Atmosphere

by Taylor Jenkins Reid

So it came as a huge shock to the men in the department, many of whom fancied themselves secretly destined for victory, to see that the woman they’d overlooked was lapping them in a race they did not know had started.

Astronomy was history. Because space was time.

And yet, most of the stars have been there for so long, burning so bright, that every human generation could have looked up and seen them.

She’d been surprised to find that Coors Light was delicious.

“When somebody’s too smooth, there’s nothing to grab on to. Now that you’ve got a little edge to you, I can hang on.”

And what was kinship but that? Comfort and responsibility.

people never use enough salt.”

The amber of Vanessa’s eyes was almost gold when the light hit it. The look of them, especially in this moment, was so complex that they reminded Joan of what her mother always said about her favorite landscape painting, which hung above the dining room table at their house. It “rewarded your attention.”

In all of her time spent watching others, she hadn’t picked up on this part of falling in love, that someone could look at you as if you were the very center of everything.

Joan laughed, too, but these were the moments of legacy she found the most compelling: the chance to share something of the past with a person who could bring it further into the future.

After all, how can we recognize a sentiment within ourselves that we have no word for?

“Happiness is so hard to come by. I don’t understand why anyone would begrudge anyone else for managing to find some of it.”