Chestnut Springs Quotes

You’ll be fine. You’re 25. Feeling [unsure] and lost is part of your path. Don’t avoid it. See what those feelings are showing you and use it. Take a breath. You’ll be okay. Even if you don’t feel okay all the time.

If this were my last moment alive, how would I want it to be?

What the hell is the cowboy hat rule? You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.

Save a horse, ride a cowboy.

Everything's amazing right now, and nobody's happy.

Willa might be a bit of a psycho—after all, she did just push a child into the pool—but the more time I spend with her, the more I feel like she’s my psycho.

She and I really are binary stars, stuck in each other’s orbit, drawn together by forces we can’t see or understand—but that we can feel.

You don’t tell a person you love them with the expectation they’ll say it back. You tell them because you want to. You tell them because it’s true.

And I realize in that moment maybe I am heartless after all, because the beautiful girl with the copper hair grinning back at me right now is the one who stole it.

Life lesson, shithead. Careful who you pick a fight with. Someone insane might love him.

You were out there this whole time, and now I know you exist, and I can never go back. Wouldn’t want to if I could.

It strikes me that perhaps I’m not an easy woman to love, but Theo does it so effortlessly that I feel like I could be. Like I deserve to be.

I could fucking bury whoever made you believe you’re as unlovable as you seem to think.

It means . . . I live you. Like I see you everywhere, you are in everything. Our connection is more than physical.

Times have changed, Sloane. I’m not scared anymore. You’re not my fucking friend. You’re just mine.

I think people mistake you being in a bad mood when you’re just overwhelmed. I think you needed to lie here for a few minutes with no one needing you. I think you’re overstimulated and even the best of us require some time to collect ourselves.

Princess, you look like you were made for me." "I feel like I was made for you.

Don’t you get it, Jas? I’ve seen all the darkest parts of you and I’m still here. I still want more. Stop trying to scare me away. It isn’t going to work.

I don’t care. Don’t you get it? I’m in love with you, Willa. Prickly legs, random carrots in your purse, pregnant, not pregnant. I want you.

Please don’t cry. I fucking hate it when you cry. It’s like a bullet to my chest.” “Taken many bullets, have you?” My voice is weak, and I hate that. “No,” he husks, “but I would. For you, I would.

Have you tried talking to him?” I blink at her. “Talking?” “Yes. You know . . . where you use your mouth to create words that describe what’s going through your head.” “Sounds weird. Sounds awkward. Don’t like it. Not approved by me.

Willa: You only live once, you know. This is a story you could tell your kids one day. Summer: What the fuck kind of stories do you plan on telling your children, Wils?

The answer is no. None of that shit matters. Because we’re me and you. We’re us. Unlikely and inevitable all at once. We’re forever.

Watch your fucking tone when you’re talking to the mother of my child.

Choosing each other. Finding each other. Showing up for each other. And everything about the moment is flawless.

I just remembered that he called me the morning after you two first got together. And do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘Mom, I met her.’ And I said, ‘Who?’ He said, ‘The woman I’m going to marry one day.

Careful, that one’s got claws,” Cade offers right as Willa shoves a pointy elbow into his ribs. I grin. “That’s okay. I like having my back scratched.

You’ve got me, Princess. Only you, I promise,

I love your freckles,” he murmurs from behind me, the pad of his finger tracing lines across the expanse of my back. “They remind me of all the constellations. Like I could draw lines between them, and pictures would appear.

See, Sloane? You can wear someone else’s ring, but we both know you’ve always been mine.

I’m done pretending to be head over heels in love with you because I’m legitimately head over heels in love with you. And acting like I’m not tears me up.

You have to freak out with me because I need you. And I love you. I love you so much it paralyzes me to think of carrying on without you. You’re not allowed to shut me out. Because you made me need you, and now you have to deal with the consequences.

You are not a burden. You are not a waste of time. You are very wanted. And anyone who makes you feel you’re anything less deserves Rhett Eaton’s fist to their face. Or yours. You can hit back too, you know? I’ll bail you out every fucking time.

I don’t know. New sounds scary. It sounds like failure.

Hey, Willa?” “Hey, Luke,” I reply dryly, since the be quiet part obviously didn’t register. “Sometimes I wish you were my mom.

Keep talking like that and I’m going to fuck the filth right out of your pretty mouth.

I’ll take a boozy brunch with my bestie and a dirty book in bed by eight for a thousand, Alex.

If we’re struggling, we’re still in motion, yeah? Heading somewhere better. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.

For too long, I was a soft, demure little dove. And then they burned me. Scorched me. Turns out I’m a dragon and I’m fed the fuck up with boys and their bullshit.

Beau: Willa doesn’t run my show. Cade: You must be new here. Willa runs everyone’s show.

Nah, Sunny. You’re my only girl.

You know what I'm sick of, Summer?" "What's that?" "Having you think I'm out fucking everything that moves when I've looked at nothing and no one since the first day I laid eyes on you. I stepped into that godforsaken boardroom, and you practically demanded I become obsessed with you.

