yourself.

Tell me about that day.

We talked about Bob Dylan.

Okay.

We laughed.

Okay.

Go ahead.

We almost crushed the dog.

Okay.

We went to my parents' house.

Right.

We ate meat loaf.

Oh, my God, my mom's crazy.

- She's totally fucking nuts.
- She is.

We're never
gonna do that again.

Oh, gosh.

- How you feeling, my love?
- I ate too much.

- You think?
- Just a little bit.

You freakin' ate
the gross national

meat loaf product
of a small nation.

I think we might have a meat
loaf instead of a human baby.

You're giving
birth to meat loaf?

Yeah, we're having meat loaf.

- Cab?
- No.

- Walk it off?
- Yes, please.

All right, let's walk it off.

My heart's on fire.

Not in a good way.

The baby's a girl, Will.

What?

I know we weren't
gonna find out,

but then the nurse slipped up,
and now I feel shitty knowing.

In about three weeks,
you're gonna have a daughter.

Say something.

What?

I know what you
want to name her.

- Yeah?
- Yeah.

Yeah, I think so.

I know you don't like
his music, but...

I love it.

Big fan.

I think it's cute.
I think it's...

I was smothering her.
I was smothering her.

That's why she left me.

Will, listen, you
suffered a trauma.

It was horrific.

- Can you fucking help me?!
- Horrific.

Help me, please!

You thought
about killing yourself.

You... you were in
treatment for months

to keep you safe.

And now you're,
you're constructing a story

that somehow makes it bearable.

Will... you have a baby.

All right?

Your baby lived.

For whatever reason,
miraculously, she's alive.

Now, Will, wouldn't Abby want
you to be there for that child?

Now, why haven't you
gone to your parents'?

Will, look at me.

Why haven't you seen that baby?

I think it would help you.

- Okay.
- That's why you're out,

and that's why you're
seeing me, to get you there.

I, I think you're ready.

Okay.

I'm gonna go.

No, hang on, Will.
Will, hang on.

No, I don't want you
to leave yet. Let's...

That's not the right story. No.

I'm not really the
hero of the story.

This is, trauma
is vicious, Will.

I'm sorry. You're very nice.

You're very nice.

I don't want to
be here anymore.

Look, just sit
down. We can...

Let me talk you
through this.

Bye.

To say
Dylan Dempsey's childhood

was marked by death
and tragedy would be

the grossest
of understatements,

and also a little bit douchey.

She was literally born
of death and tragedy.

Six months into
her little life,

her father started
locking in the pattern.

And that was just the start.

Dylan lost her grandma
when she was six.

And her best friend
when she was seven.

Tell them I'm nice.

Come in.

How you feeling, kiddo?

I feel like my whole
life is gonna be

marked by death and tragedy.

She did not
say this, of course,

but if she could verbalize
what she was feeling

at eight years old,
she would've.

I crave a happy life, Grandpa.

I have a almost
desperate craving

for stability and happiness,

the way fat people
crave chocolate

or lost hikers crave rescue.

I want to live a big,
great, fantastical life,

but I'm concerned that

the tragedy
that seems to follow me,

the tragedy that birthed me

will prevent that
from ever happening.

And I don't know
if I can withstand

another body blow like this.

But what she really said was...

How you feeling, kiddo?

Are you gonna die, Grandpa?

Yes. I am.

Probably sooner than
you'd like, kiddo...

if I'm being honest.

I'm gonna fight like hell
to stick around for you

as long as possible,
to prevent one more death

from coming anywhere
near your doorstep.

I'm gonna get on
the fucking treadmill,

cut back on the red meat.

I'm gonna do my best.

Get you through
your teenage years

without losing
one more goddamn thing.

Gonna do it for
your mother and father.

I'm gonna do it
for your grandmother.

Most of all, I'm gonna do
it for you, granddaughter.

I'm gonna squeeze
out ten more years

from this decrepit old body,
for you, my girl.

My angel.

