From "Night Watch"

In their bathroom (still painted pink. How many times had they thought about a change?) Antonia wet a washcloth with tonic and pressed it to her cheeks.
He’d been a bear of a man, until…Antonia moved the washcloth down to her neck. She tried to picture herself saying this to a girlfriend over a glass of wine. She wasn’t sure which girlfriend, exactly, someone she didn’t see often. He’d been a bear of a man until this. And it happened to be true. Not a broken bone in his body, a cholesterol level just average enough to be taken for granted, a vibrant libido, two squash games a week.

From "Val Smells"

The Winklevosses has a life-size chess game in the west corner of the lawn that no one ever played with. Two children were playing with it now, however, pushing their pudgy faces behind and then to the right of the wooden figures, screwing their mouths into frightening shapes for each other.
Antonia pushed her body against the wooden railing. “Checkmate,” She said out loud, to no one. She thought about drinking more. She considered getting tossed. It would certainly make it easier to sit through the coming dinner and the dreadful obligation of a formal desert.
Desert was for children. Or it was for feeling like a child, at the very least. Desert was something that should be eaten in a field, that should be spilled, melted on to fingers, licked off of hands. It should be messy and irreverent, not quartered, cut and presented onto matching porcelain plates. This wasn’t going to last, none of it. Grey would remain friends with Robert forever, men were like that. Comfortable with comfort. But Antonia imagined that she would see this house two, perhaps three more times. And then? And then nothing. Dixon would go on smelling worse and worse and no one would ever tell him.