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If anyone had been paying attention to the signs, they would have realized that air turns white when things are about to change, that paper cuts mean there’s more to what’s written on the page than meets the eye, and that birds are always out to protect you from things you don’t see.
Love, she always said, changes the game.
Just this past week, Rachel had become convinced that how people took their coffee gave some secret insight into their characters. Were people who took their coffee black unyielding? Did people who liked their coffee with milk and no sugar have mother issues? She had a notebook behind the coffee counter in which she wrote her findings. Willa decided to keep her on her toes by making up a different request every day.
This was a sign, she thought. Though of what, she had no idea. It was just what her grandmother would say when something unexpected happened, usually accompanied by instructions to knock three times and turn in a circle, or put chestnuts and pennies on the windowsill.
She got up and walked out of her room, counting her steps to the nurses’ station. She could hear the morning nurse’s voice there as she approached. She was young. Too young. She sounded like she should still be playing hopscotch with her best friends. Why were girls in such a hurry to grow up? Agatha would never understand. Childhood was magical. Leaving it behind was a magnificent loss.
Most of her lists were about control, about breaking down her life into manageable pieces. But some of the lists were simply wishes. There was nothing more satisfying than putting what you wanted most onto paper. It gave substance to something that was before as thin as air. It made it one step closer to being real.
“Every life needs a little space. It leaves room for good things to enter it.”
“You can’t control everything, Pax. I keep trying to tell you this. You have this remarkable resistance against letting some things just happen. If you take a step back, you’ll see that when this blows over, no one will question having the gala at the Madam.
“Nothing is ever perfect. No matter how much you’d like for it to appear that way.”
She wanted to move out but didn’t want to disappoint her parents. She wanted help with everything she had to do but was too proud to ask. The
There was a strange but universal understanding among women. On some level, all women knew, they all understood, the fear of being outnumbered, of being helpless. It throbbed in their chests when they thought about the times they left stores and were followed. The knocks on their car windows as they were sitting alone at red lights, and strangers asking for rides. Having too much to drink and losing their ability to be forceful enough to just say no. Smiling at strange men coming on to them, not wanting to hurt their feelings, not wanting to make a scene. All women remembered these things,
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“You will be. You know why? Because that’s what’s supposed to happen. That’s the fairy tale. You meet, you fall in love, you kiss, and neither of you is revolted by it. You get married and have kids and live happily ever after.”
It was only this past year that things with her mother had gotten tense, and she was beginning to understand why. She and her mother had never had an adult relationship. And getting to one was like trying to walk in thick mud, one excruciating step at a time.
Occasionally, he would invite one of them on a date, and it would leave the recipient of his attention unable to leave footprints for days, as if her feet weren’t quite touching the ground.
“Because we’re connected, as women. It’s like a spiderweb. If one part of that web vibrates, if there’s trouble, we all know it. But most of the time we’re just too scared or selfish or insecure to help. But if we don’t help each other, who will?”
Because he knew the best way to get what he wanted was to break down what made us strongest. And our friendships were what made us strong. He changed all that. That’s
I don’t love any of you any less for not being exactly who I want you to be.” “No, you reserve that criticism for only yourself,” Sebastian said softly.
People always say life is too short for regrets. But the truth is, it’s too long.”
She thought about what Sebastian said about every life needing a little space, and how that leaves room for good things to enter it.
“Happiness is a risk. If you’re not a little scared, then you’re not doing it right.”
I needed to stop being what everyone thought I was.
Fate never promises to tell you everything up front. You aren’t always shown the path in life you’re supposed to take. But if there was one thing she’d learned in the past few weeks, it was that sometimes, when you’re really lucky, you meet someone with a map.
Happiness meant taking risks. No one had ever told Paxton that before. It was like a secret the world had been keeping from her. Paxton didn’t take risks, at least not when she was sober. She knew what she was getting into before she ever committed to anything. The fact that all the changes she’d made in the past few days scared her to death had to be a good sign.
How people choose to live their lives, and who they fall in love with, should never have to be defended.
“This club was formed to help each other. Not others. Each other. As in, we’re all in this together. It wasn’t formed to set us apart from others, or to compete with one another. It was formed because seventy-five years ago, two best friends in the darkest moments of their lives said, All we have is our deep and abiding love for each other. We can’t lose that or we lose ourselves. If we don’t help each other, who will?