Again, Irwin
expressed this all with...

No. No more dying
around here, kiddo.

- Okay?
- Okay.

The Dylan Dempsey
transformation years.

The years brought puberty.

Puberty brought sexuality.

Sexuality brought anger
and fear and confusion.

And when the smoke cleared,

where that sweet
little girl once stood,

there remained only a woman

who scared the absolute
shit out of everyone.

Come in.

Hey.

Hey. I'm going out.

With who?

Just with some friends.

Cigarettes.

Grandma used to say
it's a nasty habit

of people lighting little
fires under their noses.

Cool.

You aren't even gonna try
and hide them from me?

Aren't we both
better than that?

I don't know.

You hear Vermont's
made them illegal?

Remind me never
to go to Vermont.

- Can I have one?
- No.

Just one?

No, these things will kill you.

Was hoping we could
talk about college.

We talked about it last night.

- Didn't get very far.
- Yes, we did.

We just didn't get
where you wanted it to go.

I'm 21, Irwin.
Give up on the dream.

I've almost saved enough
to get out of your hair.

I promise.

Promise you'll
be home by 11:00?

I'd rather not lie to you.

- Please lie to me.
- I'll be home by 11:00.

Dylan.

Happy 21st, kiddo.

Some sugar.

Mwah.

Peace!

Hey.
Hey, everyone.

We're PB&J.

Yeah!

Um...

Uh, this first song
is kind of personal.

Um...

My mom died
21 years ago today, and...

Take it off!

They tell me she used
to listen to Bob Dylan.

Show us your tits!

Whatever.

- Oh, shit.
- Oh, shit.

Hey!

What the fuck?

Hey!

Hey, you owe me
a new phone, bitch.

Yeah. You're right, I'm sorry.

That, uh...
I shouldn't have done that.

Uh, it's just been
a really weird day for me.

Um...

Let me see what I have on me.
Can you hold that a second?

I'm so, so sorry.

You think that's funny?
You fucking filming me?!

Dylan!

I'm fine. I'm fine!

I'm fine.

The baby's a girl, Will.

What?

I know we weren't
gonna find out,

but then the nurse slipped up,
and now I feel shitty knowing.

In about three weeks,
you're gonna have a daughter.

Actually, Daddy's gonna
blow his brains out

before he even meets me, so...

Say something.

I know what you
want to name her.

I know you don't
like his music...

Might want to look
to your right, lady.

I love it.

- Big fan.
- Mom.

- I think it's pretty cute.
- I think it's gonna be...

Mom, Mom, look out!

Are you okay?

Does it matter?

If Rodrigo Gonzalez

had really been
there that night,

he might have told
the stoned young woman

sitting in front of him that
it mattered quite a bit to him

that Dylan Dempsey was okay.

He's here!

Bueno. Bueno. Hombre.

Come here. I'll be with
you in a second. Have a seat.

Sit.

Javier, it occurs
to me that we've

never really spoken.

It's been

five years

I've owned this land

and I don't think we've said more
than a few words to one another.

Drink?

- No, sir.
- No, right.

I was raised in Italy,
did you know that?

That I'm Italian?

I look like you
and sound like you,

but my name is Saccione

and I have lived most of my life

in Italy.

My Italian father

traveled to Andalusia

and this is where
he met my mother.

Did you know these things?

That my mother
was from this region?

No, señor.

My father

was a royal

fuck of a man.

He met my mother young,

he won her over, moved her away

from everything she knew,

everyone she loved.

He was,

possessive,

controlling, aggressive.

And he was rich,

which makes a royal
fuck of a man like that

particularly

dangerous.

Hey, are you sure I
can't offer you a drink?

Wine, manzanilla?

I will go for manzanilla.

Okay, manzanilla sounds good.

Very well, of course.

So there's my mother

a young Spanish lady

full-blooded Andalusian

cut off from her family

living in the
Italian countryside.

By the way,

doesn't speak a word of Italian.

Here you go.

