God, how she’d love to open a wrapped box containing a
sweater that someone had held up at arm’s length and decided to give to her.
How she would love to belong to the kind of family that sat under chenille
throws on comfy sofas and sipped headache-inducing spiced wine. Sloane wanted
the people of her present firmly implanted in her past when her parents were
still married and her brother’s vice was eggnog and the world was full of boys
and girls that she hadn’t tried to love yet. She wanted to go back to when she
was young and optimistic and could take in the world’s outrageous beauty
without thinking of death.
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