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THE TRUTH ABOUT FOREVER SARAH DESSEN EBOOK

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Read "The Truth About Forever" by Sarah Dessen available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first purchase. From the award-winning and. Editorial Reviews. myavr.info Review. With her sixth novel, award-winning author Sarah Look inside this book. The Truth About Forever by [Dessen, Sarah]. htmlTHE TRUTH ABOUT FOREVERAlso by SARAH DES SARAH DESSEN . myavr.info THE TRUTH ABOUT FOREVER Also by About this Title This eBook was created using ReaderWorks®Publisher


The Truth About Forever Sarah Dessen Ebook

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The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen. Read online, or download in secure EPUB format. From the award-winning and New York Times bestselling author of Once and for All Expect the unexpected. Macy's got her whole summer carefully planned. The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen. Read an Excerpt. Buy. Look Inside | Reading Buy the Ebook: Kobo · Barnes & Noble · Apple · Books A Million.

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For enquiries regarding the delivery of your order, contact Star Track Customer Service on 13 23 45 - and quote the above consignment number. If you have not received any information after contact with Star Track, please contact us to confirm that the address for delivery logged with us are correct. I haven't enjoyed the side characters this much since maybe On the Jellicoe Road , I haven't cheered as much for the main characters since Anna and the French Kiss , I haven't cared this much for someone's as a character death since Winter Longing or The Hunger Games as a matter of fact..

Oh God, I simply love it! This is a story about loss, and I understand it; This is a story about first love, and remember it; This is a story about beginnings, and I am already there; This is a story about real life, and I am living it This is one of those beautiful books that I will grab some other time and read it again, and I really hope that I will be able to feel the same emotions, that I am going to love it even more.. I liked the way every character in the story handled the loss in their life and how different their choices were: I understood her friendship with Wes, how good it felt for her to talk to someone that could understand her and her fears, someone who could take the pain away with only an embrace, or a word, or an understanding smile.

She knew how strong her pain was, and she learned how to live with it I liked the comparison with the hole in the road, I could understand her better - Macy's sister was probably more like me. She was the one crying her heart out at the beginning, and after that she was the one trying to put the pieces of her life and even theirs back together.

Now about the love story, oh, it was precious. Macy and Wes are adorable, too adorable for words. It was such a slow development, in the best possible way, it made me feel like a teenager again, falling in love for the first time.. I loved their truth game and the way they kept finding out things about each other, it was nice to see how perfectly they fit together, how close they became day by day. There are few couples in the YA literature that made me feel so much joy and sadness for them.

It's just crazy how beautiful this book really is. And now I'm at a loss for words, so go read the book and then tell the world how much you love it, because I bet you will, with all your heart. View all 30 comments. Feb 27, K. Absolutely rated it it was ok Recommended to K. TFG Favorite Books edition. I thank this book for giving me an important insight on what could be going on in the mind of a year old girl in today's world.

You see, I am a father of a girl of that same age. The age of the Macy , the narrator-main protagonist of this book. My daughter is my only child. For the past 16 years, I have been trying to be a good father. But what is a good father? Since there is no school in good parenting, most of my styles come from what I thought were the good points my father showed me or wha I thank this book for giving me an important insight on what could be going on in the mind of a year old girl in today's world.

Since there is no school in good parenting, most of my styles come from what I thought were the good points my father showed me or what I thought he should have done or showed to me but he did not.

This could be wrong. So, times, indeed changed already. Macy loves his father. They run together every morning. The father dies of heart attack one morning when Macy is too lazy getting up from bed. So, Macy thinks that her father would still be alive if she was not lazy that morning. She blames herself but she doesn't tell this to anyone. As an outlet for this guilt, she tries to excel in everything she does: She thinks that by being excellent, she will be able to please her dead father and that somehow will ease up her guilt.

Since the birth of my daughter, I've been trying to be a hands-on dad. When I was growing up, my father was almost always at home because he was a plantation owner so he did not have to work at all. So, in a way, he was there when I needed him but just like many "traditional" fathers: He stayed seven years in college but was not a diligent my impression student and I could not remember an instance when he helped me with my homework except to correct my grammar or pronunciation when I read aloud my speeches prepared as required by my teachers.

