The Paper Palace

by Miranda Cowley Heller

And I thought: now there is no turning back. No more regrets for what I haven’t done. Now only regrets for what I have done. I love him, I hate myself; I love myself, I hate him. This is the end of a long story.

She’s a pain in the ass, but she has great dignity.

terrified of the strange world that had saved her,

There is no such thing as unforgivable between people who love each other. But even as I’m thinking it, I know it’s not really true.

Unhappy people are always more interesting.”

have always loved that photo. It reminds me of Michelangelo’s David: a split second carved in eternal time, the instant before the throw—right before everything changes; the randomness of the things that lead us to turn left, or right, or simply sit down on a dusty road and never move forward again. That boy, that cart, that horse, that fall, my mother’s choice to leave Guatemala, come back to the woods—gave me the pond.

Jonas turns then. Looks directly at me. He stands up and brushes the sand off his palms, walks toward me, arms outstretched, grabs the stack of towels I’m carrying, leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “I missed you,” he whispers in my ear. “Hi,” I say softly. I can’t bear it. It is too much to bear. “I missed you, too.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen my mother at a loss for words.

But I carry you in my bloodstream. This isn’t a choice.”

Jonas is animal, Peter is mineral. And I need a rock.

I wonder if he would love me if he could see inside

my head—the pettiness, the dirty linen of my thoughts, the terrible things I have done.