Morgan sighed. "I," she announced, "am so pathetic." "You are not," I said. "I am." She went over and straightened the cling wrap, corner to corner. "Do you know how many times I've brought in devilled eggs? This is, like, the only time I haven't been sobbing and that's only 'cause I cried all night. And Norman," she said, her voice rising to a wail, "sweet Norman, always just acts so surprised to see the eggs, and pleased, and he never, once, has ever acted like he knew what they meant."

I've found in my own life that if my writing isn't going well, not much else will. It is the one constant, the key to everything else.

You're not the kind of person who smiles for nothing, Colie. I have to earn every one.

Don't give me no rotten tomato, 'cause all I ever wanted was your sweet potato.

Whenever you made a choice, especially one you'd been resisting, it always affected everything else, some in big ways, like a tremor beneath your feet, others in so tiny a shift you hardly noticed a change at all. But it was happening.

That first love. And the first one who breaks your heart. For me, they just happen to be the same person.

There are some things in this world you rely on, like a sure bet. And when they let you down, shifting from where you've carefully placed them, it shakes your faith, right where you stand.