I knew that my father was proud of us when we got good grades, medals or distinctions for excellent performance in school but he did not show any emotion in front of us. I thought that I would have been happier as a child if he jumped up and down when I bought home medals from school or when it was announced that I was in the top 4 of my graduating clss in high school. So, when I became a father, I was like that.

Always jumping up and down and really appreciative of whatever good news my daughter told me. Each day. Each school report card. Each school year. I always tried attending her school events. I was always eager listening to whatever news she brought home from school. High school. Little did I know that she was feeling the pressure. She thought that I was expecting too much from her.

She thought that I would like her to achieve what I achieved. I knew this not even from my wife but from my wife's older sister who was closed to my daughter. So, where did I go wrong? Where is that balance between too little and too much? Where is that point to strike and the seesaw will stand still?

She thinks that Jason does not love her despite her trying to do her best in her work in the library. She feels the pressure that she has brought to herself. She assumes so many things that the unnecessary emotions have bottled up and so the seesaw is not balanced and her feelings are all mixed up and her life is in turmoil. I'm too old to appreciate her romance with the tattooed Wes and I did not really care about his dark past.

Maybe my daughter would love this book. But for me, I still liked this but not for that reason, that same reason why my Goodreads friends, liked this. I read this as a father and I liked it. Thank you, Tina, for recommending this book. Thank you, Sheryl for lending me this copy!

Thank you, Maria for being my reading buddy. I struggled finishing this book. I felt the pressure but it was worth it! Thank you! View all 33 comments. Daniela I was very emotional about your review. Even though my father has never been interested in my life, I have a spectacular mother and best friend who I was very emotional about your review. Even though my father has never been interested in my life, I have a spectacular mother and best friend who is just like you.

Thank you for being there for your daughter, and for making me feel the appreciation. Sometimes we take things for granted! Taylor Can you clarify how a 2 star rating aligns with you actually enjoying this book? In my experience, 2 stars is NOT a good rating? May 24, View all 4 comments.

This was one of my favorite books in early high school and still stands out as one of the first true YA books I ever found. I'm doing this book for Penguin's ReadADessen blog tour right now and am all sorts of nostalgic.

Macy's still trying to recover from her father's sudden death that she witnessed over a year ago. She's tried to make herself as perfect as possible so life can be safe and predictable, but she still feels inadequate.

Her boyfriend looks ideal on paper super smart and spending This was one of my favorite books in early high school and still stands out as one of the first true YA books I ever found. Her boyfriend looks ideal on paper super smart and spending his summer at Brain Camp , but is actually seriously boring in person. So enter the awesome characters: Delia and her catering crew of Wes, Bert, Monica, and Kristy. They're working an event at Macy's house and end up offering her a job when she steps in to help them.

She initially refuses, but then accepts and gets swept up in this eclectic new family she's found. I loved this crew so much in high school that I went out and catered a few events, no joke. Throughout the story the new friends help Macy drop her "perfect" facade, relax more with the unknown in life, and start to really be herself. Wes is my favorite Dessen guy for sure no wait He and Macy have an ongoing question game that's all sorts of adorable.

The romance kind of took a backseat to the main story, but I really liked that in this case. Everything worked. The story is ultimately a journey of healing as the characters all deal with grief in different ways.

I thought it was super touching and really well done overall. The whole story has this really peaceful, contemplative tone that I really loved in high school. My top two Dessen recommendations will always be this book and Just Listen! Thank you to the publisher for sending me a finished copy. View all 9 comments. Dec 03, Nat rated it liked it Shelves: So the queen of the genre, aka Sarah Dessen, had to make a comeback for my next reread.

Reading this made me recall how I achingly miss that feeling of fun and ease those iconic books that scream of summer provided when I needed it the most. I mean, remembering my reading experience of these books now feels like sifting through teen memories, and even though I didn't encounter the described events personally, I experienced so much joy reading them that they simply feels like mine.

And it's exactly this rush of emotion that I haven't felt in a while with a YA book. Now, I definitely feel the keen need to revisit more of the kind in the near future. But in the meantime, I've compiled a list of things I adored within this reread: I definitely had to rearrange my expectations when it came to them since I recalled the dynamics between the crew a tad different, but still, they were so good.

And the weirdest thing was, they did. Although even when I was standing right there I couldn't say how. So Kristy makes sure to pass onto Macy her confidence. You're smart, you're gorgeous, you're a good person. I mean, what makes him such a catch, anyway? Who is he to judge? Because anyone that can make you feel that bad about yourself is toxic, you know? Or what I let him do. It was hard to say. Who doesn't see you as a project, but a prize. You know? What sucks is how you can't even see it.

