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Her swimsuit, with its dryer-rippled elastic and faded color, looks like it starved to death in her underwear drawer.
“Maybe that’s not something I can share with Horus, but I have other people in my life. That’s what I like about you, Remy. Horus doesn’t have an evil bone in his body, but you do.”
He tries, politely, to convey that the Hudson Valley is a scam, full of eerily solvent puzzle stores, bad restaurants, and far-too-clean hippies.
Remind me never to be in an open relationship, because it’s fucking boring. All they talk about is rules and respect and boundaries and policies. It’s like frickin’ Parliament.”
Remy briefly pictures this girl’s life. The sparrow tattoo on her foot, and the Facebook albums of bachelorette parties. She smells of straightened hair.
“I’m talking about— I just feel like there’s a version of the life that I should be living that’s just out of reach, and it doesn’t make me as exhausted as this one does.”
