Kiss Her Once for Me

Prescotts

“I’m not quirky. I have generalized anxiety disorder, and trust me, there is nothing cute about it.”

Andrew drives a Tesla,

“Like, he has floor seats to the Blazers,” Andrew starts, “but did he ever let anyone use his tickets when he was in Europe? Never. The seats would just sit there, empty. And he banned me from the vacation home in France because of one incident involving absinthe, even though what happened to the head on that fountain sculpture wasn’t even my fault. And nothing I did could ever live up to his impossible expectations.”

I stare at his hand, hanging out on my knee uninvited. I’m not sure if this is an old-man-in-a-bathtub situation or simply how allosexual people express gratitude, but I cross my legs so his hand has to fall away.

“I can’t believe I told you to find a himbo and you actually did it. And in a classic Ellie overachiever move, you took it a step further and got engaged. We should talk about your perfectionist tendencies at some point, but I’m honestly proud of you.”

The truth is: the world is full of selfish people who become selfish parents. It’s hard to explain to anyone who grew up with stability and safety and guaranteed love what it’s like to both hate your parents and desperately want their love at the same time.

“This is not a cabin! It’s a fucking ski chalet!”

“Do you usually bake Christmas cookies sober?” they ask, sounding horrified by the thought.

Meemaw swirls her drink and makes a knowing click of her tongue. “Something silly like… the fact that you had sex with my granddaughter last Christmas?”

They’re also wearing a T-shirt that says, “Merry Capitalist Consumer-Driven Corruption of a Pagan Fertility Holiday.” Because there is nothing Dylan Montez loves more than ironic juxtapositions.

I also take a sip of whisky. It tastes like barbecued nail polish remover and goes straight to my head. Why does anyone drink hard alcohol neat?

Simon and Schuster

“For me?” Jack echoes, like she must have misunderstood the cruel irony of that claim. “You lied to me for me?”

“I’m moving forward. I’ve showered. I’ve put on a real bra.” I gesture to my damp hair and fully supported breasts in turn. “Progress is being made.”

“Your mom sucks the most suck of all the people who suck that aren’t, like, war criminals or Republican senators.”

Every single Brideshead housemate is in therapy, and they all refer to their therapists by their first names and talk about them in casual conversation. It’s weird, but in a good way.

“I convinced myself that someone like her could never love someone like me, so I self-sabotaged in the most epic way possible by assuming we weren’t meant to last. And I did that twice.”

(“A hedge fund?” I asked. To which Dylan scoffed, “I know, I truly can’t take him anywhere in this city anymore.”)