I've played a game of tag for 23 years. The game came from a bad period in life that later blossomed into a more concrete focal point for the brothers. It pretty much came from us living alone in the house after my mom died.

It was really quiet, so it was easy to sneak around. Armageddon club , was a huge sa-woon worthy moment for me. He untangled the tie, smoothing the ends. He reached up, plucking the piece of tissue off his brother's face, then straightened the tie again. There's a chicken dinner and dessert. It's all paid for. And then the it also hit a bit of a rut when the catering crew, who were one of the biggest highlights for me, didn't appear in the following scenes. Overall, I had a nice walk down memory lane by rereading The Truth About Forever , but the memory of the book still holds more appeal for me than the actual book.

I did, however, really enjoy this Rex Orange County song that gets the mood of this read. These next lines, in particular: I'll find a spot that's just for me and see if I can cope without An ounce of pain, without an ounce of pain Said the likelihood just frightens me and it's easier to hide But I can't ignore it endlessly, eventually things die Note: Support creators you love.

Buy a Coffee for nat bookspoils with Ko-fi. View 1 comment. I loved everything about it: Macy, Wes oh Wes , and everybody of the Wish Catering crew.

The plot was cute and exciting and even though it is easily predictable I mean, that's why we read these kind of books , it was simply perfect. Find more of my books on Instagram. View all 7 comments. What a sweet and lovely story!

This was my first book by Miss Dessen, and will not likely be my last. The writing is engaging and effortless--and the way the author realistically tackles grief is encouraging. Macy is a teen who strives for the impossible--perfection. Her father's sudden death has impaired her relationship with her mother, to whom she barely speaks. Her 'braniac', emotionless boyfriend who possesses the personality of a twig leaves her for summer camp The relationship between Macy and Wes was tender and I enjoyed their ongoing, adorable game of 'truth.

The secondary characters were fun and also struggled internally--proving that imperfection is not only acceptable, but endearing. This story left me with a smile and a warm heart. Its messages of hope, overcoming grief, and finding love were ones I hope to instill in my own daughter. Very charming book, and perfectly appropriate for teens. Book Stats: Well developed and layered. A broken girl finds hope in friendship and young love.

Beautiful, effortless, engaging. I'd tried to hold myself apart, showing only what I wanted, doling out bits and pieces of who I was. But that only works for so long. Eventually, even the smallest fragments can't help but make a whole. Now that I finally have some time to put together a little bit of a coherent review, I'm excited to give a little more explanation to my thoughts. I've been seeing this author on the shelves of every big bookstore for years and never gave her a second look.

And while I think that there was som I'd tried to hold myself apart, showing only what I wanted, doling out bits and pieces of who I was. And while I think that there was something missing that made this an absolute perfect and epic win for me, it also touched me in a way not many books do Maybe that's what you got when you stood over your grief, facing it finally. A sense of its depths, its area, the distance across, and the way over or around it, whichever you chose in the end.

This was an absolute favorite for me last year and an absolute shock. It wasn't particularly fast paced nor was it action packed. But every word, every page, every moment implanted itself into my heart and stole my breath.

However, it lacked all those intense, tugging emotions that made IMUT an emotionally packed gut punch. Leaning out my window, at the odd angle I was, I found myself almost level with the top of his head. A second later, when he looked up at me, we were face to face, and again, even under these circumstances, I was struck by how good looking he was, in that accidental, doesn't-even-know-it kind of way.

Which only made it worse. Or better. Or whatever. When what I wanted to happen happened, it certainly made me a total fangirl, but by then I had invested a ton of time and wanted a little more. Does that make sense? I appreciated and loved the slow, syrupy feel of Dessen's world and her writing, but it lacked one key emotion to make me a forever fan: The silence wasn't like the ones I'd known lately, though: There's an entirely different feel to quiet when you're with someone else, and at any moment it could be broken.

Like the difference between a pause and an ending. Probably my other large gripe was our main character's mother. Come on. Grief does absolutely horrible, dreadful, unspeakable things to a person, but I don't think when your daughter is sitting there telling you how much she likes people and how good they are that her kinds of reactions were necessary.

