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I never knew how to refer to my aunt Lauren. When I said Lauren to Sofia, it sounded like I was being snotty. When I said your mother, it sounded like I was being cold. And I could not say your mom, because I never said the word mom if I could help it. Probably because I was snotty and cold.
Sometimes I took online quizzes to find out if I was a sociopath.
“I don’t want to talk to them,” he said. “All they want to talk about is whether I’ll take their virginity or write another song like ‘Villain’ or come play a show in whatever impossibly small place they live in. Did you put sugar in this?”
he already had someone. And my hair looked great from the back.
“That one,” he said, “would be the one I would happily let kill me. Eyes still closed?” “Yes,” I said. “Open your mouth.” I kept him waiting again, while I looked at the lines of his cheeks and his jaw and his eyebrows, all of them so purposeful and dazzling and at home here in this place of purposeful and dazzling things. Then I leaned across the table and kissed his open mouth. It still tasted of caramel. I felt him say Mmmm, the sound vibrating against my lips, and then he pressed his hand against my neck and kissed me back, earnest and certain.
“Do you really want me to be you online?” Cole smiled. His real smile. “I trust you.”
He was too young to drive, but old enough to be able to turn doorknobs.
I don’t really like team sports unless I’ve invented both the team and the sport.
I knew just how it felt when your worst fear was that you would be yourself.
Actually I want you
And I thought of how statistically pointless love was and how unsurprising this all was in the relative scheme of things.
Trust you? Does anyone do that? Of all the things I would do that are crazy, Cole, you can be sure that will never be one of them.”
Even when I was happy, I felt like I was always looking for the edges on life. The seams. I was so perfectly born to die.
I kept finding out that the monster I’d been fighting was only me.
I was so tired of being alone, but I was always alone, even with people around me.
Because all I needed out of the wall was the absolute reminder that 50 percent of all American marriages ended in divorce, and the rest of them were on their way there.
“It’ll get easier,” Paolo said. But I knew that. That was the worst part. The worst part was that eventually you forgot about the people you loved.