“It gripped her hand gently. 'Regret is for humans,' it said.She laughed. 'Really?'The machine shrugged and let go of her hand. 'Oh, no. It's just something we tell ourselves.”

“I want to go to the mother, take her hand, and tell her that although she and her daughter believe that every bad choice the daughter has ever made in life is her fault, it's not. It's really, really not.”

“It's part of us," she said jerkily. "How could I not want part of us? It's your baby.I'm carrying your baby and I love it so much already it terrifies me.""Oh,Diana." He touched her then, gently, his hands on her face. "You've let two weeks go by when we could have been terrified together.”

“She was at a cash register, screaming at a customer. She was, in fact, calling this customer a bitch. I touched her arm and said, “I have to go now.” She laid her hand on my shoulder, squeezed it gently, and continued her conversation, saying, “Don’t tell the store president I called you a bitch. Tell him I called you a fucking bitch, because that’s exactly what you are. Now get out of my sight before I do something we both regret.”

“Her hand lifted without any volition on her part, as if it were the hand itself that wanted to be held by his. He gently grasped it in both hands, instead of the impersonal handshake she’d been expecting. His hands were as hot as a furnace. Slowly, watching her every second, he brought her hand to his mouth and—oh my God—kissed it.Something inside her, something she’d never even suspected existed, pinged to life. Heat, excitement . . . desire.”

“Oh, no! I promise it's not human," Mom bats her hands in the air in an effort to wrangle them back into their seats. "It's newborn calf.""Oh, Hon, we don't do baby legs neither.”