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“He thinks you are beautiful and he thinks you are smart,” he’d surmised about Daniel, that first weekend I’d brought him to Boston, when we had been dating for seven months. “But he has no real appreciation for what you are passionate about, who you are on the inside.”
“The best artists, they are like this. You don’t shock just to shock. You create beauty, you create art. You don’t do it for attention.”
“I’m falling in love with you. I’m just going to put that out there, because I can. Because you told me I couldn’t if I was sleeping with anyone else, and I’m not, so there you have it…”
“You afraid?” he asked. I nodded. “So am I. But I’m all right with that. If I get hurt, I get hurt. It happens, right? Someone always gets hurt. But I don’t want to miss out on us because I was afraid.”
“I think aging is hard for everyone.” Amara swiped a red bliss potato with crème fraîche and caviar off a passing tray. “But it’s definitely harder for women. And I think even more so for beautiful women. Because if so much of your identity and your value is tied up in your looks and how the world responds to your physical appearance, what do you do when that changes? How do you see yourself then? Who do you become?”
When I married Daniel, there were only fourteen girls that he’d slept with, and they were all on the East Coast.
?? WHAT!? Lmfaooo is that supposed to be a low number im crying
I laughed. “I was just making sure it was you, and not the idea of you.”
Love, she said, was not always perfect, and not exactly how you expected it to be. But when it descended upon you, there was no controlling it.
“How did we get here?” I heard myself say. “This was only supposed to be lunch, remember? This was only ever supposed to be lunch.” “You,” he said, his voice frayed, foreign. “Me?” “You. You let me unfold you.”
“Love is this very precious thing, Izz. It’s this precious, magical thing. But it’s not finite. There’s not a limited amount of it out there. You just have to be open to allowing it to find you. Allowing it to happen.”