A little naivety? Blase tone? But that utter disregard for her daughter's feelings? It bothered me far more than I'm even letting on now.

Always there for her, always making her see herself the way she deserves to be seen. And I think that's my favorite part about Wes-He doesn't belittle her. He always makes her search deep within herself for what makes her happy and not other people.

And he never makes her feel small. He is just one of those perfect guys and you can't help but to love him from the moment you meet him-no matter how small his part is, at first.

Events conspired to bring you back to where you'd been. It was what you did then that made all the difference: Now, I know I didn't say much, but I just had to say more than what I did below. This book, while not a heart-stopping and pulse-pounding thriller by any means, is a great coming of age story. And hell, I'm 26 years old and I found some value in the deep, heartfelt words this author wrote through the eyes and mind of Macy.

We all can stand to learn something about ourselves and become introspective even if just for a moment. As it is, this book, while not an absolute favorite, came at a time where I looked deep within myself and saw a little of Macy. I don't want to live a life where I'm living for others and not myself What better way to get impartial advice than reading a wonderful book? There is no better way. For more of my reviews, please visit: Extremely well-written and a lot deeper than I really thought it would be I was shocked.

It wasn't until I really got where I wanted to be in terms of the story that I realized I had been holding my breath in anticipation A tad slow in places, but building up to something deep , meaningful, and heartfelt. I need more books like this in my life-It's the same description I've used for other books, but I'll say it again: It was like sitting on the front porch on a hot summer day sipping lemonade with a light breeze.

It was just that kind of book. And this Wes?? Such a totally believable good guy who wasn't over the top perfect that I couldn't help but wish I had met him first. Sweet, kind, attentive, and only wants what is best for Macy. I fell in love with him slowly.. RTC, maybe. Depends how my weekend goes! View all 23 comments. Dec 27, Adrienne rated it really liked it Recommended to Adrienne by: It took work. Now, my hair had to be just right, lying flat in all the right places.

If my skin was not cooperating, I bargained with it, applying concealer and a slight layer of foundation, smoothing out all the red marks and dark circles. I could spend a full half hour getting the shadowing just right on my eyes, curling and recurling my eyelashes, making sure each was lifted and separated as the mascara wand moved over them, darkening, thickening.

I moisturized. I flossed. I stood up straight. I was fine. I pulled the comb through my hair, then stepped back from the mirror, letting it fall into the part again. Finally: perfect. And just in time. When I came downstairs, my mother was standing by the door, greeting a couple who was just coming in with her selling smile: confident but not off-putting, welcoming but not kiss-ass.

Like me, my mother put great stock in her appearance. In real estate, as in high school, it could make or break you. My mother always had these cocktail parties when she needed to sell, believing the best way to assure people she could build their dream house was to show off her own. It was a good gimmick, even if it did mean having strangers traipsing through our downstairs.

And if it looks like we're running low on brochures, go out and get another box from the garage. Please come in. I'm so glad you could make it! But part of selling was treating everyone like a familiar face. Did you see that all the units come with two-car garages? You know, a lot of people don't even realize how much difference a heated garage can make.

But when you had to do something, you had to do it. And eventually, if you were lucky, you did it well. Queen Homes, which my dad had started right out of college as a one-man trim carpenter operation, already had a good business reputation when he met my mother. Actually, he hired her. She was fresh out of college with an accounting degree, and his finances were a shambles. She'd come in, waded through his paperwork and receipts many of which were on bar napkins and matchbooks , handled a close call with the IRS he'd "forgotten" about his taxes a few years earlier , and gotten him into the black again.

Somewhere in the midst of all of it, they fell in love. They were the perfect business team: he was all charm and fun and everyone's favorite guy to buy a beer.

The Truth About Forever (Kobo eBook)

My mother was happy busying herself with file folders and The Bigger Picture. Together, they were unstoppable.

Wildflower Ridge, our neighborhood, had been my mother's vision. They'd done small subdivisions and spec houses, but this would be an entire neighborhood, with houses and townhouses and apartments, a little business district, everything all enclosed and fitted around a common green space.

A return to communities, my mother had said. The wave of the future. My dad wasn't sold at first. But he was getting older, and his body was tired. This way he could move into a supervisory position and let someone else swing the hammers. So he agreed. Two months later, they were breaking ground on the first house: ours. They worked in tandem, my parents, meeting potential clients at the model home. My dad would run through the basic spiel, tweaking it depending on what sort of people they were: he played up his Southern charm for Northerners, talked NASCAR and barbeque with locals.

