“I picture Cully tromping through that high, deep snow. That's how I feel physically from all of this. Moving through grief like it's a thick drift, exhausting but enlivening. It makes your muscles ache. It makes you feel you've inhabited your body completely.”

“For my 11th birthday, I asked to be adopted.”

“I like to add props to render the specificities of place - paintings, food, clothing, signs, infrastructure, music, sayings and slang particular to the region and particular to the character. And props shouldn't just sit there; they should get used.”

“What's great about teen fiction is that it's all mixed up - there's highbrow and lowbrow!”

“I just try to write what I think would really happen, and with grief and tragedy, there are these naturally occurring moments of levity and humor and absurdity. I think that's what life is really like. Sadness gets interrupted, and happiness gets interrupted.”

“I'm sorry, I say. I didn't give you everything you wanted. I wasn't everything you wanted. You were everything I wanted.”

“I think grief and fear are going to come to him suddenly. They'll be undiluted and words won't work. We're all going to get hit and won't know how to hit back. I wish I knew the answers, how to help myself and the people who will hurt all around me.”

“I tilt my face up and inhale, willing my surroundings to enter me somehow and to remind me how small I am.”

“Reina sounds awesome,” Sid says. “I’m digging her more and more.”“Were you there?” I ask. “Have you seen one of these movies?”“No,” Scottie says.“Scottie,” Alex says, kicking Sid in the ribs. “Reina is a fuckedup ho bag, and you need to stay away from her. I’ve already told you that. Do you want to end up like me?”“Yes,” Scottie says.“I mean the earlier me, when I was yelling at Mom.”“No,” Scottie says.“Well, Reina is going to be a crackhead, and she’s going to get used. She’s a twat. Say it.”“Twat,” Scottie says. She gets up and runs across the room, saying, “Twat twat twat twat twat.”“Holy shit,” Sid says. “This is some messed-up parenting. Isn’t it?”Alex shrugs. “Maybe. I guess we’ll see.”“I don’t get it,” I say. “I don’t know what to do. These things she does, they keep happening.”“It will go away,” Alex says.“Will it? I mean, look at how you kids talk. In front of me, especially. It’s like you don’t respect authority.”The kids stare at the television. I tell them to get out. I’m going to bed.”

“I lean down so that my face is right in front of hers and whisper, ‘He doesn’t love you. I love you.”

“I drift off for a while. I don't know how long, but when I open my eyes, the Oscars are still on and Alex tells me that Sid has gone and this makes me a little sad. Whatever the four of us had is over. He is my daughter's boyfriend now, and I am a father. A widower. No pot, no cigarettes, no sleeping over. They'll have to find inventive ways to conduct their business, most likely in uncomfortable places, just like the rest of them. I let him and my old ways go. We all let him go, as well as who we were before this, and now it's really just the three of us. I glance over at the girls, taking a good look at what's left.”