Excerpt from All Adults Here by Emma Straub, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

If Randall was right and the bus had been empty-that was important. Astrid had three children and three grandchildren, and even if she hadn't, the loss of a child was the most acute tragedy, followed closely by a young parent, followed by cancer researchers, sitting presidents, movie stars, and everybody else. People their age-Astrid's and Barbara's-were too old for it to be outright tragedy, and seeing as Barbara had no children of her own, people were bound to call it a blessing, that is to say, a blessing that the school bus hadn't run down someone else. But that didn't seem fair to Barbara. She'd had a husband, and cats. She'd been a crossing guard at the elementary school decades earlier-oh, the irony! At least it wasn't her corner, Astrid thought, exhaling while Birdie scratched her scalp with her short nails.

What was Barbara thinking about, when the bus was careering toward her? Why had she parked there and not across the street? What was on her list to do that day? Astrid sat up, her hair dripping on her neck and her blouse.

"Are you all right?" Birdie asked, moving a towel onto Astrid's shoulders.

"No," Astrid said, "I don't think so. I didn't even-you know this-I didn't even like Barbara. I just feel a little, well, shaken."

"Well, in that case," Birdie said, walking around to the front of the chair, crouching down so that she and Astrid were at eye level, "let's go into the back." Birdie's mouth was a straight line, as steady as a Catholic schoolteacher. She always had a solution.

Astrid nodded slowly and offered Birdie her hand. They walked around the half wall behind the sink, into the room where an eyebrow-less young woman named Jessica waxed off other people's body hair three days a week, and lay down next to each other on the twin-size mattress, Astrid on her back and Birdie propped up on an elbow. Astrid closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. As usual, because after so long, there was a certain rhythm and sequence to what would unfold, Birdie started softly kissing Astrid's cheeks and ears and neck, everything but her mouth, but today was different, and Astrid reached up and pulled Birdie's mouth straight to her own. There was no time to waste, not in this life. There were always more school buses-how many times did a person have to be reminded? This time, it was clear. She was a sixty-eight-year-old widow. Better late than never.

Excerpted from All Adults Here by Emma Straub. Copyright © 2020 by Emma Straub. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.