“Maybe a little,” the woman said, smiling. “I’m Charlotte.”
“I’m Amber,” I said. “I just moved here from Bellingham.”
“Really?” Charlotte said, moving off to one side as a couple other women pushed past us and walked into the room. “My brother graduated from Western last year. I love it up there.”
I nodded, but felt a dark look fall over my face, thinking how I used to love my hometown, too, and now couldn’t imagine ever living there again.
Charlotte must have sensed the conflict I felt, because she quickly changed the subject. “But now you’re here,” she said. “Did someone give you the group’s name?”
“My therapist,” I said.
“Mine, too,” she said, and then lowered her voice. “I was raped by an online date last year. What about you?”
“My best friend,” I said, swallowing hard. “Just last summer.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, frowning. She jerked her head toward the room, where I could hear a low buzz of conversation among the other women. “Come on in. It’ll be okay, I promise.”
“Okay,” I said, as I released a deep breath, hoping that what Charlotte said was true. Hoping that after everything I’d been through, after deciding to move and start my life over again, I’d found place where I would continue to heal—a place I’d find other women who understood me. A place where, no matter what else might happen, I could finally start to feel whole.
Acknowledgments
First and most important, I want to acknowledge every woman and girl who has ever been the victim of sexual assault. I, too, am a survivor. I didn’t report what happened to me, because at the time, as so many of us do, I believed I’d sent some kind of message that I had wanted this person—someone close to me, someone I knew and trusted—to do what he did. I tried to bury the shame I felt, but still, the memory of him—of his strong hand on the back of my head, pushing—has stayed with me for years.
It is this memory, paired with watching my children, a daughter and a son, both become teenagers and having frank discussions with them about their sexuality and how it relates to consent that drove me to write this book. The idea had danced around my subconscious for years; I felt driven to explore why it is that our society still blames a victim for what she said or did or wore or how much she drank, and then, in the next breath, we look at her attacker and say, “But he’s such a nice guy . . . he would never do something like that.”
And so, I must thank Greer Hendricks, my friend and brilliant former editor, who, when I brought up the idea of writing about this subject, encouraged me to pursue my instincts to tell both sides of the story. She helped me map out much of Amber’s and Tyler’s characters and storylines, and the end result is all that much stronger for it.
As usual, none of this would be happening without my agent, Victoria Sanders, and her mighty, capable squad: Diane Dickensheid, Bernadette Baker-Baughman, Chris Kepner, and Jessica Spivey. Victoria has stood with me for almost twenty years, through the good and the bad, and I am lucky to have such a fearless, formidable advocate on my side.
I must also thank Sarah Cantin, my editor at Atria, who showed such care and consideration while reviewing the initial draft of the book. Her input was invaluable, and I could not ask for a more intelligent, gifted, and empathetic publishing professional to have my back. Thanks also to Haley Weaver, Sarah’s formidable and talented editorial assistant, for catching all the little details I miss.
I wouldn’t have the privilege of this writer’s life without all the other amazing professionals at Atria Books—Judith Curr, Suzanne Donahue, Paul Olsewski, Lisa Sciambra, Ariele Fredman Stewart, Tory Lowy, Hillary Tisman, Isolde Sauer, and Will Rhino, who, after reading the completed manuscript, gave me an incredibly vital edit. This list could go on and on—to every member of the sales team, the art department (especially Laywan Kwan for designing this beautiful cover!), and marketing, to anyone who touches my books, I cannot tell you how deeply I appreciate you all.
A writer is only as good as the support system she builds around her, and mine, filled with supportive friends and family, is something I am grateful for every day. My tribe is bursting with smart, hysterically funny people who make me laugh at myself, feed me dessert, and love me up when I’m feeling fragile. You all know who you are, and that I couldn’t live without you, but I want to give a special shout-out to my daughter, Scarlett, who continues to inspire me with her strength and determination, and also, my son, Miles, whose huge, kind heart shows me every day that there is hope for the men of our future.
And then, of course, there’s Stephan. My partner, my friend, my second (and final) husband. Saying “thank you” to him just isn’t enough.