IN THE EVENINGS, I pulled out a leash for Bubba so we could walk outside in <strong>the</strong> buzzing summer night. The cat had been sick for a while. He was 15 years old. I didn’t know how much longer he had, and if I wasn’t careful, I could spend a whole day freaking out about this. When I met Bubba, he was an outdoor cat. But one day he came back <strong>to</strong> my ex-boyfriend’s apartment with incisor bites in <strong>the</strong> side of his cheek, like two <strong>to</strong>othpicks through raw dough. There was a series of expensive surgeries. A long stretch of recovery time. He became an indoor cat after that. It was a miserable power struggle <strong>to</strong> break him. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried <strong>to</strong> win an argument with a cat, but good luck with that. He would slip out when we weren’t looking, settle scores in some back alley near midnight, and return two days later like Don Draper crashing through <strong>the</strong> front door after a bender. What? What are you looking at? I loved him for all of this. I, <strong>to</strong>o, was drawn <strong>to</strong> places that would destroy me. I, <strong>to</strong>o, came home with bruises, and it never s<strong>to</strong>pped me. The cat was an appealing mix of strapping adventurer and cuddle bug. People say cats are aloof, but <strong>the</strong>y are just very, very discerning about whom <strong>the</strong>y trust. I liked caring for that cranky little guy. Women can be very good at ladling <strong>the</strong>ir love in<strong>to</strong> <strong>the</strong> unsmiling mouth of a creature who none<strong>the</strong>less needs <strong>the</strong>m. I come from a long line of nurses on both sides of my family. We give gentle strokes and change bedpans and wipe up vomit splashed on <strong>the</strong> floor while cracking vaguely inappropriate jokes. When I think about my own failure <strong>to</strong> take care of myself, I wonder sometimes if I wasn’t unconsciously waiting for someone like me <strong>to</strong> come along. Pay off my credit cards, clean up my oopsies. O<strong>the</strong>r people’s messes can be so much more interesting than our own. Maybe that’s why I needed <strong>the</strong> cat so much. This may sound absurd, but cats are caretakers. They will kill your mice and curl up at your side when you’re ill. One night in Brooklyn, I became fluish and had <strong>to</strong> lie on <strong>the</strong> cold tile floor of <strong>the</strong> bathroom with my pillow and a duvet. It was one of those moments when my loneliness ached like a broken bone. And <strong>the</strong> cat padded in<strong>to</strong> <strong>the</strong> bathroom and lay down beside me, and we slept like this, both of us curled against <strong>the</strong> warm side of <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r. Now it was my turn <strong>to</strong> take care of him. The sickness required pills, popped in<strong>to</strong> his mouth twice a day. X-rays, constant experimentation with his food. Jennifer was a veterinarian now; <strong>the</strong> child who once saved wounded birds had grown up <strong>to</strong> be a woman who saved people’s pets. When Bubba got sick, she was <strong>the</strong> person we both needed. My new house was mere blocks from where Bubba had once prowled, and when he started meowing at <strong>the</strong> door again—after years of remaining silent on <strong>the</strong> issue—I wanted <strong>to</strong> do something for him. Let him roam his home turf again, before he died. I wanted <strong>to</strong> find some compromise where he could venture in<strong>to</strong> <strong>the</strong> lusty outdoors that called <strong>to</strong> him—but stay te<strong>the</strong>red <strong>to</strong> me. The leash was my big idea. Jennifer swore up and down it wouldn’t work. Leashes were against a cat’s nature, she insisted, and for a long time, she was right. Then one day, I put on his harness—blue vinyl ropes along his haunches, like he was about <strong>to</strong> jump out of an airplane—and he discovered this simple act of surrender led <strong>to</strong> <strong>the</strong> outside world. He inched through <strong>the</strong> doorway with his nose twitching. When his paws <strong>to</strong>uched <strong>the</strong> familiar dirt, his whole body went electric. This. All of this. The breeze in his fur. Those feral smells. A blade of grass dragged along <strong>the</strong> side of his mouth. He rolled around in <strong>the</strong> dirt. He sniffed <strong>the</strong> grille of my car like it contained all <strong>the</strong> decadence of <strong>the</strong> world.