He was knowledgeable, trustworthy. Of course you wanted him to build your house. Hell, you wanted him to be your best friend. Then, the hard selling done, my mom would move in with the technical stuff like covenants, specifications, and prices. The houses sold like crazy. It was everything my mother said it would be. Until it wasn't. I knew she blamed herself for his death, thought that maybe it was the added stress of Wildflower Ridge that taxed my dad's heart, and if she hadn't pushed him to expand so much everything would have been different.

This was our common ground, the secret we shared but never spoke aloud. I should have been with him; she should have left him alone. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

It's so easy in the past tense. But here in the present, my mother and I had no choice but to move ahead. We worked hard, me at school, her at outselling all the other builders. We parted our hair cleanly and stood up straight, greeting company—and the world—with the smiles we practiced in the quiet of our now-too-big dream house full of mirrors that showed the smiles back.

But under it all, our grief remained. Sometimes she took more of it, sometimes I did.

But always, it was there. I'd just finished directing an irate woman with a red-wine stain on her shirt to the powder room—one of the catering staff had apparently bumped into her, splashing her cabernet across her outfit—when I noticed the stack of fliers on the foyer table was looking a bit low. Grateful for any excuse to escape, I slipped outside. I went down the front walk, cutting around the caterer's van in the driveway. The sun had just gone down, the sky pink and orange behind the line of trees that separated us from the apartments one phase over.

Summer was just starting. Once that had meant early track practice and long afternoons at the pool perfecting my backflip. This summer, though, I was working. Patrons of the Lakeview Branch had gotten accustomed to him doing everything from finding that obscure book on Catherine the Great to fixing the library computers when they crashed.

They loved him for the same reason I did: he had all the answers. He also had a cult following, particular-ly among his co-workers, who were both girls and both brilliant. They'd never taken kindly to me as Jason's girlfriend, seeing as how, in their eyes, I wasn't even close to their intellectual level, much less his. I'd had a feeling that their acceptance of me as a sudden co-worker wouldn't be much warmer, and I was right.

During my training, they snickered as he taught me the intricate ins and outs of the library search system, rolled their eyes in tandem when I asked a question about the card catalog. Jason had hardly noticed, and when I pointed it out to him, he got impatient, as if I was wasting his time. That's not what you should be worrying about, he said.

Not knowing how to reference the tri-county library database quickly in the event of a system crash: nowthat would be a problem. He was right, of course. He was always right. But I still wasn't looking forward to it.

The Truth About Forever

Once I got to the garage, I went to the shelves where my mom kept her work stuff, moving a stack of for sale and model open signs aside to pull out another box of fliers. The front door of the house was open, and I could hear voices drifting over, party sounds, laughing, and glasses clinking.

I hoisted up the box and cut off the overhead light. Then I headed back to the party and bathroom duty. I was passing the garbage cans when someone jumped out at me from the bushes. Say what you will, but you're never prepared for the surprise attack. It defines the very meaning of taking your breath away: I was gasping. For a second, it was very quiet. A car drove by. Aren't I? He had a serving platter tucked under his arm. As he got closer he squinted, making me out in the semi-dark.

Not me," he said. Now that he was right in front of me, I could see that he was tall and had brown hair that was a little bit too long. He was also strikingly handsome, with the sort of sculpted cheekbones and angular features that you couldn't help but notice, even if you did have a boyfriend. To me he said, "You okay? My heart was still racing, but I was recovering. He stood there, studying the bush, then stuck his hand right into its center.

A second later, he pulled another guy, this one shorter and chunkier but dressed identically, out through the foliage. He had the same dark eyes and hair, but looked younger. His face was bright red. He reached up and picked a pine needle out of his hair. The older guy nudged him, then nodded toward the fliers. He started to pick them up, his fingers scratching the pavement, as the other guy walked a bit down the driveway, picking up the ones that had slid there.

A second later the door swung open. She was pregnant, and was squinting out into the dark with a curious, although somewhat impatient, expression. He handed them to me. The more they drink, the less they'll notice how long the food is taking. The woman ran her hand over her belly, distracted, then looked back out into the dark. She turned around, then stuck her head over the side of the rail. So get your butt in here, please, okay? Bert came out from under the deck, organizing the fliers he was holding into a stack, then handed them to me.

