We ran into this super-nice group of kids also traipsing around. So we hung out with them for a couple of days. Then we were moving on, to a different city. One of the girls gave me a little going away present - isn't that the cutest thing ever? She gave me a little snack for the trip, a small bouquet of local flowers she'd picked, and a book to read. So sweet, right?
The day after that, I started reading the book. It was really good. I started drinking less at night so I could wake up earlier and read while Josh was still sleeping. We had this talk about how we do best with little spurts of separation every couple of days, and when Josh mentioned wanting to go check out a museum I had no interest in, it was a perfect time to read more.
So I'm reading, reading, and then one of the main characters goes to New York for a meeting. Where a fucking plane slams into the building she's in, she watches people jumping to their deaths, she is running across Brooklyn Bridge barefoot, she turns around to watch the towers crumble.
I don't know what's worse - that it snuck up on me and I hadn't seen it coming, or once it happened that stopping reading wasn't an option. So Josh came back to find me sitting in the bathtub crying when he'd left a perfectly happy girl an hour before. I am so MAD at this book. And I am so MAD at life. I flew across the Atlantic Ocean and STILL can't get away from this? That is BULLSHIT.