Josie pressed her finger against a spot of maple syrup that had fallen onto the table, her eyes trained on the wood.
“So, do you… like… love him?”
The words seemed bruised, tender. “No,” Alex said quickly, because if she could convince Josie, then she surely could convince herself that what she felt for Patrick had everything to do with passion and nothing to with… well, that.
“It’s only been a few months.”
“I don’t think there’s a grace period,” Josie said.
Alex decided that the best road to take through this minefield was the one that would keep both Josie and herself from being hurt: pretend this was nothing, a fling, a fancy.
“I wouldn’t know what being in love felt like if it me in the face,” she said lightly.
“It’s not like on TV, like everything’s perfect all of a sudden.” Josie’s voice shrank until it was barely a thought.
“It’s more like, once it happens, you spend all your time realizing how much can go wrong.”
Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes