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But you can’t unknow things. I can’t unknow that Dad cheated on Mom. I can’t unknow that he left us all for another woman. Mom misses the version of me that used to love those books. I miss her too.
my problem is not the quantity or even the quality of her boyfriends (to be clear, the quality could be better. I don’t know why she chooses boys who are so much less interesting and smart than she is), it’s the fact that she’s dating at all. Why am I the only one who learned the lesson of Mom and Dad’s divorce?
That the books don’t feel like they belong to me anymore. That love stories are like fairy tales: you’re not meant to believe in them forever. I stopped believing in them the day after Dad moved out.
How do I tell her I had a strange vision and I’m afraid she’s going to get her heart broken tonight?
Wait..she's psychic? I wasn't expecting that...
I’ve wanted to tell her about Dad’s affair so many times in the past year. If she knew, she’d be just as angry as I am. But Mom asked me not to. Sometimes I think telling her would be the kind thing to do. Isn’t it always better to know the truth, to live without illusions?
Yes, tell her
I still remember the first time I needed to tell him to check his (white) privilege. He wasn’t defensive. He just listened and learned.
Barely skimming the surface here. What did he do? What did he learn?
Martin’s mom is a psychiatrist. She’d definitely say all that before launching into her speech about how weekly therapy sessions should be required for everyone, but most especially for middle and high school students.
She is right. You could use it.
“Did you ever see the movie Big with Tom Hanks?” he asks. “Was this movie made in the last twenty years?” “It’s a classic,” he says. Martin is unapologetic about his ancient tastes.
It is indeed. Watch it!
“No, no, not to worry. Not everybody can dance good, but everybody can dance.”
He smirks and raises an eyebrow at me, displaying not one but two Classic Romance Guy Characteristics.
“Fiona, be a dear and don’t undress my grandchild with your eyes,” says Maggie. “You prefer I should use my hands?” asks Fifi.
“I do not know what this hobo outfit is, but will not happen again,” she says.
“With those outfits, you two do not deserve music,” she says.
Twice she tells me that my hips are “like rusty spring.”
“You should try the say yes thing. It’s very freeing.” “No,”
Despite how it might seem, this is not a love story.
“You know what, though?” I say. “If everybody thought about the odds, there’d be no rock stars in the first place.”
“I bet you flirt with everyone,” I say. He shakes his head. “Not everyone.” I persist. “But you flirt a lot, right?” “I like girls,” he says. He turns the vase centerpiece idly with his long fingers. “I especially like the smart, pretty, snarky, slightly confusing ones.” “Too bad there aren’t any of those around,” I say.
DOCKWEILER STATE BEACH
“Don’t you think it counts for something that they’re happy now?”
It was beautiful. But it was sad too. Both things, and at the same time. I don’t know why so much of life is like that.
The opposite of love isn’t hate. It’s death.
The problem with broken hearts isn’t that they kill you. It’s that they don’t.
Mom said just because a thing ends doesn’t make the thing any less real. Just because everything is different now doesn’t mean we didn’t love each other once. Maybe we will again.
It doesn’t matter that love ends. It just matters that there’s love.
