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354 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 29, 2022
"I can't have a December Capricorn."
"It turned out okay for Jesus."'
"The man was crucified, Molly!"
"I'm fine. Honestly, I'm so used to being alone now I don't know if I'll even like it when I find someone I do want to be with. I'm not sure I know how to bend like that anymore."
"I don't want to hear about your sex life." (❓❓❓)
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➥ Molly (h), the typical short, goofy, childish, sunshine girl. Truly insufferable. She's not even that extraordinarily bad, but I'm just so tired of this character archetype that I see it and it's an automatic star deduction on both my rating and, more importantly, my enjoyment. I find it incredible that it's so impossible to relate to characters that are women because it should be easy, but reading about these types of characters is so exhausting and genuinely convinces you that her prefrontal cortex hasn't developed since she popped out the womb, sorry.
"What's that?" I ask, confused.
Andrew's eyes drop to mine. "It's mistletoe, you idiot."
"That's mistletoe?" No way. "It looks like spinach. Like a sprig of spinach."
"How do you not know what-"
"I know what it is, I just haven't seen it before. It's not like I spend December looking up the whole time, is it?"
"You're five foot nothing, you spend most of your life looking up."
"I am five foot three, thank you very much. And I can see the world just fine from here-"
➥ Andrew (H) is actually worse than Molly. He's not funny, but he thinks he is. He's shallow, immature and disrespectful. With love interests that are supposed to be 'best friends', they have to have this very respectful, kind, down to earth air, you know? Andrew was not. Andrew was Andrew when he should have been an Alex. He's just bland and disappointing. How are Molly and him even friends? He doesn't even engage well in conversation with her ever - no emotional maturity or even acknowledgment. For reference to his character, the quote featured at the top does it best, I'd say.
He gives me a fond look. “You’re such a bitch.”
"What?" he asks now, and I realise I'm smiling at the memory.
"You're a good friend, you know that?"
He eyes me suspiciously. "You need a kidney or something?"
He looks different up close. Older. Granted, I'm older too, but some days I still think I look like a teenager. So does every bouncer and barman in Chicago apparently.
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