107
" I just want to say this, he said, before we walk back to our cars. I know who you could be with. Someone rich, someone fancy, some guy your sister finds for you. But I know who you should be with. You should be with a guy who doesn’t mind that you’re smarter than he is, who doesn’t mind that most of the time, you’ll be the main event. You need to be with a guy who supports how hard you work and who’ll bring you a cup of coffee late at night. I don’t know if I can be that guy, he said, tears in his eyes, but I’d like a shot. We married. "
― Amy Bloom , In Love: A Memoir of Love and Loss
108
" would like to have some heartfelt, leaf-shaking conversations, the way I imagine some people get to, at the end of life. (I imagine this despite having sat at multiple deathbeds, at which there definitely were no last-minute confessions, assertions, or expressions of deep feeling. The people dying were often in pain and exhausted or heavily medicated. My father patted my hand and thought I was my mother. My mother grabbed my arm and said, Jesus, honey, do something about the pain. As my old man used to say, frequently, regarding my expectations: the triumph of hope over experience.) "
― Amy Bloom , In Love: A Memoir of Love and Loss
112
" One of his great pleasures is overdoing it with the groceries, involving several stops at little markets, cheese shops, the East Haven lady who makes her own Thai BBQ sauce and fries up a bag of plantains for him while he waits. At our old house, we had a refrigerator just for condiments. Even now, my older daughter always says, How can you be only two people and never have an empty fridge? That’s Brian, I say, buyer of burrata, soppressata, Meyer lemons, white peaches, Benton’s ham. "
― Amy Bloom , In Love: A Memoir of Love and Loss