Quote by Hannah Johnson

““That chapstick that you’re wearing,” Arthur says after a few seconds, his smile broadening, “is that pink banana?””

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“Now, okay, important knitting life lesson right here: don’t go acrylic. Just don’t. Acrylic’s what you’re gonna find at, like, Wal-Mart, and acrylic is crap. I have it on good authority that it’s like knitting with barbed wire, that it’s squeaky, yeah, that’s right, squeaky, and that – although I can’t vouch for this one personally – apparently it’s what…

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“Afterwards, we don’t head straight back to work. Instead, we stop at McDonald’s. Kristy gets a Happy Meal. Cora gets like four pies, which…

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“I’ve got this perception of Beethoven where he’s just, like, really pissed all the time. Yeah, ol’ Ludwig, he had a lot to pound on the piano bitterly about. I’m Germannnn! I’m deaffff! I’m bliiiind! My name is Ludwigggg! Was he blind? I’m pretty sure. Or, wait, maybe that was Helen Keller. Was he even German? Was she German? Is…

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“Kristy smiles at both of us, the kind of smile that makes Julie Andrews look like a jaded crack whore.”

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“Arthur reaches over to take them. As he does, his thumb brushes my thumb, and it’s so cold, this sudden shock of cold. The flowers get dropped. They make a slight, swishy sound as they hit the floor. “Shit,” I say, my voice sounding really loud in my ears. And then he kisses me. It’s— I don’t know. I don’t…

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“I use my mom’s shampoo sometimes,” I blurt out. “I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s lady shampoo. But it smells better than mine, and I think my hair might like it better, and – but that doesn’t change the fact that that stuff, that’s for chicks. And, that, that’s probably gay, isn’t it? Like, at least a little.” “I…

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“Arthur finally winds up just linking his arm through mine, real tight, and we walk really slow. There are other people around, but I don’t think it really matters. Dudes used to walk around arm in arm all the time. That just meant they were classy. Classy like Lassie. It’s like, we just so happen to be fellows of style…

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“Mitch is perhaps the most reassuring sight of all. He’s sitting up really straight – like, somebody put a leather-bound tome on his head,…

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“Shhh,” she orders, reaching across the table and pressing her finger against my lips. “This is Mommy’s Lifetime monologue.”

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“He doesn’t quite kiss me, even though he’s close enough to. I look at him, loving the quiet and the quirk of his mouth…

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“I spot something that looks distinctly footstoolish. Hello, antique ottoman. We meet at last.”

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“This is going to be hideously trite,” he says. “Prepare yourself.” “Prepared.” “It’s Christmas. You love them. They love you. More than anything else, that’s what matters. Things will happen the way they happen, and you’ll sort out the way you feel about them, and it will be all right. And you’ll keep loving them, and they’ll keep loving you,…

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