We All Live Here

by Jojo Moyes

Lila realizes suddenly how rare it is for her to hear a man discuss love in open, simple terms. After the early days, Dan rarely told her he loved her. If she asked him he would look at her with an expression that was half bemusement tinged with faint irritation, as if to say, Why are you asking me that? She thinks sometimes that she always felt she was a little too much for him, too needy, too angry, too sad, too hysterical.

She stares at him. Nobody ever asks her that question. Nobody ever just says, Are you okay? Not Bill, not Gene, not her children, not even Eleanor. Everyone tells her what she should be doing, or that it’s going to be all right, or that she needs to be less miserable, less moody, less angry, but nobody ever asks her that simple question.

Rilke: ‘Keep going. No feeling is final.’ Something along those lines. And I always think of that, when things are a bit rough. No feeling is final. The shitty times don’t last forever. Even if they feel like it.”

Lila absorbs what Eleanor said and thinks, Yes, maybe this is a family. With all its mad history and chaos, heartbreaks, stupid jokes, ridiculous triumphs, and distinct lack of Noguchi coffee-tables, maybe this is my family.

“Life is going to batter you, honey. She’s a cruel mistress. So you have to find the place in your head where you can get lost in a good way. Otherwise it’s just drink and drugs and bad women.”

This is life at this age, she muses, a million goodbyes, and you never know which are the final ones. You just absorb them, like little shocks, trusting with each one that you’ll be able to keep moving forward.

Lila is not sure she would know who she was without Eleanor around. It’s a constant revelation to her, the way these friendships become more important the older they get.

Life is long and complicated, Lila, and we all make mistakes. What matters is what we do beyond them.

You can hang on to anger and bitterness your whole life. But all you really do is prolong your own pain.

There is something lovely about someone being so unapologetically and unexpectedly happy in their sixties. It suggests hope for them all.