I ugly cry when I read sometimes.
This tends to frighten my husband.
For instance, I recently finished Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell.
The ending made me cry.
My husband was all, "What? What's wrong?" and I could see him silently going through the day in his mind, wondering if he somehow pissed me off.
"Richie ruined everything," I sniffed, holding the book up.
Tom was like:
"WHO is Richie?"
"The stepfather. The disgusting, gross stepfather! He ruined it all! If it weren't for him Eleanor and Park could BE TOGETHER!" A snot bubble popped from my left nostril.
Tom made a face.
He was probably thinking, "And I get to share a bed with this snotty thing later."
I can't help it though.
When I read, I lose myself in the story. I get attached to the characters.
So yeah, I wasn't thrilled with the ending of Eleanor & Park. I explained the story to Tom, and his eyes sort of glazed over, because he is not a reader. If things aren't blowing up, he's really not interested.
After I told him the story, he was like, "Okay, but they're sixteen. They'll find someone else."
I was like,
"You just don't understand, Tom! Eleanor and Park, they GOT EACH OTHER. And plus, we met at 17 and got married at 19. So. There."
"It's a BOOK," Tom argued. "These people don't EXIST. Why waste emotion on no one?"
"You just don't understand, you non-book reader," I sniffed.
He didn't understand when I cried over Me Before You by JoJo Moyes either.
"It should be enough!" I cried. "The LOVE SHOULD BE ENOUGH!"
I remember being completely at a loss when I read Judy Blume books as a child too.
"Stop calling her Blubber. It's just MEAN!"
Or Anne of Green Gables.
"Anne, Gilbert LOVES YOU."
Or Flowers In The Attic.
Bridge to Terabithia?
I feel it hard when I read sad things, guys.