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It didn’t matter that they were sometimes hard to believe. (“There’s no way she had cocktails with JFK,” Pop would say, exasperated.) That wasn’t the point. The point was that she was there at all.
“Love is . . . I don’t know. Something bigger than that. It’s like the sun.”
You don’t know what happiness is—what it really means—until it’s taken away from you. Then you realize the world will never be as bright as it was.”
It’s like the sun, she’d said, in that it makes everything brighter and happier. Mae knows her line too: You can get burnt by it.
The truth is, love isn’t just one word.
