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He loves you more than you love him. You’ve wasted time with the tall guys, and you’re no idiot.
You love her—it’s in your DNA—and does anyone like every single aspect of the person they love?
You feel something. You flinch. It’s him. Ross. He’s resting his filthy boots on the cushion by your lap. You look at him and he winks. Did Tanya catch that? Did Troy? No.
When it’s the three of you, you settle into a booth where he shares the crayons with Abigail, draws with her in this way that makes you feel like a third wheel.
“So, her name’s Maxine, and she picked out the sweater, and I . . . I think I kinda love her, El.”
You wonder about Josie’s mom. Did she get cancer because her soul just couldn’t take it anymore?
Real love comes when people lay their ugly hearts out on the table. But again, it’s the same old story.
In her eyes, you’ll always be the fuckup who needs Tanya to tell you what to do with your hair.
We can try to make the world a better place, we can march, and we can scream, but some of the hawks will always fly down and eat bunnies alive.”
You didn’t squeeze the lemons and let the truth out. You didn’t make lemonade out of the whole nightmare.
You were just here to bring the girls together.
