22
" OK?’ Eliot simply asks. ‘Fine.’ ‘Good. Only thing for it,’ he says, ‘hold on and hope for the best.’ ‘And that’s dancing, is it?’ ‘Well, yeah,’ says Eliot, then he leans in and says into my ear, breath tickling my neck, ‘And everything else, too, Emmie Blue. "
― Lia Louis , Dear Emmie Blue
33
" Sorry. I know this is probably really boring for you."
"Boring?"
"Yes. Me, harping on about things that don't really matter, people you don't really know."
And Louise had looked at me every time, her wrinkled brow furrowing, and said, "That is called a conversation, is it not, Emmie? How relationships are made, slowly sharing pieces of yourself, in turn? "
― Lia Louis , Dear Emmie Blue
34
" Happiness," she says. "What is that, to Emmie Blue?"
"Wow," I say with a smile, "that's a... big question."
[...] "I suppose when I was younger, a few years ago, I would have said... a family. A normal, safe family life."
[...]
"You know," I say, "a home, with flowers in the window, a relationship with my mum where maybe she pops in for lunch now and then. Children, one day, maybe. Someone..." I swallow, words becoming increasingly difficult to say. "Someone to love. Someone to love me."
"Love," says Louise. "So you think love is happiness?"
I hesitate, laugh, nerves turning it into a high-pitched giggle. "I—don't know. Yes. Yes, I suppose it is. For me. "
― Lia Louis , Dear Emmie Blue