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I love talking to people I already know, but when I meet someone new, half the time my mind goes blank, and the other half of the time, I make a joke that absolutely no one realizes is a joke, or I ask something way too personal.”
Ashleigh stares, wide-eyed. Like I just threw up on her shoes. Or like I threw up a whole shoe.
“Why did you say it like that?” he asks. “Like what?” “Menacingly.” He spits into the sink and knocks the faucet on. “Like, Me and my friend are gonna pay you a little visit, and we might have a baseball bat with us.”
I also don’t want to unearth the ugly stuff, over and over again, for people who are just passing through my life. It’s depleting.
You can’t untell someone your secrets. You can’t unsay those delicate truths once you learn you can’t trust the person you handed them to.
If a person lets you down, it’s time to reconsider what you’re asking of them.
There was a time when I was okay at making friends. But that was probably four or five relocations back. Eventually, it didn’t seem worth it anymore, cracking myself open to let someone in,
“You are either the friendliest man on the planet,” I say, “or a world-class serial killer.” “Why not both?”
“You know what, Peter,” I say, “thank you for pulling me aside today.” His face brightens, relief flooding his features. “It’s always nice to be reminded that your ex really was as big of an asshat as you remember him being.”
“My mom and I used to play this game we called Whiny Babies. We’d just take turns complaining about smaller and stupider things until we ran out.
“Okay, just scream enough at the top of your lungs and I’ll use context clues to figure it out.”
Waiting on the snowy curb outside my elementary school, dragging my boot toes through blackened slush, telling myself that if I count to one hundred, Dad will be here. And if not, then by the time I reach two hundred and fifty. Counting and waiting until my mom pulled up, stressed out and still in her work heels, apologizing through the open car window, on his behalf: Sorry, sorry, something came up, I guess. Waiting at the mailbox for birthday cards to show up. Waiting for a phone call on Christmas. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting, for someone who rarely came, feeling worse every time, until
...more
his visits are unpredictable. Doesn’t come when he says he will, shows up when you’re not expecting him. But he was a really fun dad when I was a kid.
limned
lined
the boat looks to be in good shape. Not that I know what makes a boat in good shape, but it’s not on fire or anything.
she ends every response with a new question for me.
“Maybe I should get a dog.” She looks to me for feedback. “I think you should do exactly what you want to do,” I tell her. “Let’s rob a bank,” she says. “I think you should get a dog.”
you make love so easy, Daphne. You make me think I already deserve it, exactly how I am.
His dimples sink into his beard,
He shaved...just barely.