He had a chubby face and a wide nose, and his hair was thick and too short, like it had been cut at home. He was watching me so intently, as if he wanted to be sure I understood, that it took me a second to look away. Then he backed up to the stairs and started up them quickly. When he got to the top, he glanced back down at me. Although I had a feeling he meant it. And then he was gone. When I got inside, my mother was deep in some conversation about zoning with a couple of contractors.

I refreshed the fliers, then directed a man who was a bit stumbly and holding a glass of wine he probably didn't need to the bathroom. I was scanning the living room for stray empty glasses when there was a loud crash from the kitchen.

Everything in the front of the house stopped. The very air. Or so it felt. My mother smiled her way across the room, then put a hand on the small of my back, easing me toward the foyer. Could you go and convey that, please? Then I noticed that the floor was littered with small round objects, some at a standstill, some rolling slowly to the four corners of the room. A little girl in pigtails, who looked to be about two or three, was standing by the sink, fingers in her mouth and wide eyed as several of the marblelike objects moved past her.

She sighed. Bert, now leafless and looking somewhat composed, breezed in carrying a tray filled with wadded-up napkins and empty glasses. Take the cheese puffs and tell them we're traying the crab cakes up right now. He sidestepped her, heading for the counter, and, unhappy, she plopped down into a sitting position and promptly started wailing. Where's Monica? Delia made an exasperated face. Find a broom and get up these meatballs… and we need to get some more of these cheese puffs in, and Bert needs… what else did you need?

And Wes needs ice. Lucy, please, don't slobber on Mommy… And the ice is… oh, shit, I don't know where the ice is. Where did we put the bags we bought?

She had long honey-blonde hair and was slouching as she ambled over to the oven. She pulled it open, a couple of inches at a time, then glanced inside before shutting it again and making her way over to the island, still moving at a snail's pace. She started scooping up the meatballs into the dustpan as Monica made her way back to the oven, pausing entirely too long to pick up a pot holder on her way.

It was quiet for a second, but something told me this was not my opening. I stayed put, scraping meatball off my shoe. Here I go. We need more servers, by the way. People are grabbing at me like you wouldn't believe. Putting down the dustpan, Delia moved to the island, grabbing a spatula, and began, with one hand, to load crab cakes onto the plate at lightning speed.

Just walk slowly andlook where you're going, and be careful with liquids, please God I'm begging you, okay? She picked up the tray, adjusted it on her hand, and headed off around the corner, taking her time. Delia watched her go, shaking her head, then turned her attention back to the meatballs, scooping the few remaining into the dustpan and chucking them into the garbage can.

Her daughter was still sniffling, and she was talking to her, softly, as she walked to a metal cart by the side door, pulling out a tray covered with Saran Wrap. As she crossed the room she balanced it precariously on her free hand, her walk becoming a slight waddle. I had never seen anyone so in need of help in my life. Then she smiled. Who are you? This is my mom's house. I had a feeling she knew what was coming. I took a breath. And to convey that she's—" "Incredibly pissed," she finished for me, nodding.

Delia glanced over at the door, just as the toddler started wailing again. Actually, I was betting this was an understatement. I felt nervous enough just watching all this: I couldn't imagine being responsible for it. We know where we stand. Now things can only get better. Just then, the oven timer went off with a cheerfulbing!

Can you answer a question? And repeat. After her second spill she'd been restricted to carrying only solids, a status further amended to just trash and empty glasses once she'd bumped into the banister and sent half a tray of cheese puffs down the front of some man's shirt. You'd think moving slowly would make someone less accident prone.

Clearly, Monica was bucking this logic. Frankly, Delia had astounded me. After acknowledging the hopelessness of her situation, she had immediately righted it, putting in two more trays of canapes, getting the ice from the cooler, and soothing her daughter to sleep, all in about three minutes.

Like her mantra of Oh-please-God-I'm-begging-you-okay; she just did all she could, and eventually something just worked. It was impressive. Delia rolled her eyes as I slid another tray into the oven. We are usually the model of professionalism and efficiency. Delia shot her a look. You know that feeling? You have no idea, I thought. Out loud I said, "Yeah.