Cheers.

Cheers.

My father

decides he wants

an "Italian" wife.

And an "Italian" family.

So he disallows
Spanish in his home.

He cuts off contact
with her family.

My mother has nothing.

No one to love.

And so she gets pregnant.

With me.

As I get older

whenever my father
travels for work

she

arranges packages
to be sent from home.

Spanish foods, wines.

Our favorite treat was

the Spanish olive oil.

Can you imagine?

There we are

in the Italian countryside

home to the most famous
olive oil in the world,

pouring Spanish
olive oil down our throats

like we now
drink this manzanilla.

What a pair

Mama and I were.

What a pair.

She died, my mother,

when I was just sixteen.

As soon as she died,

that royal fuck
of a man cut me off.

He saw my mother

in me.

And in my mother he
saw only a dirty Spaniard

who had ruined his life.

Luckily for me,

my father wasn't just a bigot,

he was also a narcissist.

He never thought he would die,

even as he got older,
even as he got sicker.

And so...

he never made a will.

Ay, ay ay.

The moment he left this earth,

I became a wildly
wealthy man, Javier.

And the first thing I did was

buy this land back in Andalusia,

where I now grow
hundreds of acres

of the olive oil that
Mama and I once hoarded.

And while

business keeps me away

most of the time,

this land is the only
thing that matters to me.

This land is my story,

and it is my mama's story.

That is why

the olives

mean so much to me.

And now

I must ask,

why do they mean so much to you?

I don't follow.

The other men use rakes and nets

but you pick by hand.

You can only pick half as many...

I work twice as long.

No, I am aware. This is not

criticism.
It is simply a question.

Why do you work harder
than the other men?

Because it's the right way...

I tell you my story,

the story of my fuck of a father

and my poor abused mother

and when I ask
you for the same...

all I get is
"because it's the right way?"

Come on Janvier, drink your
manzanila and tell me your story

I am a simple man.

I do not have a story.

I did not have a
fuck of a father.

My father was

funny and whistled
while he worked,

and I like having a job where
I can whistle while I work, too.

The rakes bruise the olives

so I pick them by hand.

It's the right way. That is all.

The men love you.

I hear you telling them stories,

making them laugh.

I have a big mouth.

But with me, you are reserved.

You are my boss.

I want to be your friend.

No.

I would disappoint
you as your friend.

I disagree...

I gave you my answer.

It's curious.

The other men admire me,

and they barely know me.

But you, you hear my story
and it does not affect you.

It does not make you

like me?

It's okay,

you can be

completely honest.

No, it does not.

May I ask why...

I would not have
taken his money.

Okay.

Would you like to live here

and oversee the men? As foreman?

For free?

Yes, for free.

Of course, there
would be a raise...

No.

The free rent would
be more than enough.

I have one condition.

I will take care of your land.

I will help it thrive
as if it's my own.

But my whistling

is for me,

and my big mouth is for the men.

You will not ask
of that from me.

And I will never
ask anything of you.

At exactly this moment,

a mere 4,000 miles away,

Abby Dempsey,
then Abby Lesher,

had just finished the first
draft of her college thesis.

"But life
itself proves to be

"the most unreliable
of narrators,

"forever taking us
on a journey

"where it is impossible
to predict

what might happen next.
Life its..."

Okay. This next part gets a
little flowery...

Read, woman.

I know, but I feel
like it's getting away

- from literary crit...
- Read!

Life itself tricks us.

It misleads us.

It paints one man a hero
when he may well be a villain.

Hero or villain?

Villain or hero?

Or maybe neither.

Maybe life is playing the role

of unreliable trickster
yet again.

Maybe those it paints

as the heroes and
villains of our stories

are actually just day players
in a much bigger movie.

Maybe they're simply extras,

filling the frames
so the real heroes

can have bodies
crossing in the background.

And then it sort of says
that over and over again...

You...

...are so much smarter than me.

I really am, aren't I?

Abby's thesis
was a total disaster.