He tugged <strong>to</strong>o hard, <strong>the</strong>n I tugged <strong>to</strong>o hard, but eventually we found our rhythm. We got so good at this nightly routine, we could stay out <strong>the</strong>re for an hour at a time, exploring grassy corners and wandering in<strong>to</strong> <strong>the</strong> undiscovered country of <strong>the</strong> driveway. He lay with his fur against <strong>the</strong> cool gravel, and I stared up at <strong>the</strong> sky, two animals finding <strong>the</strong>ir way in<strong>to</strong> <strong>the</strong> wild on a short leash now.
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Begin Reading Table of Contents New
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PRELUDE
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The guy isn’t bad-looking. Slight
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WOMEN WHO DRINK I was 33, and lying
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she did not get—but I’ve never
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In my 20s, friends called with that
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I discussed roofies with Aaron Whit
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a while, a columnist would come alo
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ONE
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when no one was looking, and I woul
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steps, not talking. As much as my f
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Our home was on a major artery thro
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She’d transformed, like Olivia Ne
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I threw up seven times. Hunched ove
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STARVED One of the curious aspects
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more successful her eating disorder
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orrowed. She couldn’t miss the si
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To make it more confounding, Miles
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efused to be won. I drank cup after
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DRESSING IN MEN’S CLOTHES I start
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coffee. But that seemed like a very
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you to imperil our amazing friendsh
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I FINALLY GOT a boyfriend near the
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FOUR
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The production guy passed my desk a
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drank myself to the place where I w
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ehind me, and told him I was moving
- Page 57 and 58: my Harp as soon I walked in the doo
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- Page 61 and 62: “Your key, mademoiselle,” said
- Page 63 and 64: My friend Meredith lived in an apar
- Page 65 and 66: “This was fun,” I said. He was
- Page 67 and 68: OF COURSE. OF course I’d gone to
- Page 69 and 70: like you should not be crying,” h
- Page 71 and 72: SIX
- Page 73 and 74: When the bottle was drained, I’d
- Page 75 and 76: But no, really, I had it this time.
- Page 77 and 78: off a gargantuan diamond. I thought
- Page 79 and 80: INTERLUDE
- Page 81 and 82: ain, which allowed his body to deve
- Page 83 and 84: SEVEN
- Page 85 and 86: But his once-sallow cheeks were ros
- Page 87 and 88: announcing their baby. Nobody wants
- Page 89 and 90: want to remain silent and unknowabl
- Page 91 and 92: Bubba curled up alongside me when I
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- Page 95 and 96: for me? My friends didn’t necessa
- Page 97 and 98: ecause otherwise you have to go int
- Page 99 and 100: said, and she was right. The next w
- Page 101 and 102: fill-in-the-blank letter of apology
- Page 103 and 104: NINE
- Page 105 and 106: the tastes of a frat boy, or a grum
- Page 107: Mine was a recipe for unhappiness.
- Page 111 and 112: SEX My first date in sobriety was w
- Page 113 and 114: 30s to stare down a personal profil
- Page 115 and 116: and said, “Look, I dressed up for
- Page 117 and 118: “I’m thinking: Well, that was f
- Page 119 and 120: he’s impotent or not, I don’t k
- Page 121 and 122: ELEVEN
- Page 123 and 124: the scorn of strangers. They skip t
- Page 125 and 126: Addiction was the inverse of honest
- Page 127 and 128: I worshipped alcohol, and it consum
- Page 129 and 130: THIS IS THE PLACE A few months befo
- Page 131 and 132: Anna and I have had 20 years of the
- Page 133 and 134: saying in midsentence. My dad loses
- Page 135 and 136: from here, I told myself. There wil
- Page 137 and 138: ABOUT THE AUTHOR SARAH HEPOLA’S w
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