“I brush her hair back from her forehead. "You need to stop worrying about everything that can't be controlled." She signs and leans away from my hand, "That's just it, though. It's all I can think about anymore. It's like this fixation I have no control over which makes no sense because Im fixated on controlling the uncontrollable." She's breathing wildly. Shit. I need to calm her down.”

“It's the secret smile you get from knowing that, somewhere, there is someone who is yours. Not in the sense that you own her or control her. She is yours because you can say anything to her, whenever you need to. And she can do the same, whenever she needs to.”

“I seem finally to have stopped worrying about Elinor, and age. She seems now to be perfectly normal -- about twenty-five, a witty control freak. I like her but I can see how she would drive you mad. She's just the sort of person you'd want to get drunk, just to make her giggling and silly.”

“She ripped the wild bun down from the crown of her head, and then brushed her long hair with her fingers. I couldn’t stop staring while she rewrapped it and tied it back again. I imagined that this was what she looked like in the morning, and then had to think about the first ten minutes of Saving Private Ryan to keep my dick from getting hard.”

“Fertility says, "Can you relax and just let things happen?"I ask, does she mean, like disasters, like pain, like misery? Can I just let all that happen?"And Joy," she says, "and Serenity, and Happiness, and Contentment." She says all the wings of the Columbia Memorial Mausoleum. "You don't have to control everything," she says. "You can't control everything."But you can be ready for disaster.A sign goes by saying, Buckle Up."If you worry about disaster all of the time, that's what you are going to get," Fertility says.”

“I slip her shirt over her head and she tries to cover herself, but I move her arms out of the way and kiss up her neck while I talk about all the things that are no longer just mine.'Will, stop.' She laughs and attempts to pull my hands away from her bra. 'You can't take off my bra, we're in our driveway. What if they come outside?''It's dark,' I whisper. 'And it's not your bra. It's our bra and I want it off.' I slip it off her, pulling her against me as I rub my hands down the length of her back, then around to the button on the front of her jeans. 'And I want to take off our pants.”