Firefly Lane

That was the thing about best friends. Like sisters and mothers, they could piss you off and make you cry and break your heart, but in the end, when the chips were down, they were there, making you laugh even in your darkest hours.

To make real friends you have to put yourself out there. Sometimes people will let you down, but you can't let that stop you. If you get hurt, you just pick yourself up, dust off your feelings, and try again.

That was what a best friend did: hold up a mirror and show you your heart.

And before you barrel through some idiotic Cosmo girl list of how-well-do-you-know-your-man questions, let me say that I don't know squat about him except that he kisses like a god and screws like a devil.

One thing I can tell you for sure is this: we only regret what we don't do in life.

This is the problem with forever friends. They know too much.

Thoughts - even fears - were airy things, formless until you made them solid with your voice and once given that weight, they could crush you.

Of course you can fall in love. You just have to let yourself. They don't call it falling for nothing. -Kate

When you get . . . to the end, you see that love and family are all there is. Nothing else matters.

Do you love him?" How would I know?" You'd know.

I guess no one stays friends for more than thirty years without broken hearts along the way.

What good did it do to light the world on fire if she had to watch the glow alone?

The at-home mother's life: it was a race with no finish line.

Popularity means people think they know you.

She still felt shell-shocked by all of it, numb. Beneath the numbness, though, was a raw and terrible anger that was unlike anything she'd felt before. She had so little experience with genuine anger that it scared her. She actually worried that if she started screaming, she'd never stop.

So now books were her only friends. She'd read Lord of the Rings so often she could recite whole scenes by memory. It was not a skill that aided one in becoming popular.

Then he left her there, standing alone, surrounded by word ghosts; things she could have said.

Nobody's strong enough to be a parent. We just do it, blindly, going forward on faith and love and hope. That's all it is...Being afraid...and going on.

It was true; always had been. Friendships were like marriages in that way. Routines and patterns were poured early and hardened like cement.

Sometimes being a good friend means saying nothing." "I'm supposed to watch her make a mistake?" "Sometimes, yes. And then you stand by to pick up the pieces.

It's never good to sit around and wait for someone of something to change your life.

I thought change started from within." "Sometimes. Sometimes it's forced upon you.

She knew this pain would fade again; like a sunburn, it would heal itself and leave her slightly more protected from the glare.

Their friendship was more important than any relationship. Guys would come and go; girlfriends were forever.

It occurred to her suddenly, sharply, that she wanted to be in love... She wanted not to feel so damned alone in the world.

It felt as if she were bleeding - but it wasn't blood that leaked out of her, not something that could be easily transfused. Instead she was losing her dreams.

Panic always comes to me in the same way. First, I get a knot in the pit of my stomach that turns to nausea, then a fluttery breathlessness that no amount of deep breathing can cure. But what causes my fear is different every day, I never know what will set me off. It could be a kiss from my husband, or the lingering look of sadness in his eyes when he draws back. Sometimes I know he's already grieving for me, missing me even while I'm still here. Worse yet is Marah's quiet acceptance of everything I say. I would give anything for another of our old knock-down drag-out fights. That's one of the first things I'd say to you now, Marah: Those fights were real life. You were struggling to break free of being my daughter but unsure of how to be yourself, while I was afraid to let you go. It's the circle of love. I only wish I'd recognized it then. Your grandmother told me I'd know you were sorry for those years before you did, and she was right. I know you regret some of the things you said to me, as I regret my own words. None of that matters, though. I want you to know that. I love you and I know you love me.

Then he left her there, standing along, surrounded by word ghosts; things she could have said.