More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
My best friend always de-escalated me. Sometimes I hated that about her. There were times when I just wanted to be pissed off, careening forward on the strength of my pure rage. I was grateful for my ability to stay furious, especially over the last year. Anger is a powerful fuel. It can be very motivating. Fortifying. The only problem with anger is that it burns hot and fast. It doesn’t tend to burn long. Sadness burns long. Grief. Disappointment.
Maybe this was my life now, just existing and hating every minute of it.
It occurred to me that maybe Amy had been right to give up on me. How could I be lovable when I wasn’t even likable?
But then one day I realized I knew everything about her and she knew nothing about me. Nothing. And I was lonely, even though I was with someone.
“That’s it,” I mumbled. “I’m giving up. I should just accept that I’m never having sex again. I’m canceling my bikini-wax appointments. Just gonna let the forest reclaim the land, succumb to my inner swamp witch.”
“I feel like if I died, it would take me a solid twenty-four hours to realize I’m in hell.”
There was nothing for me to look forward to. Even the chief position was at a standstill. I had no dating prospects. No joy in my life. Not a single distraction. I hadn’t had sex in a year. I was just getting older. Heading in the wrong direction in every way, my life crumbling around me. And I was bored. That was the worst thing of all. The boredom. The monotony of my uneventful, unremarkable, depressing fucking life.
This wasn’t the life I wanted. And I didn’t know how to change it. It was quicksand.
It was like I was one of the abused animals he rescued. Like I was being coaxed out with food and soft words and gentle pats and I was starting to feel safe. And my hard NO to never being in a relationship again had begun to turn into a maybe …
He was solid. Strong. But also soft somehow, like you could crash into him and not get hurt. The pulse of his neck beat against my cheek. The scent of his skin so near teased me and something warm tingled inside of me at the feel of his body held to mine.
And even if there was something humiliating in there, I kind of wanted him to see it. I wanted him to see all my ugly parts and my dirty secrets. Like, here’s all my neurotic shit.
It’s like I wanted to see if he still wanted me around after he knew me. The unscripted me. The real me. The messy me.
It’s funny how similar longing feels to grief. Even though she was right here, all I could think about was the part that was missing. The part I’d never get.
