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The pilot had somehow left his microphone on and was crying audibly, which was not very beneficial for the vibes.
“I’ve never flown in this part of the plane before. My arse is very uncomfortable. I think it’s very cute, very communal, like we are all here together in a village.”
“What? Why?” Oh yes, their dead father. “Right, sorry, come here.”
anyway she was also an asshole, and actively unethical,
“Okay, so which part about me do you think they find so terrifying?” pressed Meredith, who could feel herself getting emotional now. “My intellect? My ideas? My vagina?”
4:00 PM: Engage sudden craving for complex souffle; bake perfectly.
With that, Eilidh remembered what she had actually wanted to talk about, though she’d traversed too far from things like feelings, having entered the conversation through the dumbest possible side door.
They were a few feet apart on the sidewalk, such that a very tall person or a small crime scene could lie between them.
She couldn’t look at him, he was too perfect.
Eilidh is a quiet baby who doesn’t walk until she’s nearly two, partially because Arthur keeps pushing her over and partially because Meredith insists on trying to carry her, but also because who in Eilidh Olympia Liang Wren’s position would deign to walk, like a common peasant, when offered so many fortunate alternatives?
I’m pretty sure the other kids don’t like you because you are kind of mean and weird, says Lou, but it’s cool that you’re a genius.
Biologically speaking it all seemed so unlikely, borderline absurd. A penis, in this economy?
It didn’t matter, Eilidh thought. It wasn’t relevant. The possibility of pregnancy or … hornets.
“Penis,” said a still-struggling Dzhuliya.
“Although I’m not entirely sure what urn your father would have wanted.” “Probably one of those red cups,” said Eilidh. “Or a genie lamp.” “His coffee thermos,” suggested Dzhuliya. “Or the cup he used to use that kept the coffee warm all day. You know, instead of just drinking it.”
I HAVE CRAMPS,” I yelled. “GOD IS FAKE, BUT HE’S ALSO DEFINITELY A MAN! WHY ELSE WOULD BEING A WOMAN SUCK—SO—HARD?”
“I WISH I’D MARRIED A WOMAN WHO COULD LOVE ME LIKE I LOVE HER!” said Arthur, which felt like something real.
“I JUST WANTED MY DAD TO LOVE ME, AND NOW HE NEVER WILL,” said Arthur Wren to the grove of heavenly trees.
He kissed her like she’d rear-ended him on the freeway, like she’d stolen his parking spot, like she’d cut him off at the light. “It’s me.”
“Grief is a real rollercoaster on you,” whispered Dzhuliya, a hot gasp in Eilidh’s mouth. “Ride the high, baby,” Eilidh replied, and smacked her lightly on the ass.
“Absolutely,” he said to his feet. “I’d hoped there was a catch. Make it a good one, like really ethically troubling, something I can feel violently sick about.”
God, also known casually as Lou Monster, the holy progeny
In the wake of the fire, most of the house was fine.
“Dad,” she said, “was … a great man. Well, he was a man,” she corrected herself in an unreadable tone.
Meredith: Take care of Arthur. Eilidh: Why? He already has all hands on deck. Meredith: Too many hands on that deck. Eilidh: Literally every single hand is on that deck. Meredith: Please stop talking about our brother’s deck.
