It Ends with Us by Colleen Hoover (z-lib.org).epub

anything about him being there. Not one thing. I waited for her to tell me I was
grounded, but she never did. I realized that maybe she didn’t acknowledge it because
that’s what she does. Things that hurt her just get swept under the rug, never to be
brought up again.
—Lily
Dear Ellen,
I think I’m ready to talk about Boston now.
He left today.
I’ve shuffled my deck of cards so many times, my hands hurt. I’m scared if I don’t
get out how I feel on paper, I’ll go crazy holding it all in.
Our last night didn’t go over so well. We kissed a lot at first, but we were both too
sad to really care about it. For the second time in two days, he told me he changed
his mind and that he wasn’t leaving. He didn’t want to leave me alone in this
house. But I’ve lived with these parents for almost sixteen years. It was silly of him to
turn down a home in favor of being homeless, just because of me. We both knew
that, but it still hurt.
I tried to not be so sad about it, so when we were lying there, I asked him to tell
me about Boston. I told him maybe one day when I got out of school, I could go
there.
He got this look in his eye when he started talking about it. A look I’d never seen.
Sort of like he was talking about heaven. He told me about how everyone has the
greatest accents there. Instead of car, they say cah. He must not realize that he
sometimes says his r’s like that, too. He said he lived there from the ages of nine until
he was fourteen, so I guess maybe he picked up a little bit of the accent.
He told me about how his uncle lives in an apartment building with the coolest
rooftop deck.
“A lot of apartments have them,” he said. “Some even have pools.”
Plethora, Maine, probably didn’t even have a building that was tall enough for a
rooftop deck. I wondered what it would feel like to be that high up. I asked him if he
ever went up there and he said yes. That when he was younger, sometimes he would
go to the roof and just sit up there and think while he looked out over the city.
He told me about the food. I already knew he liked to cook but I had no idea how
much passion he had for it. I guess because he doesn’t have a stove or a kitchen, so
other than the cookies he baked me, he’s never really talked about cooking before.
He told me about the harbor and how, before his mother remarried, she used to
take him fishing out there. “I mean, Boston isn’t any different from any other big