“She said to me, over the phoneShe wanted to see other peopleI thought, Well then, look around. They're everywhereSaid that she was confused...I thought, Darling, join the club24 years old, Mid-life crisisNowadays hits you when you're youngI hung up, She called back, I hung up againThe process had already startedAt least it happened quickI swear, I died inside that nightMy friend, he calledI didn't mention a thingThe last thing he said was, Be soundSound...I contemplated an awful thing, I hate to admitI just thought those would be such appropriate last wordsBut I'm still hereAnd smallSo small.. How could this struggle seem so big?So big...While the palms in the breeze still blow greenAnd the waves in the sea still absolute blueBut the horrorEvery single thing I see is a reminder of herNever thought I'd curse the day I met herAnd since she's gone and wouldn't hearWho would care? What good would that do?But I'm still hereSo I imagine in a month...or 12I'll be somewhere having a drinkLaughing at a stupid jokeOr just another stupid thingAnd I can see myself stopping shortDrifting out of the presentSucked by the undertow and pulled out deepAnd there I am, standingWet grass and white headstones all in rowsAnd in the distance there's one, off on its ownSo I stop, kneelMy new home...And I picture a sober awakening, a re-entry into this little bar sceneSip my drink til the ice hits my lipOrder another roundAnd that's it for nowSorryNever been too good at happy endings...”

“A fellow will remember a lot of things you wouldn't think he'd remember. You take me. One day, back in 1896, I was crossing over to Jersey on the ferry, and as we pulled out, there was another ferry pulling in, and on it there was a girl waiting to get off. A white dress she had on. She was carrying a white parasol. I only saw her for one second. She didn't see me at all, but I'll bet a month hasn't gone by since that I haven't thought of that girl.”

“I'd seen him around town for a year or so before he made a move on me. I'd heard good and bad things about him. One friend said he was just out for sex. Another said he was a romantic at heart. What the hell, I thought. I needed sex and romance in my life. Sometimes I believe I would have taken one without the other.”

“Can I borrow your phone?" she asked.I frowned, unsure what she would do. "Sure." I pulled my phone from my pocket, handing it to her.She fingered the buttons for a moment, and then dialed, closing her eyes as she waited."I'm sorry for calling you so early," she stammered, "but this couldn't wait. I . . . can't go to dinner with you on Wednesday."She had called Parker. My hands trembled with apprehension, wondering if she was going to ask him to pick her up - to save her - or something else.She continue, "I can't see you at all, actually. I'm . . . pretty sure I'm in love with Travis."My whole world stopped. I tried to replay her words over. Had I heard them correctly? Did she really just say what I thought she had, or was it just wishful thinking? Abby handed the phone back to me, and then reluctantly peered up into my eyes."He hung up," she said with a frown."You love me?""It's the tattoos," she said, flippant and shrugging, as if she hadn't just said the one thing I'd ever wanted to hear.Pigeon loved me.”

“Yes,' he said, 'a list. That way, I figure, we'll have a written record of what we've agreed upon as our goals for our relationship. So if problems arise, we'll be able to consult the lists, see which issue it corresponds to, and work out a solution from there.'I could still hear my sister talking, but her voice was fading as she led her group around the house. I said, 'But what if that doesn't work?'Jason blinked at me. Then he said, 'Why wouldn't it?' 'Because,' I said.He just looked at me. 'Because...''Because,' I repeated, as a breeze blew over us,' sometimes things just happen. That aren't expected. Or on the list.''Such as?' he asked.'I don't know,' I said, frustrated. 'That's the point. It would be out of the blue, taking us by surprise. Something we might not be prepared for.''But we will be prepared,' he said, confused. 'We'll have the list.' I rolled my eyes. 'Jason,' I said.'Macy, I'm sorry.' He stepped back, looking at me. 'I just don't understand what you're trying to say.'And then it hit me: he didn't. He had no idea. And this thought was so ludicrous, so completely unreal, that I knew it just had to be true. For Jason, there was no unexpected, no surprises. His whole life was outlined carefully, in lists and sublists, just like the ones I'd helped him go through all those weeks ago. 'It's just...' I said and stopped, shaking my head.'It's just what?' He was waiting, genuinely wanting to know. 'Explain it to me.'But I couldn't. I'd had to learn it my own way, and so had my mother. Jason would eventually, as well. No one could tell you: you just had to go through it on your own. If you were lucky, you came out on the other side and understood. If you didn't, you kept getting thrust back, retracing those steps, until you finally got it right.”

“I've been clinically diagnosed with sociopathy,' I said. 'Do you know what that means?''It means you're a freak,' he said.'It means that you're about as important to me as a cardboard box,' I said. 'You're just a thing - a piece of garbage that no one's thrown away yet. Is that what you want me to say?''Shut up,' said Rob. He was still acting tough, but I could see his bluster was starting to fail. He didn't know what to say.'The thing about boxes,' I said, 'is that you can open them up. Even though they're completely boring on the outside, there might be something interesting inside. So while you're saying all of these stupid, boring things I'm imagining what it would be like to cut you open and see what you've got in there.”