Even as her daughter, I could tell she wasn’t a typical mom. She was petite and looked a whole lot younger than the other kids’ moms at school. There was something childlike about her face, and she was always smiling, optimistic, and upbeat, though every time she drank, it made her cry. Not for any real reason though. I guess you could say she was an emotional drinker, somebody who couldn’t separate drinking, having a good time, and bursting into tears.
Hangi tür kitapları seviyorsun?
🔎 Polisiye
💕 Romantik
🚀 Bilim Kurgu
🏰 Fantastik
📖 Klasik
🧠 Kişisel Gelişim
🏛️ Tarih
😱 Gerilim
In the three years I’d worked there, the menu had never once changed, and I began to wonder if the people who stopped by day in and day out—we had a lot of regulars—ever got tired of our food, but in fact, the monotony seemed to give them a sense of comfort.
It felt like the world was suspended between nerves and bizarre excitement, but life was still well within the bounds of normalcy.
I used to think I’d never forget her, no matter where I ended up, no matter how many years passed, no matter what happened to me.
But once I saw her name in that article on the web, I realized I’d forgotten everything about her—her name, her existence, the time we’d spent together, what we’d done, and of course the fact I’d believed I’d never forget her.
It is a major novel that, like so many of the best recent phenomena—from Donna Tartt to Hanya Yanagihara—explores how we survive (or don’t) together.