All the things she planned to feel, the way she planned to look and seem, the appropriate things she planned to say. None of them came to pass.

Do you have any idea how much I've loved you?

She got tired of herself. She got tired of not being able to say what she wanted or do what she wanted or even want what she wanted.

She loved her mother and depended on her mother, and yet every single word her mother said annoyed her.

Maybe they would look at each other and feel some odd yearning, but neither of them would know why. They would want to stop, but they would be embarrassed, and neither would know what to say. They would go their separate ways. Who knew? Maybe that happened every day to people who'd once loved each other.

Maybe the truth is, there's a little bit of loser in all of us. Being happy isn't having everything in your life be perfect. Maybe it's about stringing together all the little things.

She had never had a boy talk to her like that. There was no cover of bullshit, no flirtation, no added charm, but his look was searing. He was different from anyone she had known.