Her favorite and
most trusted professor argued,

as she feared he might,

that she had strayed
from literary criticism

and had veered into
an unwieldy cross

of creative writing and
17th-century French philosophy.

Then Abby's favorite
and most trusted professor

tried to fuck her.

Which, one might argue,
proved Abby's thesis after all.

A continent away,

Javier González was
worried about none of this.

Javier González
didn't philosophize

and he never wondered
what life had in store for him.

Javier González knew
where he was going.

He'd known all along.

Oh.

Isabel Diaz
had been taught from birth

to expect a very average life.

She was one of six sisters

and was openly considered
to be the fourth prettiest.

Bravo.

I brought this.

Ooh.

Because, we have to celebrate
that I've been promoted.

Stop fucking with me.

Seriously?

Seriously.

How do you say it so calmly?

Congratulations!

I can make a life for us now.

Bella...

I know I'll never be a rich man.

But...

I also know...

that I will be a good one.

And I also know that my heart...

has been yours since
the day I saw you.

Don't laugh!

I would like to
make it official.

- Yes.
- Yes what?

Yes to everything.

But don't cry, okay?

No, no.

Una...

Dos...

- Y...
- ÁY tres!

All of this is yours?

Ours, Bella.

What do you think?

I feel like a...

landowner.

It's ours, Bella.

This is ours.

This is where we are.

Andalusia.

If you cross over
here, like this...

Here we run into

this piece of land

kind of brownish-greenish called

America.

New York?

New York, you remember?

Isabel could
no longer remember

when Mr. Saccione first started
coming over to visit Rodrigo.

She only knew that the visits
had become more consistent,

usually in the
middle of the day,

always when Javier
was in the fields.

I apologize.

I've overstayed my welcome.

No, not at all.

- Si, si.
- No, no, no.

I have.

I have.

I have many great things
in my life, Mrs. Gonzáles...

but

I fear my strange upbringing

has left me,

with scars that have
kept me from finding,

the most important things.

It is not fair

that now I try to
fill that void

here.

Don't be silly.

Rigo loves you.

That's very kind of you.

No, it's true.

He really is such a

special boy.

He is very smart, isn't he?

The things I could teach him.
English and literature, and...

That would be great.

My love. Hello.

Javier.

Perfect, because I came to
talk to you about the

extension to the mill.

And brought a
gift for your son.

It wasn't necessary.
It's too generous.

Just a small gift.

Besides, my son
has enough toys.

And from now on,
when you need me,

just send word,

and I'll save you the trip.

No!

Thank you.

Let me fill you in on the mill.

Of course.

I want to go to
New York with him!

Javier González
was a simple man,

but not a stupid one.

And that day,
he began doing something

he'd never done before:
planning a family vacation.

To a place that
he had just learned

his son desperately wanted
to visit with someone else.

I want to go up front.

No, not up front, Rigo.
It's dangerous.

You want us to go up front?

I got him! And we're
going up front!

- Hello.
- Hello.

- Hello.
- Hola.

- Hola.
- Hola.

Hola. Hola.

Hey, little guy. Look.

Where'd it go? Look.

- Whoa.
- There it is.

Where are you from?

We're from Spain.

Hello.

I'm from the south.

Rodrigo, don't bother
the bus driver. He's driving.

A pregnant woman
eviscerated by a bus.

A grown man
weeping desperately.

Bystanders screaming.

It was only about
20 seconds of footage,

but it would replay on a loop

in little Rodrigo González's
brain for years to come.

Mamá!

My love.

Go to sleep, OK?

One eye,

we close it.

This other eye...

No more bad dreams.

Only good ones.

You can hear he's
awake, don't you?

Or am I the only one
that can hear he's awake?

If you yell at him
he won't go to sleep.

You put him to sleep.

You put him to sleep.

Rigo!

You're going to force me to eat?

I am not hungry.

I'm not hungry, Bella!

Mamá!

- No!
- Rigo.

