What do you think?
Rate this book
384 pages, Paperback
First published April 2, 2013
Each time you happen to me all over again.
"Queenie, come on. He's ridiculous," Everett says, motioning out to where Hudson is standing with the other men.
"I like him. He's nice," I say.
"You like him and he's nice," Everett repeats, slamming his beer down a bit too hard on Reed's tiled counter.
"Yeah. I like him and he's nice. Is that so revolutionary?" I ask.
"Is his shirt tucked in or isn't it? Did he go to the bathroom and not quite tidy himself up after? I mean, I don't get what that look is about," Everett says, gesticulating wildly at Hudson and the offending plaid shirt.
"What's happening over there?" I ask.
"Nothing," Everett says. His voice subdued. Caught.
"How was that nice lady your parents were setting you up with on Sunday? Talk about ridiculous," I say, walking past him and out toward the backyard. Everett reaches out and stops me. He leans down and speaks softly, intimately, into my ear.
"Go ahead and have your fun with Mr. I Like Him and He's Nice. I know how this ends and so does he." Everett's eyes are locked on mine. Green, brown, and yellow pinwheels intense and focused.
"So does he what?" Hudson asks, standing in the open French doors, partygoers hustling past him. Everett straightens and approaches Hudson. In that moment, I honestly don't know what Everett is going to do.
"Everett Coburn," Everett says, extending his hand to Hudson.
"Hudson Bishop," Hudson says, shaking his hand. Everett looms over Hudson, I'm sure reveling in the few inches of height he's got on him.
Oh. My. God.
"I was just saying that I knew how this thing between you two ends," Everett says, his voice low and threatening. He folds his arms and juts his chin high. I'm speechless. I'm struck dumb.
"It seems the only thing between us two is you," Hudson says, walking over to where I am. He slides his arm around my waist and tilts his head just so.
"Damn right," Everett says.
Everett flicks his gaze from Hudson to me and turns and walks outside.
"He seems cool," Hudson says, walking into the kitchen and pulling a couple of beers from the cooler.
"Yeah, he's super sweet."
“I can't be the only one faking it. I'm not the only lonely small-town girl drowning in this big city. I'm not the only refugee feeling invisible and alone. I'm not the only one who wants to scream, "NOTICE ME! I MATTER!" Maybe everyone is faking it. Maybe they're just better at it than I am.”
“I need to cook something. I need to lose myself in something else besides the fractured light of my own memory.”