Spectacular Things

by Beck Dorey-Stein

Mia understands the inextricable braid between love and sacrifice.

At birth, each person unwittingly signs a contract to say goodbye to everyone they’re about to meet. Life is merciless in that way, in its promise to end.

She is at her best when she is supporting others.

“Adulthood is constantly embarrassing.”

They have been unwilling participants in the forward march of minutes, sickened by how the months seem to pick up speed, even as they remain frozen in place.

Love isn’t a decision or a game one willingly plays; it’s a straight-up ambush,

“You’re always too much,” Cricket says, taking Yaz’s left hand and kissing each fingertip. “It’s what makes you just right.”

“What you’re trying to do is so, so hard. If it were easy, everybody would do it, but to get where you want to go means enduring disappointment along the way.

“Where have you been?” Mia asks. “Everyone says to look for signs, ask for a sign, but you—why now?” “Because,” Liz says softly, “this is the first time you’ve needed me.”