I must have a stupid smile on my face as I stare back at him because I feel an elbow nudge against mine. “It’s nice to see someone looking at Cade like that. Defending him like that,” Jasper says. “Like they can see him for who he is rather than the man circumstances forced him to become.

I can’t wait to be old and retired and say things just to see how people will react to get my kicks. That’s the dream right there.

Sometimes we seize the moment, and sometimes it seizes us.

We’re often blind to the people we love the most.

Did Winter say something to you? Do we like her? Do we hate her? Am I supposed to be mad at something with you? Because I will be if you are. Just tell me how to be supportive.

Beg.” “Pardon me?” “You heard me.” Her lips don’t even twitch. She’s not joking at all. “Beg.

It bothers me that what we’re doing here can be filed away as fake when it’s the most real thing I’ve felt in my life.

What’s happening is Miss Independent met the treat-her-like-a-princess guy, and she’s freaking out.

Sunny, you’re gonna make me lose my mind.” “Good,” I murmur against his mouth. “We’ll be insane together. I’m so tired of doing it alone.

I’m definitely in my country-boy era.

You do know you’re in love with that girl, don’t you?” “Yeah, Mom. I know.

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

That’s everyone, Tink. You’ve ruined me. Don’t you get it? I only see you. You’ve got all my attention. Every last bit of it.

Sounds like her loss, because you might be the coolest kid I’ve ever met.” She doesn’t use a sad voice, or a baby voice, she just talks to him like a normal human being. “Fucking hell,” I curse under my breath because she just practically hired herself.

One more championship and maybe I'll take my gold buckle and hang up my hat. Preferably on Summer Hamilton's head.

With everyone around me screaming his name and cheering for him, someone who’s been theirs for over a decade now, he feels like mine. Because he’s staring at me.

Not a big fan of sharing something once I decide it’s mine.

That night he dreamt of horses in a field on a high plain where the spring rains had brought up the grass and the wildflowers out of the ground and the flowers ran all blue and yellow far as the eye could see and in the dream he was among the horses running and in the dream he himself could run with the horses and they coursed the young mares and fillies over the plain where their rich bay and their rich chestnut colors shone in the sun and the young colts ran with their dams and trampled down the flowers in a haze of pollen that hung in the sun like powdered gold and they ran he and the horses out along the high mesas where the ground resounded under their running hooves and they flowed and changed and ran and their manes and tails blew off of them like spume and there was nothing else at all in that high world and they moved all of them in a resonance that was like a music among them and they were none of them afraid neither horse nor colt nor mare and they ran in that resonance which is the world itself and which cannot be spoken but only praised.

He’s constantly trying to blend into the background, but even when he’s hiding, I see him.

You heard me, Red. You keep barking at me like that and I’m going to put you on your knees, open those strawberry lips, and fuck your face just to shut you up.

I love you, Sloane Winthrop. I always have. I love you so damn hard I don’t even know what to do with it. You’re my person. And I think I’m yours too.” “You have always been my person,” she chokes out. “I love you so much.

I loved you the moment you walked into that boardroom and smirked at me like you knew something I didn’t. It bothered me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Then she turns and walks back toward her bedroom, holds one fist up above her head, and says, “Fuck the patriarchy.

A country boy who looks as good as Cade Eaton should be illegal. But instead, he’s mine.

You want it all, Willa? The house? The babies? The ranch?

None of that shit matters. Because we’re me and you. We’re us. Unlikely and inevitable all at once. We’re forever.

Jasper: I don’t like talking to people. Sloane: You talk to me. Jasper: You’re not people. Sloane: Lmao. What am I then? Jasper: My person.

Because the very last thing I need in my life is someone who makes me feel like there’s not enough oxygen in my lungs when I’ve only just caught my breath.

My dude, you can call me whatever you want. I know I’m not actually your mom, but I love you like one. Did you know I fell in love with you before I fell in love with your dad?

I don’t know how no one else sees it. Sees her. It’s like we’re all staring at the same painting and every other person in this town is missing the point.

Sometimes things just happen, and you don’t realize how right they are until you’re in the thick of it.

Rhett: Can you fuck off now? Beau: Sadly, no. You’re stuck with me forever. Don’t die out there tonight! Rhett: What if that was the last thing you ever said to me? Beau: Then I’d think to myself: if only Rhett had listened to my good advice.

That night we were reckless. But god, I’d be reckless with you over and over again if it means ending up here.” ‘That sentiment. This man. It’s like there was something missing inside me. Like I wasn’t whole, until he came along.

Will you take back my feminist card if I tell you I really just want to live in that little house on the ranch, teach guitar lessons, get titty-fucked in the hot tub, and have a bunch of adorable babies?

I know you’re scared of losing control around me.” Her chin tips up as though she’s told me something that will make me back down. Run me off. It doesn’t. “No, I’m scared of you becoming something I can’t live without.

Thank you. Thank you for being the first person in my life to put me first, to give me options. I’m not sure I deserve that gift, but I know that I’ll never forget it for as long as I live.

