“I have,” I said, and left it at that. He was moving <strong>the</strong>re <strong>to</strong> be an ac<strong>to</strong>r. Oh baby, you are screwed, I thought, but I didn’t say this. Instead, we talked about leaps of faith. We talked about Denzel, his favorite ac<strong>to</strong>r. I tried <strong>to</strong> prepare him for disappointment, as I’m sure everyone did: Don’t make fame <strong>the</strong> measure of success, I <strong>to</strong>ld him; make this move about learning something. It was an early morning flight, and around us, heads tilted back with eyes closed and mouths open, so we whispered like two kids talking behind <strong>the</strong> teacher’s back. We talked so long that a three-anda-half-hour plane ride felt like 30 minutes. I noticed all <strong>the</strong> times he <strong>to</strong>uched my knee. I was nearly 40, used up in some corners of his<strong>to</strong>ry, and men my age were often chasing women with luscious rumps and tits that had yet <strong>to</strong> sag. I wasn’t looking for younger guys, but <strong>the</strong>y seemed <strong>to</strong> find me anyway, and I wondered why. Maybe <strong>the</strong>y sensed I was not interested in commitment yet. Or maybe <strong>the</strong>y liked <strong>the</strong> grooves of a hand that knew its own strength. I was done trying <strong>to</strong> be anyone else. “Do you think <strong>the</strong> mile-high club really exists?” he asked, raising his eyebrow. “I hope not,” I said. “Fucking in an airplane bathroom sounds terrible.” He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, you’re right.” Our plane landed, but we were not ready <strong>to</strong> part. It was his first day in New York, and it was only 11 am, which meant we had time <strong>to</strong> spray paint <strong>the</strong> <strong>to</strong>wn before we parted. I paid for <strong>the</strong> cab ride <strong>to</strong> <strong>the</strong> Ace Hotel in Mid<strong>to</strong>wn, a place where musicians and writers often stayed, and I treated him <strong>to</strong> lunch at <strong>the</strong> restaurant, full of down<strong>to</strong>wn charm and bustle. “You are giving me one hell of a s<strong>to</strong>ry,” he said, and I smiled, because he was doing <strong>the</strong> same for me. We sat on <strong>the</strong> couch in <strong>the</strong> lobby, my legs on his lap. We were surrounded by strangers typing on <strong>the</strong>ir lap<strong>to</strong>ps, headphones on. Did <strong>the</strong>y notice us? What did <strong>the</strong>y see? He fiddled with my hair, which fell across my brow. He traced his fingers around mine as my hand rested on his knee. Have you ever noticed how as<strong>to</strong>nishing it can be, holding hands with a person? Such an everyday thing, such a nothing gesture. But two hands, barely <strong>to</strong>uching each o<strong>the</strong>r. It can feel like flying. He kissed me <strong>the</strong>n. Right in front of all those people. I didn’t care. They were <strong>to</strong>o busy with Twitter and Facebook <strong>to</strong> pay attention. “I want <strong>to</strong> put down my credit card and take you upstairs right now,” he said. I smiled, and ran my fingers over his sweet face, that face that had taken him so far in <strong>the</strong> world, and I said, “Not this time.” His body fell back in <strong>the</strong> couch. “So that’s it? You’re going <strong>to</strong> leave now?” I smiled. That’s right. I was going <strong>to</strong> leave now. But I gave him my number, and I <strong>to</strong>ld him <strong>to</strong> text me if he ever needed me, and I walked out <strong>to</strong> <strong>the</strong> bustling sidewalk feeling so light. It’s a fine day when you finally figure out <strong>the</strong> right time <strong>to</strong> leave <strong>the</strong> party.
ELEVEN
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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
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my Harp as soon I walked in the doo
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FIVE
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“Your key, mademoiselle,” said
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My friend Meredith lived in an apar
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“This was fun,” I said. He was
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OF COURSE. OF course I’d gone to
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- Page 81 and 82: ain, which allowed his body to deve
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- Page 105 and 106: the tastes of a frat boy, or a grum
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- Page 113 and 114: 30s to stare down a personal profil
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- Page 117 and 118: “I’m thinking: Well, that was f
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- Page 125 and 126: Addiction was the inverse of honest
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- Page 131 and 132: Anna and I have had 20 years of the
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- Page 137 and 138: ABOUT THE AUTHOR SARAH HEPOLA’S w
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