- That's enough!
- No!

I can smell you from here.

Bella, I'm talking to you.

Damn it!

He is getting worse, Javier.

He is getting worse.

I know.

He will get better, I know it.

He just needs time.

We need to get him help.

We took him to all the doctors.

He needs a specialist!

In Madrid.

The doctors the rich people...

We are not rich
people, Bella.

He is our son.

He is our little boy
and he is in pain.

Okay.

Okay.

If you want, I will ask him.

No. No.

No, Bella.

I must. Okay?

Okay.

Excuse me, sir.

Do you have a moment?

Your Uncle called me,

he told me you've been sad.

Hm-mm.

The diagnosis is pretty clear,

after these two sessions.

Rodrigo experienced
a trauma, as you know.

From the event he experienced.

The accident.

Rodrigo is responding very
well to my suggestions,

and expressing himself
through drawings and games,

which is very important.

It will take some time,

but the good news is
it's treatable and curable.

It's very important
you know that.

So, on a financial
level, for us...

Do not worry about that.

Months passed.

Mr. Saccione's visits
were no longer restricted.

His gifts no longer withheld.

Wow.

Ooh. Hola, Oli.

And now,
in English.

My name is...

Rodrigo...

González.

Very good.

Well done.

But I like to be called Rod.

- Or Rigo.
- Yeah.

Oh.

I am from Spain.

Keep going.

I was sad

for a long time.

But my uncle got me a bird,

which helps.

Do you love her?

Yes.

And Rodrigo?

Yes.

I am sorry, Javier.

I suppose loneliness
makes men...

weak.

I am not proud.

But I'm sure your
father would be.

You've turned out to be your
father's son after all.

Javier, I give you my word,
I will stay away from them.

Your son is healing, he
doesn't need my anymore.

They are your family, Javier.

- Not mine.
- No.

What is this?

This is goodbye.

Bella.

Where are you going?

Where are you going?

I see the way you look at him.
The way he looks at you.

Dear God, you are drunk.

You are drunk and jealous.

I see what he has
done for our son.

He helped him get better.

Things I could not do.

That is why we
asked him for help.

And when he offered his help...

you disappeared,
isn't that right?

Were you looking for an answer
at the bottom of those bottles?

I've taken a job in
Madrid, as a mechanic.

They pay well.

What? What are you saying?

I will send you all the money.

Though I'm betting soon
you will not need it.

I'm sorry.

You deserve more.

Do not tell me what
I deserve, Javi!

Don't you dare tell
me what I deserve.

I know what I deserve!

Do you think you're
doing me a favor?

That you saved
me from something?

That my life was
shit and you saved me?

Is that what you think?

I chose you.

I chose you.

Javier.

Hola.

I chose you because I knew
I deserved someone special.

Someone good.

Someone who could
smile with his eyes.

Then look me in those eyes.

Look me in the
eyes and tell me...

you would have a better
life with me than with him.

I would have a better life
with you than with him.

Rigo is all I have.

I don't want him
to suffer anymore.

I don't want him to
suffer a minute longer.

I don't care what he becomes.

Just that he finds his
way, that he be happy.

You will help him
find that with me.

Say it.

I will help
Rodrigo find his way.

I won't love you
the way I love him.

I know.

If we've
learned anything by now,

it's not to get attached
to new heroes.

They tend to disappoint.

But damn if little
Rodrigo González

didn't look like
the real deal.

Mom?

I've been admitted to the
University! I'm in, look!

I got in!

What is wrong?

She's sick, Rodrigo.

I'll postpone.

With all that's happening...

It is not your decision.

She has given me everything.
She has given me her life.

I can give her this.

Rodrigo...

I've already
said I'm doing it.

We will fix this.

We will fix her the
way you fixed me.

Look at me.

We will fix her.

Okay.

This'll hurt.

Ay, ay, ay!

Rigo.

Your mother is asking for you.

OK.

- Hi.
- Hi.

