“I know this is our honeymoon. But just sometimes, I wish Luke was a girl.”

“I wonder if Luke would take a hit of tomato ketchup for me. I might ask him later. Just casually.”

“Luke!...We have to be able to do cool dancing so we don't embarrass our child!""I'm a very cool dancer," replies Luke. "Very cool indeed,""No you're not!""I had dance lessons in my teens, you know," he retorts. "I can waltz like Fred Astire.""Waltz?" I echo derisively. "That's not cool! We need to know all the street moves. Watch me."I do a couple funky head-wriggle body-pop maneuvers, like they do on rap videos. When I look up, Luke is gaping at me."Sweetheart," he says. "What are you doing?""It's hip-hop!" I say. "It's street!""Becky! Love!" Mum has pushed her way through her dancing guests to reach me. "What's wrong? Has labour started?"Honestly. My family has no idea about contemporary urban steet dance trends.”

“I'll show Luke I can fit into the city. I'll show him I can be a true New Yorker. I'll go the gym, and then I'll eat a bagel, and I'll ... shoot someone, maybe? Or maybe just the gym will be enough.”

“I'm allergic to family occasions. Sometimes I think we'd do better as dandelion seeds-no family, no history, just floating off into the world, each on our own piece of fluff.”

“Becky . . .” Luke looks at me carefully. “Have you ever been on a horse in your life?”“Yes! Of course I have!”Once. When I was ten. And I fell off.But I probably wasn’t concentrating or something.“Just be careful, won’t you?” he says. “I’m not quite ready to become a widower.”

“I thought marriage was for ever. I really did. I thought Luke and I would grow old and grey together. Or at least, old. (I'm not intending to go grey, ever...)”