No, Sunny. I shouldn’t be scared. You’re the least scary thing in my life. You’re not just tattooed on my skin. You’re branded on my heart. Woven into the fiber of my being. The most constant and reassuring person in my life. When I close my eyes, I see you. When you’re away from me, I dream about you. When I need someone to lean on, you are always there for me. God. You’ve loved me when I haven’t even been able to love myself.” My hands squeeze her cheeks and tears seep out over them. But she’s smiling up at me like I hung the moon.

Tell me what to do, Summer. Tell me, and I’ll do it. Was I unclear before? Because I want to be crystal clear now. I love you. I loved you the moment you walked into that boardroom and smirked at me like you knew something I didn’t. It bothered me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Wanting to know what you know. I fixated on it, but I think I was just fixated on you.

I’m tired of doing what I should and ignoring what I want. And what I want is you. Inside me. All around me. I want you with me. And I want to be the only one.

He’s connected the freckles to say Mine. And God, in this moment, I feel like that might be true.

I want to do distinctly ungentlemanly things to Summer Hamilton.

I wish I were a cow. Wish I could find some joy in the monotony of ranch life.

I don’t tell Summer what to do. Wouldn’t listen if I tried. That’s the best kind of woman if you ask me.

This girl has brought me back to life without even trying. All that time I searched for someone to make me feel something, and she was right fucking there.

Cade is the embodiment of actions speaking louder than words. He wasn’t about to fall all over himself apologizing for not making enough coffee for me. Instead, he just made more and left me a mug, knowing that it would make me feel good. And a Post-it note addressed to Red. Maybe I’m an idiot but it feels sweet. Coming from Cade, it is sweet.

I’m trying to give you what you need. But if you think I don’t like what I see, then I’m not the one who needs his head checked. Because your wellbeing has quickly become my number one priority.” “Why?” “Because I fucking adore you. Haven’t you been paying attention?

Yeah, don’t worry, Winter. We’re gonna free you from that husband and bury him in the back field. It’ll be like that Dixie Chicks song. Rob is the new Earl.

This thing between us? For me? It’s everything. It’s it. You’re it.

I don't know what this is between Summer and me, but I want to worship at her throne. I want to give her the best of everything. The best of me.

A love I’ve never known. One I’m not so sure I deserve, but one I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to preserve. But I’ll get to that part later.

There's something fractured about Beau. About his spirit. Like he's torn between so many versions of himself and doesn't know which one to pick. I wish he knew it's okay to be all of them with me.

It’s like she and I are tethered together, but she’s the strong one. The pillar. And when troubled waters wash me downstream, all I have to do is follow the rope that ties me back to her. It always leads me back to her.

I will go wherever you want. I will wear whatever you want. I will never turn my phone off again. I will always, always be there for you. For Vivi. You don’t need to beg, and you don’t need to say please. For as long as I live, for as long as you need me, you’ll have me. Okay? Never doubt that.

Careful. Your dad told me to keep my hands off you.” “Yeah, well, he didn’t tell me to keep my hands off you.

But that man wears his love for you on his sleeve for the entire world to see. And he doesn’t give a shit who sees it. He’d scream it from the mountain tops if you asked him to.

You are a national treasure, Harvey Eaton.

That night we were reckless.” His voice cracks. “But god, I’d be reckless with you over and over again if it means ending up here.

Good. Because I’m sick of holding back with you. You’re not going anywhere. You belong here, with me.

Instead, I snap. I point at the floor beneath my feet and say, “Lose that fucking ring and crawl.

I should stop. I should walk away. I should channel my maturity and not flirt with her by infuriating her. But I’ve always been a little reckless.

I wished for Willa to come back.” My eyes burn when I pull him into me, feel his tiny arms clutching at my waist. And my voice cracks when I say, “Me too, pal. Me too.

It’s like I’ve been searching for something, something to tie me to this new reality. I wasn’t looking for love; I was looking for a purpose. I just didn’t expect my purpose to be you.

Harvey: Two rooms or one? ;) Jasper: Don’t be weird. One room, two beds. Harvey: I’m not weird. You’re the one with a crush on your cousin. Jasper: She’s not my cousin. Harvey: Ha! But you didn’t deny the crush.

I’m an absolute goner for this girl, and I never even saw her coming.

He’s beautiful almost always. But he’s blinding when he smiles.

Eaton. You grumpy motherfucker. You just laughed,” I blurt. “Yeah, Red. I did.

Grumpy Cade is hot. Sweet Cade is irresistible.

Do you think . . .” He peers back up at me now. “Do you think it would be okay if I called you mom too?

If Willa is the playground, I want to fucking play. Period.

And I have no clue what to do with that. I’ve never properly loved a woman before. Never wanted one like this.

I’ve watched you with my son. I’ve watched you, period. I’ve longed for you. I went crazy tonight thinking of you out with Lance. I know in my bones that I won’t want to let you go at the end of the summer, but I’ll take what I can get. Because you’re too fucking special to pass up.

You’re not just tattooed on my skin. You’re branded on my heart. Woven into the fiber of my being. The most constant and reassuring person in my life. When I close my eyes, I see you. When you’re away from me, I dream about you. When I need someone to lean on, you are always there for me. God. You’ve loved me when I haven’t even been able to love myself.

