“You know what my father calls my mother?” “Grenade.” “Yeah. That’s his pet name for her. Because that’s the way he saw her when they met. A ball of destruction.” “Are you saying—” “Oh, hell yes, you are. That’s what you are for me. Charging into my life wearing a dozen mismatched sweaters, pissed off about the fact that you hadn’t been properly loved, kissed, or fucked.” “I said no such thing.” “You didn’t have to,” he murmurs.
I told you!!