It has been a long time,
I do not get better.

He spends enough

so I do not get worse.

But, Rigo.

You just wait.

My love.

It is enough.

- Mom...
- It is enough.

It is enough, Rigo.

Rodrigo entered
college a visiting freshman,

and as he'd been doing for
most of the previous decade,

he thrived.

He lettered in two sports.

...proportional to the ratio...

His marks were
at the very top of his class.

He even embarked
on a relationship

with a 20-something
from Long Island

named Shari Dickstein.

She made him laugh...
usually not intentionally.

Oh, my God. You've never
been to Whole Foods?

- No. But what is that?
- Okay, I'll take you there.

It's like a dream.
It's like a...

She wasn't his great
love, but she was company.

And great love wasn't
his priority at the moment.

...clean eating, vegan dream.

What's-what's vegan?

Oh, my God, you're adorable.

I love that
you don't know things.

He saved every dollar,

coveted every vacation.

Rodrigo González
had an internal compass,

and it always pointed
in the same direction.

She's from a place
called Long Island.

- En Nueva York?
- Si.

Look...

Very pretty.

Her name is Shari Dickstein.

Shari with an "S".

- Shari?
- Shari.

Shari Distin.

Shari Dickstein.

What is she like?

She is...

She's loud.

- No.
- Si. Si, si, si.

Like so many of
the biggest years of our lives,

it flew by.

But in truth,
that year was just a setup,

a preamble to the biggest day
of Rodrigo González's life.

Where are you going?

I'm just going for a quick run.

- Miarma.
- Huh?

When we first started dating,
you used to call me "Miarma."

You would've said,

"Just going for
a quick run, Miarma."

It always made me feel like
Kelly Ripa.

Shari...

I'm pregnant.

I know. Obvi,
lots to talk about.

Hey, will you
take me for brunch?

There's this place
I really want to try.

It's Vietnamese,
which I'm assuming

is kind of like
dim sum or something.

We can talk at brunch,
at the Vietnamese place.

I really want to try it.

So, I just started feeling
shitty a few weeks ago.

I thought I was just getting
a really bad period.

Ever since I got off the pill,

I have been having
bananas periods, you know?

But it wasn't stopping,
so I went to my gyno,

and he was like,
"Are you sexually active?"

So I told him about you,

and then he did the
test thing and blammo!

I hadn't even thought
to try an at-home test.

For whatever reason,

my brain did not go there
whatso-fucking-ever.

Anyways, I know that we haven't
been together very long,

and clearly this is as
"what the fuck" as things get.

I mean, I don't know what your
deal is with religious stuff,

but I'm thinking that I should
probably just get an abortion.

Are you, like, are you, like,
super against that? Abortion?

I know abortion's a really
big deal for Christians.

There should, like, be,
like, a pill or something

for something like this,
like, unplanned pregnancy.

'Cause if you're
Christian, I'm...

Anyhow, we don't have to
decide any of this right now,

but I would like
to make the call early,

just before
the thing has, like,

a head and stuff, you know?

Oh, hey, there we are!

So, the way I see it,
we have, like, three options.

Option one: we have it.

I mean, a mixed-race baby

with our skin complexions
would be amazeballs.

My family have batshit money,

so we could get
nannies and stuff.

I don't know,
it's probably a bad idea.

Option two: abort.
But again, I would like to make

that call sooner
rather than later.

Or option three:
we can just both agree

that this is all
an insane April Fools' joke!

Ah!

What?

April Fools', bitch!

Wh-What is that?

Seriously?
You don't know April Fools'?

No, I don't.

Well, I didn't know that.

So there is no baby?

Dude! Ew, no.

Of course not.

Oh, come on.

You have to admit, that was,
that was pretty funny.

Shari...

Oh, fuck.

You're gonna break up
with me, aren't you?

He was.

Yes, I am.
I'm-I'm sorry...

Obviously,
nothing thus far

had indicated
that this would be

the most important day
of Rodrigo's life.