Because you may not know your worth yet, but I do. And I’ll happily punch anyone in the face who makes you question it. But telling you what I did at the hospital that night, I said that to hurt you.

Oh my god, Jasper! Fucking say something!” “I feel like I could crumble under the weight of not wanting to disappoint you. I’m paralyzed by my fear of losing you.

But what I saw that night was a man who’d burn everything down to defend you. I saw a man who’d risk it all to take care of you.

No, sugar. When it comes to you, I’m downright hopeless.

But as usual, she doesn’t shy away from my darkness—after all, she’s my Sunny. She chases away the dark just by being herself.

Every part of me wants to go after her, but sometimes loving someone means giving them the space they want. The space they need. For a little while, at least.

You know that happy enough isn’t actually happy enough, right?

You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.

Winter, we are a thing. We are the thing. We are it.

I think I like you because you are a heart-stopping, jaw-dropping type of beautiful.

My initials are W.G., bud.” I give him another squeeze and he giggles. Cluelessly. “I know. But dad made that one. I told him the same thing.” My head snaps around to Cade, who still hasn’t moved but is staring at me like I might disappear if he blinks. “But he said they wouldn’t be for long.

I love you,” she says, her voice soft but sure. I gaze down at her and wonder what the hell I did to get this fucking lucky. “I love you too. And I don’t need to ride tonight. Or ever again. Hearing that from your lips is the biggest win of my life.” I take my hat, and I plunk it on her head. Just like I told myself I would. And then I kiss her.

Do you love her?” I stare at Harvey, trying to work it all out in my head like I have been for days. “Of course, I love her. I’ve always loved her.” “Did you tell her that?” A stone drops in my stomach. “No.

I want to take care of her, even though she doesn’t need taking care of.

Good girl. You wish that was my cum, don’t you?

Kip: Don’t be such a pussy, Eaton. Rhett: Better. Thank you.

I feel like I could crumble under the weight of not wanting to disappoint you. I’m paralyzed by my fear of losing you.

We could all die tomorrow, Bailey. Gotta do what makes us happy today.

Fantasy and reality, so close yet still so far apart.

Tell me honestly, Summer. If this were your last moment on earth, what would you want me to do?” “Ruin me.

I don’t know how I went so long without you. I never want to go without you again.

Stop being so mean to me. It gets me hard when you’re mouthy. Makes me think of all the fun ways I could put that mouth to work instead. And I don’t need a boner right now.

I haven’t shaved my legs.” I chuckle. “I don’t care. Don’t you get it? I’m in love with you, Willa. Prickly legs, random carrots in your purse, pregnant, not pregnant. I want you.

Maybe he doesn't know what making you a priority looks like because no one has ever made him a priority.

What the hell is the cowboy hat rule?” “You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.

I’d want him to know I love him too. Every stupid, impulsive, broken bone in his body.

She looks very engaged wearing that rock, and it has the caveman inside of me beating his proverbial chest. Someone should tell him this is fake.

A woman who needs to be held so damn badly. And I’m the lucky one who gets to do it.

You were what I’ve always needed and never had.

It’s two people who are happier in each other’s company than they are alone.” Now I can hear the tears in her voice too. “Better together than they are apart.

It hits me hard as we drive in a companionable silence that Willa is that person. My person.

We don’t look at each other as we walk, but he touches my shoulder gently and gestures me across his body. He moves me to the opposite side of him before taking up position by the road.

The only way you could ever disappoint me is by not living your life to the fullest. Not going after what exhilarates you. You deserve that. And you deserve someone who wants that for you.

It doesn't have any effect on your life. What do you care?! People try to talk about it like it's a social issue. Like when you see someone stand up on a talk show and say, 'How am I supposed to explain to my child that two men are getting married?' ... I dunno, it's your shitty kid, you fucking' tell 'em. Why is that anyone else's problem? Two guys are in love but they can't get married because you don't want to talk to your ugly child for fuckin' five minutes?

Have I got your attention now?” “You’ve always had my attention, Rhett.

For the ones who’ve spent their lives being just a little *too* agreeable. Here’s to getting comfortable disappointing other people to avoid disappointing yourself.

Red, you’re nuts. But I like that about you. You’re like a goddamn hurricane.

You might be wearing his ring, but we both know it was my cock you were riding in your head,

Sounds like her loss, because you might be the coolest kid I’ve ever met.

I’m going to get comfortable disappointing other people to avoid disappointing myself.

Everyone talks about women being too emotional. Too hormonal. I’m inclined to think men are the problem. Us women would be just fine without all of you fucking us up.

Hat forward. Cute.” Her free hand mimics grabbing the brim of a cap and turning it backward. “Hat backward? Game on. It’s like a switch.

I’m so fucking hung up on you, it’s not even funny.” “Wherever you’re hanging from… I think I’m on the same hook.

What did it mean?” “That when it comes to you, I’m powerless.

Because no matter what else is going on in the world, everything is better with her in my arms.

That’s probably what you tell all the girls, Gervais.” “Nah, Sunny. You’re my only girl.

At the end of this summer, you’ll leave, but you’ll be back. Because there’s no way in hell that this ends here. I won’t allow it. We’re going to figure this out. You got me?

