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Aly was fucked up too. Hallelujah.
It better not be a bomb, or I’m coming back as a poltergeist and finding some way to ghost-murder you.
“All this time, you’ve been trying to reassure me that I’m safe with you,” she said, sliding the blunted side of the blade higher. “But did you ever stop to consider whether or not you were safe with me?”
“Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I don’t expect grandbabies from you!”
“It’s called a balaclava,” I told her. “And what did I say?” she asked. “Baklava. One is a mask. The other a delicious desert.” “Whatever.”
“I mean, I know we haven’t had the official conversation yet, but we share a child, and I feel like disposing of a body is a boyfriend-girlfriend activity and not something you do with a casual hookup.”
“Are you saying that the couple who commits homicide together, stays together?”
“Too wordy. I prefer the couple who slays together,...
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“Am I being Gilmored right now?”
He nodded. “Yup. He’s going full Emily on you.”