No.

Sometimes the most important
days of our lives begin,

and we're not even
there to see it.

I need to call Rodrigo.

Isabel.

I've already said
goodbye to him.

Isabel.

It's not necessary
to say goodbye twice.

Vincent.

You are a good man.

No.

You are.

Hola, Bella.

Mr. Saccione
was a letter writer.

He always had been.

He believed in the power
of the written word,

the force of
actually sitting down

and writing
to someone by hand.

Javier, I give you my word.

I will stay away from them.

Your son is healing,
he doesn't need me anymore.

They are your family, Javier.

- Not mine.
- No.

I won't return.

I'll ask only one favor.

And with that,
Mr. Saccione's letters

found a new recipient.

A man whose only request
was that he be kept up to date

on those he had abandoned
but still cherished.

Dear Javier.

Remember when I
told you about Rodrigo...

She's dying, Javier.

Come home.

Hola, Bella.

Hola.

Hola.

How's it going, Uncle?

How are you?

Good. It has been
a busy afternoon.

Yes.

With the loud girl.

When critics reviewed
Abby Dempsey's favorite album,

Bob Dylan's 1997 release,
"Time Out of Mind,"

the song
"Make You Feel My Love"

was a source
of much criticism.

Every track on the album

brimmed with unrelenting
melancholy and sadness.

But there,
smack in the middle of it all,

sat an unabashedly
populist hit song,

a love song...

a song that in years
to come would be covered

by Garth Brooks, of all people.

Critics argued that putting
an on-the-nose love song

in the middle of an album
about despair and tragedy

was Dylan's only misstep.

Others argued
that it was his point.

Are you okay?

Hola.

My father,
Rodrigo González,

officially met my mother,
Dylan Dempsey, that day...

the most important
day of his life.

Hi.

They would not
spend a single night apart

for the next 42 years.

They would go on
to have four children,

seven grandchildren.

A love story for the ages.

My grandmother, Abby Dempsey,

argued in her
failed college thesis

that life itself is our
most unreliable narrator.

She argued that no one knows
where their story is going,

nor who the heroes
in it are going to be.

And while it's true that life
has often made it difficult

to pinpoint the heroes
of my family's story,

my parents have always made
it incredibly easy for me.

They found the one
populist love song

in our family's often
very melancholy album.

Unlike my grandmother Abby,

my grandmother Isabel
was neither a writer

nor a philosopher.

But sometimes I wonder
if she didn't understand

exactly what Bob Dylan
was going for.

Spanish does not often
translate perfectly,

but what Isabel said
to my father

the day she sent him away,
it required no translation.

Mamá...

Enough.

Listen to me.

Rigo, you have had many
ups and downs in your life.

Too many.

And you will have more.

This is life.

And this is what it does.

Life brings you to your knees.

It brings you lower
than you think you can go.

But if you stand back up...

and move forward...

if you go just
a little farther...

you will always find love.

I found love in you.

And my life, my story,

it will continue
after I'm gone.

Because you are my story.

You are your father's story.

Your uncle's.

Rigo, my body fails me.

But you are me.

So you go now.

Give me a beautiful life.

The most beautiful life ever.

Yeah?

And if life brings
us to our knees...

you stand us back up.

You get up.

And go farther.

And find us the love.

Will you do that?

I'm not sure whose
story I have been telling.

I'm not sure if it is mine,

or if it's some character's
I have yet to meet.

I'm not sure of anything.

All I know is that,
at any moment,

life will surprise me.

It will bring me to my knees.

And when it does,

I will remind myself...

I will remind myself

that I am my father.

And I am my father's father.

I am my mother.

And I am my mother's mother.

And while it may be easy

to wallow in the tragedies
that shape our lives,

and while it's natural
to focus on those

unspeakable moments
that bring us to our knees,

we must remind ourselves

that if we get up,

if we take the story
a little bit farther...

If we go far enough,

there's love.

Hey.

Hey.

Goddamn.

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