Cade:Why are you texting me from the same table? Beau:Because you’re too terrifying to talk to. Cade:I hope our nation’s enemies don’t find out what a pussy you are.

You asked me who I wanted to be once, and it’s this. Me. Right here. Right now. With you.

I’m gonna ride like Willa when I grow up!” Luke has climbed up to the top panel of the fence and leans over, eyes glowing with excitement. “She made that filly her bitch!

For the girl who never quite knew what she wanted to do with her life, and for the woman who figured it out.

How do I look?" I quirk a brow and arch my back. "Like you're mine," he growls.

And we’ll change. And we’ll have difficulties. Because that’s life. You don’t recognise the highs without the lows, sugar. I’ve changed too. That’s how I knew you were it. That’s how I know I’ll love you in every version of yourself, because we’re all constantly changing. Growing. Becoming.

I’m struggling.” “Trust your struggle, Beau.” “What does that mean?” “If we’re struggling, we’re still in motion, yeah? Heading somewhere better. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.

Rhett: You know Medusa? Willa: Not personally, no. Rhett: Remember the part about not looking her in the eyes? Willa: I’ve always kind of liked Medusa. If I were her, I’d wanna turn men into stone too. Rhett: Pretend Talia is Medusa. But a version we don’t like.

We’re going to have to tell people soon.” “Yeah. I already told my mom. I hope that’s okay.” “What did she say?” “That I’ve got some catching up to do. And that she can’t wait to see you.” “Vivi, you mean? Yeah, that will be nice.” “No, Winter. You. She can’t wait to meet you.” “That should be interesting. Hope she’s not too disappointed.” “I could fucking bury whoever made you believe you’re as unlovable as you seem to think.

I was in this exact spot when you gave me the best and hottest verbal lashing of my life. You were all wild eyes and fighting words. I thought I’d never seen a more heart-stopping fiery woman in my life. You were . . . well . . . you were mean. But I appreciated your spunk. That was the night I knew I wanted you.

Call your dog off, Eaton.” She keeps walking, only addressing Rhett, like I’m not even here. But goddamn, I love a challenge. I turn with a loud, “Woof!” as I watch her petite frame slip into the bright light of the warm, bustling house.

Te vivo?” Winter nods. “It’s Portuguese. My dad used to say it to my sister and me. Sadly, it’s some of the only Portuguese I know. It means ‘I live you’ or something along those lines.” “You mean I love you?” “No.” I scrub at my stubble and glance down at our daughter, who is now amusing herself by playing her favorite game of fetch with Peter and his miniature rubber chicken. “It means . . . I live you. Like I see you everywhere, you are in everything. Our connection is more than physical.

I wish I’d been here to see Summer go off on them. Her caretaker side is strong. But as much of a people pleaser as she might be, she has this vicious streak. This protective streak. And I fucking live for that.

Did I let you watch the bulls get turned out with the heifers too much as a child, boy?” I groan. “You got something against condoms?” “Dad.” “Some sort of breeding kink I don’t know about?” I throw an arm over my eyes. “Never talk to me again. That you even know that term is altogether too much information.

One day, years down the road, we’ll be gray-haired and soft in the middle section, drinking an enormous glass of spiced rum and eggnog around the Christmas tree. I’ll make some joke about the night I offered friends-with-benefits to you. Rhett will howl. Summer will roll her eyes, because I’m going to tell her tomorrow, and she’ll think I’m ridiculous for bringing it up so many years later. Your small-town wifey will throw a hand over her chest”—Willa imitates the motion—“and act scandalized all night. In fact, she’ll give me the cold shoulder for the rest of our lives. And I’ll outlive her, so that’s fine. Joke’s on her. I win. And my husband will be accustomed to my antics, so he’ll just roll his eyes and continue drinking.

You fill me with purpose. Lifting you up gives me a reason. Seeing you smile makes me feel whole. And I’m never going to apologise for that. We’re symbiotic, you and me. Without you, this version of me doesn’t exist. Without the next version of you, the next version of me doesn’t exist either. We’re going to grow together.

What I want to say is wholly inappropriate. You’re beautiful. How was your night out? I’m sorry I haven’t been leaving enough coffee for you in the morning. Words that lodge in my throat. Turn to cotton batting on my tongue. Words and feelings I don’t know what to do with anyway.

Cade: Want to come over for a delicious home-cooked meal tonight? Would love to see you! Jasper: Why are you talking all weird like that? Cade: Like what? Jasper: Nevermind. I’ll ask Sloane. Cade: Are you guys banging yet? Jasper: Jesus, Willa. Give Cade his phone back.

You’re going to spend as much time as you want at our house,” he says, while thrusting into me slowly. “You’re going to work whatever job you want. Wherever you want. But you’ll always have a place here. A home here. I’ll make you coffee every morning. I’ll leave you all the Post-it notes you want. I’ll cook your dinner every day. I’ll eat your pussy in the hot tub before bed every damn night.

No, Rhett. Fuck you. You fucking bolthead. You had something with that girl.” I huff out a laugh. “Cade, you don’t even like her.” “I like her because she’s good for you. I like her because she doesn’t take our shit, and she doesn’t roll over for you like some lovesick puppy dog. I don’t like her because she’s smarter than me, and that’s fucking annoying.

