Grace Reed: the bride at every wedding, the corpse at every wake.
Maybe thinking any one person can show up and give you all you need is as much of a delusion as thinking you can find truth in a bottle. Maybe you can just find what you need in little pieces, in people who show up for one crucial moment – or a whole chain of them – even if they cant solve it all.
It’s like Tim’s drowning and they’re worried about the color of his swimsuit.
So I just stroke his cheek and say – yes I say, the girl who has always guarded her heart – I say, for the first time, “I love you. It’s okay.” Jase looks straight into my eyes. “Yeah,” he whispers. “It is, isn’t it? I love you too, my Sam.” For.
Is it? All I know is that I can’t seem to stop – this – or slow it down. Or remember exactly why that’s what I want.
Her lips touch just against my mouth, then the cleft of my chin, back to my lips. ‘Good night, Tim.’ My lips on her forehead. ‘Good night, Alice.’ I can’t remember ever having something and not reaching for more. But I back away from her, hands in my pockets. Enough.
It feels like forever since I’ve been “here” without being “there” and “there too” and “what about there.
It’s all so good. My body is singing-happy, my days are full of good moments, my life feels more right than it ever has been before. And that can be, I learn, how it happens. You’re walking along on this path, dazzled by how perfect it is, how great you feel, and then just a few forks in the road and you are lost in a place so bad you never could have imagined it.
I’ve loved that girl all my life... And I’m more bummed about not getting the captain spot. Want to tell me what that means?′ That what you’ve always had doesn’t mean that’s what you’ll always get. That what you’ve always wanted isn’t what you’ll always want. I don’t realize I’ve spoken out loud until Nic says, ‘Yeah. Exactly, cuz.
I remember Mrs. Ellington watching that separation of sea and sky during our interview, Nic, Viv, and I doing the same last night, and for the first time I realize that none of us are seeing the same thing. That all our horizons end in different places.
We were doing so well there for a second.
When I’m interested, I get focused.
The worst thing about being a blonde is that your entire body blushes – ears, throat, everything. Impossible to overlook.
I wonder if the children of movie stars get this weird sense of disconnect I have now. The person on-screen looks like the woman who makes lemonade in our kitchen, but the words coming out of her mouth are alien.
I love the way your whole body turns pink when you’re embarrassed,” he murmurs. “Everywhere. Your ears blush. Even your knees blush. I bet your toes blush.
God, I wish, for the millionth time, that I could be like her and Nic, so sure of what they have, what they want. That I didn’t always feel jangly, restless, primed to jump off a bridge and let the current carry me away.
He’s so easy to forgive. No sins at all. Not like my mom. Not like me.
Every time, I’ve bitten my tongue, stayed silent, with the thought: If I tell him, I’ll lose him. Tonight is when I know. I already have.
My head hurts and my heart feels nothing but numb blankness.
If what I want is a little less big, less noble than what he wants... does that make me the loser?
That life you barely remember, with no boundaries, no money worries, no limits to anything and everything you could hope for.