Michael Adam-Smith

“How could she love someone she barely knew? A year ago she would have said it was impossible: love was a choice people made daily and longevity was its measure. Love did not crash land in your living room leaving you squinting into daylight, picking through the debris of your former life. Only now could she see that it was sometimes a phantom thing, a stray that wandered the periphery of your life and moved in the minute you opened the door for who knew how long?”
― Jennifer Vandever, American Tango

“And the horrible thing was: what if they were right? What if she lived her whole life and never really knew what love was? What if it was deeper than she ever imagined? What if she died without ever knowing what she missed? How would she know to even miss it? Love--deep, profound, soul-stirring love--happened on this planet, in this life. And she missed it.

On the other hand, her mother had a point: babies were awful. They were selfish, greedy, expensive and ultimately resentful of what they later would decide you had withheld from them. You were, in effect, creating someone uniquely fine-tuned to discern your slightest faults and broadcast them from the highest point.”
― Jennifer Vandever, American Tango

“Their dancing was simple and expert and reminded her of something one of her art teachers told her about bad artists taking something simple and making it seem complicated while good artists took something very complex and made it seem simple. The couple was an illustration of this rule; the dance seemed barely to qualify for the term--in essence they seemed merely to be walking, slowly in lockstep. They would stop occasionally, the woman led into a simple ocho and then resume their slow, meditative procession. They seemed, to Rosalind's untrained eye, to be under a spell.”
― Jennifer Vandever, American Tango

“And who would advocate for her? Who would arrange her doctor appointments and throw out rotting bananas as she drifted into old age? Who would keep her photos, her jewelry, her horrible shadowboxes full of undergraduate angst, her hummingbird paintings, or even her tango shoes? Who would care about all the random junk she accumulated over the years and the stories that had attached to them?”
― Jennifer Vandever, American Tango