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There you are! Behind her, Monica had finally cleared her tray and was dragging herself across the room, the tray bumping against her knee. Delia must have sensed this, too, as she picked up a dish towel, wiping her hands, and turned to face my mother, a calm expression on her face.

You don't have to say anything more. I'd like to forgo your remaining balance in the hopes that you might consider us again for another one of your events.

We're right here. Then he recognized me. Between Delia's heartfelt "sorry" and my exchange with Bert, I could see she was struggling to keep up. The foodis wonderful. When my mother left the kitchen, Delia came over, pot holder in hand, and took the tray as I slid it out of the oven.

But you'd better go out there with your mom. But you should go anyway. In her car seat, Lucy shifted slightly, mumbling to herself, then fell quiet again. I could always use someone who can take directions and walk in a straight line. But if for some reason you're craving chaos, call me. Bert stood by impatiently, waiting for his tray, while Delia asked Monica to God, please, try and pick up the pace a little, I'm begging you.

They'd forgotten about me already, it seemed. But for some reason, I wanted to answer her anyway.

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My mother locked the door behind him, took off her shoes, and, after kissing my forehead and thanking me, headed off to her office to assemble packets for people who had signed the yes! Contacts were everything, I'd learned. You had to get to people fast, or they'd slip away. Thinking this, I went up to my room and checked my email. At the very end, he said he was too tired to write more and he'd be in touch in a couple of days.

Then just his name, no "love. Jason wasn't the type for displays of affection, either verbal or not. He was disgusted by couples that made out in the hallways between classes, and got annoyed at even the slightest sappy moments in movies.

But I knew that he cared about me: he just conveyed it more subtly, as concise with expressing this emotion as he was with everything else. It was in the way he'd put his hand on the small of my back, for instance, or how he'd smile at me when I said something that surprised him.

Once I might have wanted more, but I'd come around to his way of thinking in the time we'd been together. And we were together, all the time. So he didn't have to do anything to prove how he felt about me. Like so much else, I should just know. But thiswas the first time we were going to be apart for more than a weekend since we'd gotten together, and I was beginning to realize that the small reassurances I got in person would not transfer over to email.

But he loved me, and I knew that. I'd just have to remember it now. After I logged off, I opened my window and crawled out onto the roof, sitting against one of the shutters with my knees pulled up to my chest. I'd been out there for a little while, looking at the stars, when I heard voices coming up from the driveway. A car door shut, then another. Peering over the edge, I saw a few people moving around the Wish Catering van as they packed up the last of their things.

It's only a matter of time before it hits us. I mean, they don't talk about these things on the news. But that doesn't mean it's nothappening. I recognized his voice, a bit high-pitched and anxious, before I made him out, standing by the back of the van. He was talking to someone who was sitting on the bumper smoking a cigarette, the tip of which was bright and red in the murky dark.

Had to be Monica. I'd hardly seen him that night, as he'd worked the bar in the den. Just because you prefer to stay in the dark—" "Are we ready to go? She had the car seat dangling from one hand, and Wes walked up and took it from her.

From where I was sitting, I could make out clearly the top of his head, the white of his shirt. Then, as if sensing this, he leaned his head back, glancing up.

I slid back against the wall. Probably should bother me, but frankly, I'm too pregnant and exhausted to care. Who has the keys? I've had my permit for a year! I'm taking the test in a week! And I have to have some more practice before I get the Bertmobile. But it's been a long night and right now I just want to get home, okay?

Next time, it's all you. But for now, just let your brother drive. Someone coughed. I leaned back over to see Wes and Bert still standing at the back of the van. Bert was kicking at the ground, clearly sulking, while Wes stood by impassively. Now I knew for sure that they were brothers. They looked even more alike to me, although the similarities—skin tone, dark hair, dark eyes—were distributed on starkly different builds. Even lazy Monotone got to last week, but never me.

But don't push this issue now, man. It's late. Wes followed him, clapping a hand on his back. I froze.I definitely recommend this book to anyone who is like me and wants to be more like Macy.

I am definitely a fan of Wes and Macy's! Only I was witness to those, always at night, usually from the comfort of my own bed. If my skin was not cooperating, I bargained with it, applying concealer and a slight layer of foundation, smoothing out all the red marks and dark circles.

As long as the grill was gassed up and working, he was happy. It seemed like he could go on forever, but then he stopped and looked at me. The first time was at the hospital.

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