Rhett: Where you kids at? Willa: Working on ruining our blood sugar. You? Rhett: Jasper and I just pulled up. Wanna meet near Cade’s truck? Willa: Sure, we’ll head your way. Rhett: I’m supposed to tell you to be careful. Willa: Of what? Rhett: I think my brother’s words were: she’s clueless that a bunch of dumbass cowboys keep humping her leg when she walks past. Willa: Cool, cool, cool. I’ll try not to trip while they do.

Our little secret. “Call your dog off, Eaton.” She keeps walking, only addressing Rhett, like I’m not even here. But goddamn, I love a challenge. I turn with a loud, “Woof!” as I watch her petite frame slip into the bright light of the warm, bustling house. Rhett is laughing. At me. Not with me. “You’re an idiot, Theo.

Summer: Are you okay? Willa: Yeah. Why? Summer: I just got a text from Cade asking. Willa: You can tell Cade I’m getting railed by ten dudes at the best gangbang of my life. Summer: Oof. Even I’m not that brave. I’ll let you tell him that yourself. Summer: He seems stressed, Willa. Just letting you know. Willa: Good.

I’m glad you aren’t sad about the baby because I’m not either. But I want to be clear that you have options. All the options in the world. And I’ll be here with you, no matter what. I want to come home to the sound of you and Luke laughing. I want to listen to you play the guitar while I cook dinner. I want to leave you Post-it notes for a long time. I don’t want you to feel stuck with me.

Every year, Kansas watches the world die. Civilizations of wheat grow tall and green; they grow old and golden, and then men shaped from the same earth as the crop cut those lives down. And when the grain is threshed, and the dances and festivals have come and gone, then the fields are given over to fire, and the wheat stubble ascends into the Kansas sky, and the moon swells to bursting above a blackened earth. The fields around Henry, Kansas, had given up their gold and were charred. Some had already been tilled under, waiting for the promised life of new seed. Waiting for winter, and for spring, and another black death. The harvest had been good. Men, women, boys and girls had found work, and Henry Days had been all hot dogs and laughter, even without Frank Willis's old brown truck in the parade. The truck was over on the edge of town, by a lonely barn decorated with new No Trespassing signs and a hole in the ground where the Willis house had been in the spring and the early summer. Late summer had now faded into fall, and the pale blue farm house was gone. Kansas would never forget it.

But from where I'm sitting, it's two smart, loving adults who are navigating a curveball in the best way they know how. It's two people who were both a little lost until they ended up on the same path and walked together for a while. It's two people who are happier in each other's company than they are alone. Better together than they are apart.

Stop agreeing with me. We’re still fighting.” “Sorry. My bad. It’s just that I am also hashtag team Bailey.” “You’re relentless, you know that?” ‘And I just give her a salute and a wink. Because yeah, I am. No one has ever showed up for Bailey, but she’s about to get the full experience.’ “No, sugar. When it comes to you, I’m downright hopeless.

That’s fine. I can take care of myself.” “I know you can, but you don’t have to because I’m here to help.” He says it so matter-of-factly. Like doing this for someone is the most obvious thing in the world. And I wonder if, for him, maybe it is. He stepped in to take care of his siblings in the wake of tragedy. He stepped up to be a single parent to his son. Barfing babysitter? That’s a perfect job for him too. At his core, Cade is a caretaker. Selfless. With such a big heart I almost can’t wrap my head around it.

You’re so busy running around being a showboat rodeo boy that you don’t even realize what you’ve got. You think we all pick on you for riding bulls because we’re just being dicks? It’s because we love you. You don’t remember when mom died. But I do. I was there. I watched our dad hold her while she bled out. Suddenly, at eight, I was wrangling you and Beau because dad was a shell of himself, focused on taking care of Violet. And now I’m a single dad. I watch Luke grow every day and dread the day I can’t be the one to keep him safe.” I bite my inner cheek. I know Cade is serious right now because I don’t think I can remember him ever telling me that he loves me. “When you have a kid, everyone warns you about the sleepless nights. The explosive diaper changes. How they grow so fast that you hemorrhage money on clothing them. What they don’t tell you is that you’ll never spend another day of your life without worrying about another person. You’ll never completely relax again because that person you created will always, always be on your mind. You’ll wonder where they are, what they’re doing, and if they’re okay.

The real question is, do any of those other people matter when I only ever see you? When I only ever think about you? When I’ve done nothing but become more and more obsessed with you since I was told to stay away from you? Do they, Sloane? Do they matter? Does any of that seem like it matters on the face of what you and I have happening right now? In the face of eighteen years of friendship? In the face of wanting each other for so long? Is a single other person even a factor? Even a blip on the radar?

When you have a kid, everyone warns you about the sleepless nights. The explosive diaper changes. How they grow so fast that you hemorrhage money on clothing them. What they don’t tell you is that you’ll never spend another day of your life without worrying about another person. You’ll never completely relax again because that person you created will always, always be on your mind. You’ll wonder where they are, what they’re doing, and if they’re okay.

