“Tinsley felt like a puppeteer playing with her marionettes, holding all the strings.”

“The jukebox changed to Elvis’s “Don’t Be Cruel,” and Tinsley smiled her patented Carmichael smile, the one that seemed to say, I’m holding all the cards, but be honored that I’ve let you play.”

“I just like meeting people.”“I don't.” Tinsley wrinkled her nose. “It upsets my balance. I hate having to constantly reconfigure everyone, who fits where and all that.”

“Tinsley hated the thought of people greeting her with “Where's Julian?” It was like once you were a couple, you ceased to exist as an individual. It made her a little sick to her stomach.”

“Fuck you,” Tinsley shot back, but it was one of those friendly fuck-yous that you can only say to people you love.”

“Instead, she poured herself another drink. Tinsley was horrible, yes, but at least she was open about it. Callie couldn’t help feeling like Brett and Jenny were just as bad … just more secretive. But maybe it was just the wine talking. Maybe.”

“It's fine.” Brett shrugged, suppressing the urge to say something like, “The drugs are okay, but the sex is lousy.” But she didn't want her suddenly nun-like sister to have a heart attack before Brett got a chance to pump her for information.”