Book Lovers

by Emily Henry

That’s the thing about women. There’s no good way to be one. Wear your emotions on your sleeve and you’re hysterical. Keep them tucked away where your boyfriend doesn’t

have to tend to them and you’re a heartless bitch. “I’ve

the lines of FOR ALL I KNOW, YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE FEELINGS. “I mean, how often do you get to just let loose and not worry about how it fits into your

Mom’s theory was that youthful skin would make a woman more money (true in both acting and waitressing), good underwear would make her more confident (so far, so true), and good books would make her happy (universal

truth), and we’ve clearly both packed with this theory in mind.

Or when you try to draw a car during a game of Pictionary and find out you have no idea what cars look like.

I tip my head back, groaning at the (alarmingly starry; is this the first time I’ve looked up?) sky as I try to figure out how—or whether—to backtrack.