The Hot One: A Memoir of Friendship, Sex, and Murder

“Don’t compare your insides to someone else’s outsides.”

It was amazing how much a person’s life could progress in seven years, if given the chance.

Maybe they were angry at me for being there, angry that this was happening at all and that people were allowed to come see it. This wasn’t my place. This was a family matter. And why was I here now instead of being there then?

we were beginning to communicate in two different languages, with distinctly different perceptions of how the world worked.

Picture the room you’re in right now; maybe it’s the kitchen, or maybe you’re on the train. Now picture the world outside your frame that’s just slightly out of view. Maybe it’s the next train car or the outside of your house just below the windows. Now imagine there’s a serial killer there, tracking your movements and counting down the days or hou

I’m wondering if perhaps the familiarity they’re sharing now is really just a relic.

In my more narcissistic fantasies, I wondered if perhaps her parents might look at me as a shadow daughter.

it was hard to understand exactly who I was mourning.

The scales tipping toward more important moments lived among other people in other places in other rooms far away from each other.