Like any great and good country, Japan has a culture of gathering- weddings, holidays, seasonal celebrations- with food at the core. In the fall, harvest celebrations mark the changing of the guard with roasted chestnuts, sweet potatoes, and skewers of grilled gingko nuts. As the cherry blossoms bloom, festive picnics called hanami usher in the spring with elaborate spreads of miso salmon, mountain vegetables, colorful bento, and fresh mochi turned pink with sakura petals.

I’m not stupid. I know things are strained between you and Rhett after that explosion. But I also know that men don’t look at a woman the way he looks at you unless they’re out of their goddamn mind for that person. I know you’re so accustomed to pleasing everyone that you give and give until you have nothing left to give. Rhett might be a little rough around the edges, but maybe you smooth him out and he scuffs you up. I don’t know. Only you can make these decisions. But what I saw that night was a man who’d burn everything down to defend you. I saw a man who’d risk it all to take care of you.

That ride was perhaps the most wonderful thing that happened to them in Narnia. Have you ever had a gallop on a horse? Think of that; and then take away the heavy noise of the hoofs and the jingle of the bit and imagine instead the almost noiseless padding of the great paws. Then imagine instead of the black or grey or chestnut back of the horse the soft roughness of golden fur, and the mane flying back in the wind. And then imagine you are going about twice as fast as the fastest racehorse. But this is a mount that doesn't need to be guided and never grows tired. He rushes on and on, never missing his footing, never hesitating, threading his way with perfect skill between tree trunks, jumping over bush and briar and the smaller streams, wading the larger, swimming the largest of all. And you are riding not on a road nor in a park nor even on the downs, but right across Narnia, in spring, down solemn avenues of beech and across sunny glades of oak, through wild orchards of snow-white cherry trees, past roaring waterfalls and mossy rocks and echoing caverns, up windy slopes alight with gorse bushes, and across the shoulders of heathery mountains and along giddy ridges and down, down, down again into wild valleys and out into acres of blue flowers.

A sprawling North London parkland, composed of oaks, willows and chestnuts, yews and sycamores, the beech and the birch; that encompasses the city’s highest point and spreads far beyond it; that is so well planted it feels unplanned; that is not the country but is no more a garden than Yellowstone; that has a shade of green for every possible felicitation of light; that paints itself in russets and ambers in autumn, canary-yellow in the splashy spring; with tickling bush grass to hide teenage lovers and joint smokers, broad oaks for brave men to kiss against, mown meadows for summer ball games, hills for kites, ponds for hippies, an icy lido for old men with strong constitutions, mean llamas for mean children and, for the tourists, a country house, its façade painted white enough for any Hollywood close-up, complete with a tea room, although anything you buy there should be eaten outside with the grass beneath your toes, sitting under the magnolia tree, letting the white blossoms, blush-pink at their tips, fall all around you. Hampstead Heath! Glory of London! Where Keats walked and Jarman fucked, where Orwell exercised his weakened lungs and Constable never failed to find something holy.

How long, Klara wondered now, how long after the mortar set did the joy remain? When one embraces a moment of rapture from the past, either by trying to reclaim it or by refusing to let it go, how can its brightness not tarnish, turn grey with longing and sorrow, until the wild spell of the remembered interlude is lost altogether and the memory of sadness claims its rightful place in the mind? And what is it we expect from the sun-drenched past? There is no formula for re-entry, nothing we can do to enable reconstruction. The features of an absent loved one's face are erased one by one, the timbre of the voice drowned by the noise of the world. Fondly recalled landscapes are savagely altered; we lose them tree by tree. Even the chestnut tree outside Klara's window would die a slow, rotting death until it would fall one night in a summer storm when everything in Klara wanted it to remain standing, blossoming in spring, leafy in summer, the only access, she secretly believed, to the window of her former self.

Wild Peaches" When the world turns completely upside down You say we’ll emigrate to the Eastern Shore Aboard a river-boat from Baltimore; We’ll live among wild peach trees, miles from town, You’ll wear a coonskin cap, and I a gown Homespun, dyed butternut’s dark gold color. Lost, like your lotus-eating ancestor, We’ll swim in milk and honey till we drown. The winter will be short, the summer long, The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot, Tasting of cider and of scuppernong; All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all. The squirrels in their silver fur will fall Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot. 2 The autumn frosts will lie upon the grass Like bloom on grapes of purple-brown and gold. The misted early mornings will be cold; The little puddles will be roofed with glass. The sun, which burns from copper into brass, Melts these at noon, and makes the boys unfold Their knitted mufflers; full as they can hold Fat pockets dribble chestnuts as they pass. Peaches grow wild, and pigs can live in clover; A barrel of salted herrings lasts a year; The spring begins before the winter’s over. By February you may find the skins Of garter snakes and water moccasins Dwindled and harsh, dead-white and cloudy-clear. 3 When April pours the colors of a shell Upon the hills, when every little creek Is shot with silver from the Chesapeake In shoals new-minted by the ocean swell, When strawberries go begging, and the sleek Blue plums lie open to the blackbird’s beak, We shall live well — we shall live very well. The months between the cherries and the peaches Are brimming cornucopias which spill Fruits red and purple, sombre-bloomed and black; Then, down rich fields and frosty river beaches We’ll trample bright persimmons, while you kill Bronze partridge, speckled quail, and canvasback. 4 Down to the Puritan marrow of my bones There’s something in this richness that I hate. I love the look, austere, immaculate, Of landscapes drawn in pearly monotones. There’s something in my very blood that owns Bare hills, cold silver on a sky of slate, A thread of water, churned to milky spate Streaming through slanted pastures fenced with stones. I love those skies, thin blue or snowy gray, Those fields sparse-planted, rendering meagre sheaves; That spring, briefer than apple-blossom’s breath, Summer, so much too beautiful to stay, Swift autumn, like a bonfire of leaves, And sleepy winter, like the sleep of death.

