Perfect Fit: A Novel

by Clare Gilmore

“Darling, I don’t care to know what inanimate objects give you an orgasm.”

Thursday is my favorite day of the workweek. Objectively, worst to best, the list goes like this: Tuesday, Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Thursday. I’m not taking questions on the list.

“He flies private, I assume?” I nod. “I was on that jet once. The pilot’s name is Gerald. He likes to joke about maintenance issues.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking Brooks!” says fucking Brooks.

“Because you are not and never have been a surface-level girl, Josephine. You’re just a girl who loves things you have every right to love. And if I’m the boy who once convinced you that can’t be true, then I will become the man who convinces you it absolutely is.”

It’s miraculous to be understood, and then to be wanted anyway.

“Well, for your information, I’m an aspiring vegetarian.” “How does that work?” he asks. “I’m always aspiring. Never vegetarian,” I answer.

Mom: Happy birthday darling, I’ve sent you several articles via email on Barcelona crime

That’s the problem with loving someone. When it happens, that person comes out of their box, and they start to fill every crack and shadow in your life. The memories of them get slippery, ethereal enough to move silently and appear before you at any moment.

and supposedly Eva knew that and boinked him anyway. I don’t know why Cassie is crying, that one is lost on me. But look, it’s not my problem those girls are in love with him and he’s in love with me.”

“But right now, it’s not a relationship I would describe as healthy. And we don’t give our unconditional love to the things that hurt us.”