“Okay?”
Beth holds out her hand and Gwen laughs, taking it with one decisive shake.
“Let’s get them together,” Gwen says.
Beth grins. “Let’s.”
Acknowledgments
Writing is often a solitary process, but if you have the right team backing you up, it doesn’t feel quite so lonely. Sorry to all the other writers out there, but my team is THE BEST.
To Stacy, my wonderful agent, for the guidance and encouragement, support, and excitement, thank you. I wouldn’t be here without you, and I’m so glad we’re on this journey together.
To Sylvan, my fantastic editor, you bring out the very best of me with so much joy and such great fun. Thank you for believing in Beth and Gwen (and their found, beloved family) as much as I do.
To Larry, my champion manager, for taking a chance on me, believing in me, and hiking with me up this steep steep hill, thank you. To many more years to come. And Devra, thank you for everything.
To Wayne, lawyer extraordinaire, thank you for the guidance and support, for reading, and for so many wonderful chats.
To Leni Kauffman, for the most beautiful, absolute wildest dream of a cover, thank you for giving Beth and Gwen the most spectacular come-to-life.
To the other incredible publishing professionals who have laid hands onDon’t Want You Like a Best Friend, thank you: Erika Tsang, May Chen, Tracy Wilson and Mark Burkeitt, Christine Vahaly, Diahann Sturge, Shelby Peak, Amy Halperin, DJDeSmyther, Jes Lyons, Kalie Barnes-Young, Ronnie Kutys, Andy LeCount, Caroline Bodkin.
To my betas, my friends, my compatriots in the writing and creating trenches, Abby, Becca, Ben, Joe, Lindsay—you make me better, you raise me up, you make me laugh, and I love you all to pieces. I couldn’t be here without you. And I owe you so many cupcakes.
To the amazing authors and creatives who have supported this story—Evie Dunmore, Amalie Howard, Carlyn Greenwald, Courtney Kae, Darcy Rose Byrnes—thank you so much for reading and making this year so joyful.
To my wonderful friends, who have cheered me on throughout this whole process, endlessly encouraging and loving, you are the absolute best people this world has to offer and I love you so much.
To Dylan and Dani, thank you for the love and support, calming words, and breathless excitement. Thank you for being there every single step of the way. Thank you for believing in me.
Mom, thank you for all those patient years guiding me through essays, teaching me how to make the conclusion into the thesis. I looked out for repetitions. Dad, thank you for the late-night discussions of story, beats, and dramatic arcs, and the endless Sondheim before-school sing-alongs. I wouldn’t be the writer, or person, I am without both of you.
And to you, dear reader, I hope this book brings you as much joy as it has brought me, and that you can see a little something of yourself in it somewhere, and imagine.
Read on for an excerpt fromYou’re the Problem, It’s You
Coming in Summer 2024
Bobby
They haven’t invented a liquor strong enough to counteract the absolute banality of an opening-night ball. Bobby Mason stares down into his drink, listening to his brother, Albie, and their friend Lord Cunningham recite a list of debutantes at a rapid-fire pace, all the names swirling into a light buzz. Bobby’s not sure how Albie has managed to keep track of this many girls, living up north all year. Perhaps this is what Meredith discusses when they’re spending long, loving evenings together.
Guilt overtakes him. He shouldn’t think ill of his new sister-in-law, stuck in the country and unable to travel because she’s expecting and poorly. If he’s being honest, Albie’s always the one bringing up engagement gossip, not Meredith. Meredith’s a delight. This unending conversation is a pain.
“But I wouldn’t put any money on the Steton-Johnson merger,” Cunningham says, his slightly nasal voice cutting into Bobby’s brooding.
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Albie says, chuckling as Cunningham rolls his eyes. “Lady Annabeth goes after what she wants. She already had ten scions last I checked.”
“Damn, already?” Bobby grumbles as he looks down at his own Spot-the-Scion card. He’s only managed to spot seven society sons, four of whom include himself, Albie, Cunningham, and his cousin Gwen’s partner Beth’s cousin Lord James Demeroven.
Bobby glances at Demeroven and finds him staring down into his own glass, narrow shoulders high. Cunningham’s apparently betrothed to a nice girl up in the country, so he has no need to make a match this season—the poor lucky sod. But Demeroven, with his new title, will need to think about settling down. Bobby is sure Beth’s terrible uncle is eager for Demeroven to pop out an heir.
Of course, that’s not a unique perspective in this room. Bobby looks out at the sea of debutantes, mothers, and eligible scions in the immaculate ballroom. It’s all swirls of soft pastels, tails, and glittering jewels.
Oh, and there’s Mr.Yokely, Lord Yokely’s younger brother. “Eight,” Bobby mumbles. He fishes the small pencil Gwen passed him earlier out of his pocket to mark his Spot-the-Scion card. He’s doing pretty well for having spent the first hour dancing with Beth—another ten eligible sons spotted and he might have a chance at winning.
“You got another?” Albie asks, leaning up to see his card. Bobby’s got inches on his older brother now. It’s still strange to be able to look down at Albie’s light brown hair.
