Eventually, it wasn't even your dad I wanted, just anybody. Anybody at all.

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."

The silence wasn't like the ones I'd known lately, though: it wasn't empty as much as chosen. There's a entirely different feel to quiet when you're with some-one else, and at any moment it could be broken. Like the difference between a pause and an ending.

If you didn't love him, this never would have happened. But you did. And accepting that love and everything that followed it is part of letting it go.

We both know the limits of this relationship. It's understood. And as long as we're both comfortablewith that, nobody gets hurt. It's basic.

Life's too short to worry about the little things. Enjoy what you have today, not what you might get tomorrow

Wake up, Caitlin, Mr. Lensing had said. But what he didn't under­stand was that this dreamland was preferable, walking through this life half-sleeping, everything at arm's length or farther away.