When I wake up on Sunday Mornings – late, you always let me sleep in – I come looking for you, and you’re in the backyard with dirt on your knees and two little girls spinning around you in perfect orbit. And you put their hair in pigtails and you let them wear whatever madness they want, and Alice planted a fruit cocktail tree and Noomi ate a butterfly, and they look like me because they’re round and golden, but they glow for you.
To really be a nerd, she’d decided, you had to prefer fictional worlds to the real one.
At the end of the day — after work, after trying to spend some sort of meaningful time with Alice and Noomi –Georgie was usually too tired to make things right with Neal before they fell asleep. So things stayed wrong.
When she opened her door, Levi was sitting in the hallway, his legs bent in front of him, hunched forward on his knees. He looked up when she stepped out.
“I’m such an idiot,
It was the nicest thing she could imagine. It made her want to have his babies and give him both of her kidneys.
She smiled, and her eyes started to drift downward.
Back up to his eyes.
“You know that I’m falling in love with you, right?
The first time he’d held her hand, it felt so good that it crowded out all the bad things. It felt better than anything had ever hurt.
Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.