“Meanwhile she's coldly interrogating me with her eyes. She's definitely in charge of this house and this moment. This must be Chloe.She escorts me to a table full of people and presents me. She introduces them briefly. This one's from Morocco, that one from Italy, he's Persian--I'm not exactly sure what that means--this one's from "the UK." They're all in their twenties, poised and dismissive. They don't know or care who I'm supposed to be at home or where I went to school. They're measuring something else I can't see and don't understand.They nod and turn back to each other. They seem to be waiting for a cue from Chloe to release them from having to feign interest. She introduces herself at substantially more length. Her father is Chinese and her mother is Swiss; she grew up in Hong Kong and "in Europe."I grew up in Michigan and in Michigan. But she didn't ask.”

“I knew she was not telling me the truth. I asked her again what had happned because I don't like it when she keeps something from me. She's not allowed. Because when she lies, someting inside me changes, and it's like the WHOLE WORLD is one way and I'm the other. Like I can't trust a thing, as if the whole world knows a secret I don't and I'm running around from person to person asking them to tell me but they won't and the more I don't know what is going on the more scared I become and I feel myself drifting farther and farther away from everyone.”

“And she has been there. I know because her senior high school yearbook, the one with no Daytons, is gone from the bureau where i had left it. She's seen my things scattered about. She knows I'm still here. But she didn't wait Part of me doesn't want to give up, and makes excuses. "She'll be back =," it says. "She just didn't want to run into Aunt Ida. Now that she knows you're here..." But she knew it. Where else would I be? I have to face it: I'm not as important as some package she needs from Seattle. My presence won't bring her back.”

“There she is-dancergirl. But she doesn't even notice me. To her, I'm invisible. Should I go up to her, say something? Not a chance! All I can do is watch from afar. Hoping that one day, she'll see me.”

“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.”

“What's your name?''Names!' she sniffed, rolling her eyes. 'People always want names, don't they? They're mad about naming. I will let the moment name me.' she eyed Jack expectantly.'You want me to name you?' he asked.'People from the other side are very dull,' she sighed.'Give yourself a name for me. I don't need naming for myself, do I?”