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174 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 8, 2013
“Story guys are like life highlighters. Your life is all these big blocks of gray text, and then a story guy comes in with a big ol’ paragraph of neon pink so that when you flip back through your life, you can stop and remember all the important and interesting places.”
“I will meet you on Wednesdays at noon in Celebration Park. Kissing only. I won’t touch you below the shoulders. You can touch me anywhere. No dating, no hookups. I will meet with you for as long as you meet me, so if you miss a Wednesday we part as strangers…”
“It’s so easy to be consumed by this shamelessness with him. The way he kisses, let alone the way he touches me, is so sharply present that it is impossible to think about anything other than the one single second in front of me. With Brian, maybe all that we have is this single second in front of us.”
“If I’m broken, the break will be clean and easily mended. If he breaks, I’m not sure if there will be enough pieces to approximate. I can afford to go along with what he thinks will protect him. I can have this, and I can give him what he thinks he needs, even if he may deserve better.”
I will meet you on Wednesdays at noon in Celebration Park. Kissing only. I won't touch you below the shoulders. You can touch me anywhere. No dating, no hookups. I will meet with you for as long as you meet me, so if you miss a Wednesday we part as strangers. No picture necessary, we can settle details via IM. Reply back with "Wednesdays Only" in the subject line.
'There is always this moment, when you take a woman home just to take a woman home, some moment right before it could get awesome but you don't know yet if it will, that you, or maybe not you, but me, gets all still inside. Quiet. And for me, that moment always seems like it lasts forever. And it's enough time for me to live some kind of life from that moment to the end of time and back again. With this woman I've taken home or gone home with, with my one-night stand, someone who isn't mine, but for that one crazy long heartbeat, I want to be mine.'
"You were the first thing I had asked for, just for me, in a long, long time."
'I think it's…rare, to get exactly what it is you ask for. I haven't dated, seriously dated, in a long time because I felt like without even meaning to, I was making some kind of request for some specific kind of love, and instead of that love, the love I needed, I would get another kind. Like, I would need…daisy love, you know, pretty love, sweet love that nonetheless was ubiquitous in roadside ditches in the summertime, and instead I would get orchid love. Love that needed misting and replanting and pruning and fertilizing and died anyway. So I stopped asking, and it was okay, except I've been feeling like I don't have enough…of something. I don't know. And I found your ad. And you put it right there in black and white what you were asking for. But it occurs to me, I don't know if I am what you were asking for. And I haven't been asking for anything.'
He clears his throat. "Carrie?"
"Yeah, Brian?"
"Librarians totally dewey it better."
I whisper to Stacy all the things I loved about her brother, and asked if it would be okay if we shared him. I told her she would always be his little sister, but that I'd like to hang out with him too.
This is, of course, the privilege of love, to bear witness to a strong man's grief over the little sister he could never save, as much as he tried to, with every moment of life.
To live with that fear, and never have any confirmation that anything you did was the right thing? It's astonishing, every kiss he's ever given me.
I will meet you on Wednesdays at noon in Celebration Park. Kissing only. I won’t touch you below the shoulders. You can touch me anywhere. No dating, no hookups. I will meet with you for as long as you meet me, so if you miss a Wednesday we part as strangers. No picture necessary, we can settle details via IM. Reply back with “Wednesdays Only” in the subject line.
“I would slide my hands around to your front, once it came apart, and at first, I would just hold your breasts in my hands, barely touching with my fingertips where the fullness of them spills over your bra.”
I will meet you on Wednesdays at noon in Celebration Park. Kissing only.
I should take his kisses with me and go. But with a seeping, resolute calm, I decide to keep him. I am not losing these Wednesdays, even if I can't have anything else. "Stop. It's okay. Don't explain--I swear it's fine."
"It doesn't have to be." His flush is draining, his eyes clearing. The tendrils of heat between us lose their moorings in the breeze. I shiver.
"But it is." I straighten up. Fix my own glasses. He is looking at me with doubt. "It is." And as soon as I say it, it's true. I go back to feeling tender, but the feeling is overlaid with a new trust, which when I examine that trust later may feel misplaced, but I am fine to act on that trust now.
I have never been gladder for my own uncomplicated life, the simple love I've had from my family and friends, for my interesting daily work and the unencumbered lifestyle I created for myself. I have room for this.
My path is the nice one. The one filled with friends who will smile when I buy their children books for their birthdays. Who will take me out, sometimes, when I call on a random night because I can't settle down. The path with peaceful holidays with my parents, and reasonable work promotions at reasonable times.
The path with nice men, who take me on nice dates where I learn their last names the minute we shake hands at the bar.
A path clear of a man with eyes that drift into some private sorrow. A path that will never lead to a man whose hands shake when he holds my face for a kiss that feels like falling.
"The only thing worse than smug married couple;In some ways, reading this novella reminded me of the dinner party scene in the film Bridget Jones's Diary. Bridget Jones attends a dinner party hosted and filled with seemingly happy (and color-coordinated) married couples, then spends an uncomfortable evening fielding questions and comments about her love life: "You really ought to hurry up and get sprugged up, you know, old girl. Time’s running out. Tick Tock.”; “Seriously now, the office is filled with single girls in their thirties. Fine physical specimens, but they just can’t seem to hold down a chap.”; “Yes, why is it that there are so many unmarried women in their thirties these days, Bridget?”
lots of smug married couples."
-Bridget Jones's Diary
Helen Fielding