THOSE BORN UNDER Pacific Northwest skies are like daffodils: they can achieve beauty only after a long, cold sulk in the rain. Henry, our mother, and I were Pacific Northwest babies. At the first patter of raindrops on the roof, a comfortable melancholy settled over the house. The three of us spent dark, wet days wrapped in old quilts, sitting and sighing at the watery sky. Viviane, with her acute gift for smell, could close her eyes and know the season just by the smell of the rain. Summer rain smelled like newly clipped grass, like mouths stained red with berry juice — blueberries, raspberries, blackberries. It smelled like late nights spent pointing constellations out from their starry guises, freshly washed laundry drying outside on the line, like barbecues and stolen kisses in a 1932 Ford Coupe. The first of the many autumn rains smelled smoky, like a doused campsite fire, as if the ground itself had been aflame during those hot summer months. It smelled like burnt piles of collected leaves, the cough of a newly revived chimney, roasted chestnuts, the scent of a man’s hands after hours spent in a woodshop. Fall rain was not Viviane’s favorite. Rain in the winter smelled simply like ice, the cold air burning the tips of ears, cheeks, and eyelashes. Winter rain was for hiding in quilts and blankets, for tying woolen scarves around noses and mouths — the moisture of rasping breaths stinging chapped lips. The first bout of warm spring rain caused normally respectable women to pull off their stockings and run through muddy puddles alongside their children. Viviane was convinced it was due to the way the rain smelled: like the earth, tulip bulbs, and dahlia roots. It smelled like the mud along a riverbed, like if she opened her mouth wide enough, she could taste the minerals in the air. Viviane could feel the heat of the rain against her fingers when she pressed her hand to the ground after a storm. But in 1959, the year Henry and I turned fifteen, those warm spring rains never arrived. March came and went without a single drop falling from the sky. The air that month smelled dry and flat. Viviane would wake up in the morning unsure of where she was or what she should be doing. Did the wash need to be hung on the line? Was there firewood to be brought in from the woodshed and stacked on the back porch? Even nature seemed confused. When the rains didn’t appear, the daffodil bulbs dried to dust in their beds of mulch and soil. The trees remained leafless, and the squirrels, without acorns to feed on and with nests to build, ran in confused circles below the bare limbs. The only person who seemed unfazed by the disappearance of the rain was my grandmother. Emilienne was not a Pacific Northwest baby nor a daffodil. Emilienne was more like a petunia. She needed the water but could do without the puddles and wet feet. She didn’t have any desire to ponder the gray skies. She found all the rain to be a bit of an inconvenience, to be honest.

Once my father told me: When a Jew prays, he is asking God a question that has no end. Darkness fell. Rain fell. I never asked: What question? And now it's too late. Because I lost you, Tateh. One day, in the spring of 1938, on a rainy day that gave way to a break in the clouds, I lost you. You'd gone out to collect specimens for a theory you were hatching about rainfall, instinct, and butterflies. And then you were gone. We found you lying under a tree, your face splashed with mud. We knew you were free then, unbound by disappointing results. And we buried you in the cemetery where your father was buried, and his father, under the shade of the chestnut tree. Three years later, I lost Mameh. The last time I saw her she was wearing her yellow apron. She was stuffing things in a suitcase, the house was a wreck. She told me to go into the woods. She'd packed me food, and told me to wear my coat, even though it was July. "Go," she said. I was too old to listen, but like a child I listened. She told me she'd follow the next day. We chose a spot we both knew in the woods. The giant walnut tree you used to like, Tateh, because you said it had human qualities. I didn't bother to say goodbye. I chose to believe what was easier. I waited. But. She never came. Since then I've lived with the guilt of understanding too late that she thought she would have been a burden to me. I lost Fitzy. He was studying in Vilna, Tateh—someone who knew someone told me he'd last been seen on a train. I lost Sari and Hanna to the dogs. I lost Herschel to the rain. I lost Josef to a crack in time. I lost the sound of laughter. I lost a pair of shoes, I'd taken them off to sleep, the shoes Herschel gave me, and when I woke they were gone, I walked barefoot for days and then I broke down and stole someone else's. I lost the only woman I ever wanted to love. I lost years. I lost books. I lost the house where I was born. And I lost Isaac. So who is to say that somewhere along the way, without my knowing it, I didn't also lose my mind?