The Party Crasher

You can't hold on to things just because of the memories. Otherwise, no one would ever move house. Or country. Or chuck a crap boyfriend. Every crap boyfriend has at least one good memory attached to him. But you have to let them go. Otherwise, you're all, 'Oh, but there was that lovely time we walked in the autumn leaves.

You can't fix something if you're hiding from it.

I would go so far as to say I can't seem to build the life I want without you. Nothing fits.

The option I'd really like," he says matter-of-factly, "is to build a life with you. A strong, put-together kind of life. I know you're pretty good at assembly yourself, probably better than I am, in fact. So maybe it could be... a joint project?

Maybe our family has changed shape. Maybe things aren't exactly like they used to be. And maybe they'll be even more different in the future. But whatever happens, we'll still be us.

A relationship isn't a snapshot. It's a journey

This family may be broken. It may be shattered. But it's my broken, shattered family. And I want to be here, I finally admit to myself. To be at the party, even if I'm invisible. This is the last hurrah, even if no one's cheering. I just can't walk away.

I feel an irrational craving to gaze at his familiar face from this place of safety all night. But I can't. And I'm being stupid, because this isn't old Joe, whom I loved and understood. This is new Joe, who is cruel and inexplicable. They only look the same.

We need to love our hearts

I’ve never understood the “sleep on it” thing. What, have a miserable, sleepless night, brooding on your problem, simply in order to do the thing you were going to do the night before—only now you’ve delayed by twelve hours. How is that a good idea?

A relationship isn’t a snapshot.” He nods down at the phone. “It’s a journey.

I want him. Desperately. Even I simultaneously know that a lot of things I might want in life are not good choices.

You just have to accept it, Effie," says Bean, sounding sad. "I know it's hard. When Hal dumped me, all I wanted was Hal. I wanted him so badly, I thought the universe must give me him. It must." Her voice trembles. "But it didn't. I couldn't have him. I had to have something different. I had to be happy with something different. Otherwise, what am I going to do, just cry my whole life?" She sits up in bed, a ray of moonlight making her eyes glitter. "What are you going to do, cry your whole life?

For someone who looks after hearts, you can be careless. You know you broke mine, don't you?

Yes, I made the mistake of falling in love with a man without any feelings. Now it all makes sense.

Maybe sometimes in life you just miss your chance

Some people are born into roles. Others have roles thrust upon them.

Funny how memories come back - sometimes in dribs and drabs, sometimes in enormous sweeps.

I regret a lot of things, like believing that Joe and I would have grandchildren together one day. But here's the truth: I don't want to "feel it". I'm tired of "feeling it". I need my outer protective layers to click shut, quickly.

Will I be OK?" Krista gives a derisive laugh and swivels to face me. "I've built up a business and I've turned off my mum's life-support machine and I've punched a shark in the face. I think I can cope with this.

At this point, I felt a sudden pang. A yearning to climb up into the tree house again. To lie down on the smooth wooden boards, gaze up at the sky through the open windows and just... remember. But I chose to ignore it. If you listened to every pang, you wouldn't get anywhere in life.

If he does love her, then maybe he's forgotten what love is supposed to be like

You can take a guy to a coffee shop, but you can't make him bare his soul.

We've had some happy times here," says Dad, and a shadow passes over his face as he reaches for his glass. Now that I'm properly close to him, I can see that he looks more lined than the last time I saw him. Older. More worried. Not at all like someone who's "never been happier." He's such a performer, Dad. He can fool his guests and even his own family. But life's difficult, I realize. More difficult than he's been letting on. And I feel a wash of shame. Have I ever asked Dad how he's doing? Have I ever looked at him as a person? Or only as my dad, who was supposed to be superhuman and not get divorced and not sell the house and basically never falter in any way, shape, or form?

His dark, steady gaze is impossible to read. I don't know what he's thinking. Except that he was thinking about me. And that he still has feelings about me. Of some sort. Essentially the same way.

The idea of asking Joe for help makes me wince. It's humiliating. It's opening old wounds. It's my worst option. But it's my only option. Slowly, I draw my phone out of my pocket. I scroll down to Joe's number. And I send him a text. It's very short and to the point. In fact, it just reads: Hi.

He hurt me so much, I can hardly bear to look at him. But if I needed someone to use a scalpel to save my life, he's the one I'd turn to. Like a shot.

He pauses to stretch out his fingers and I'm suddenly transfixed by his hands. Hands which used to roam over me, caress me, make love to me. I know how much emotional intelligence is in those hands. I know how he balances thoughtful, cerebral caution with audacious risk-taking, all without a flicker.

For all that I loved him, I never got to the core of Joe. I never reached his innermost Russian doll. He always kept a part of himself locked well away.

Everything inside me has shifted. I'm stronger. Not only am I able to let go, I'm happy to let go. I'm focused on the future.