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“Most women faked half their lives daily, pretending to have their work and their family and their health completely under control, moving through the world with just enough makeup and effortless shampoo-commercial hair. They were the ones wearing beautiful cream-colored knitted sweaters in white rooms on their Instagram pages. They were the ones spouting corny philosophical sayings and talking about their many blessings. Meanwhile, they were taking prescription drugs just to stand up straight in the morning and their husbands were on their fourth affair with someone from their workplace.”

“When he'd smiled at me and told me we would have adventures, I thought we would be friends always, that it would just be Peter and me, like brothers. But now I saw - and it was so strange that after all this time I finally did see - that I wasn't enough for him, had never been enough. I didn't mean anything to him, and not even I was special if he could keep a secret like this. And it made me love him a little less, and the memory of that smile hurt deep down in the place where I kept all my secrets and sorrows.”

“Sometimes at night, when the nightmare clung to me, I wondered if Peter’s assurances that I would never grow up were only assurances that I would die before such a thing happened. I wondered if that were better, to die before I became something withered and grey and not wanted.”

“Was this, too, part of growing up? Was it facing the bad things you’d done as well as the good, and knowing all your mistakes had consequences? Peter made mistakes all the time— he was thoughtless; he hurt people. But it never troubled him, not for a moment. He forgot all about it in an instant. That was being a boy.”