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Google tells me that West is the son of a billionaire, and a glance at my banking app tells me I am a thirty-dollaraire. We don’t exist in the same galaxy, let alone metaverse.
When it comes down to it, there’s absolutely no question. I’ll dress like a Kardashian and act like a fembot in a heartbeat if it means I can take care of my dad.
“This is going to be a disaster. I’m so excited!”
I am a sucker for a great ass, and his is probably ranked between the Grand Canyon and the Great Barrier Reef on a list of things everyone should see at least once in their lifetime.
My God, this is like conversing with a flower.
“Don’t you fucking touch the lips,” he says, voice hoarse. “You look amazing.”
I realize, just before we touch, that he’s about to erase everything I know about the act of kissing.
“It’s possible to have varying experiences with people.
It is the comfort of having an ally. It is the powerlessness of infatuation. It is the terrifying beginning of more.
“Boredom never killed anyone.” I bump her shoulder with mine. “It just made them wish it would.”
“Imagine we get locked in one of those,” Anna says, “and they find us days later, wearing salami and cheese to stay warm.” “Someone should study your brain,” I say, tugging the freezer door open.
And this, right here, is where I don’t know what to do. I don’t know whether I’m supposed to laugh at Anna Green, ravage her, or marry her all over again—but this time for real.
Mel waits for me to say something, but my entire vocabulary is stuck in a traffic jam in my cranium.
“When we care about someone, they deserve the benefit of the doubt. We have to consider not only what they did, but also why they did it. Intent matters,”
He’s so fucking cute I want to lick his face.
“When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”
Anna does make one financial concession, however. Sticking to her rule that she can be selfish for the people she loves, she lets me buy her father a house nearby, a small two-bedroom bungalow with a giant garage, so that David Green can retire, tinker with cars, and enjoy the life he fought so hard to live, and his daughter never has to be more than five minutes away from him again.
My mother’s only passive-aggressive comment—“Anna, darling. You look so comfortable in that outfit!”—earns only a hearty “I am!” from my beloved.
Booksellers and librarians, you deserve front row seats at your favorite shows, green lights at every intersection, only good hair days, and three wishes per calendar year.
