No, what I mean to say is: IAMFINISHEDWITHTHEBOOK!IAMFINISHEDWITHTHEBOOK!IAMFINISHEDWITHTHEBOOK!
I actually wrote the words “THE END” at 6:30 in the morning. (How corny is it to write “THE END”?–but, what can I say, the moment called for it.) I was so tired and shaky that cartwheels were out of the question–as was opening up the bottle of champagne [...]
"Richly textured, insightful novel..." Library Journal
"Shelton delves into family relationships with humor and empathy, making this a pleasurable read." Booklist
"Fine blend of humor and poignancy." Hartford Courant
Prologue
The letters come to me by the box load, carried upstairs to my office by Carl the Mailroom Guy, who drops them off and says cheerfully each time, “Well, here’s some more trouble for you to solve.”
"A zany, affecting first novel...Plenty of laughs here." People magazine
"A skillfully constructed, economically written novel that is funny, sad, and almost painfully accurate about human failings." Boston Globe
"A delightful beach book...Funny/sad and frantic/romantic, but with serious undertones....A great read." Hartford Courant
Chapter One
The fact is, I’m in the process of panicking in front of Dan Briggs. We’re sitting in my living room late on Sunday night, and although I only met him a month ago and nothing has been said outright, the air has a sudden crackle to it that even I know means it’s time we decided whether we’ll sleep together. We’ve kissed three times—although not yet tonight—and he’s called me on the phone five times, and we’ve gone for two walks that turned romantic. That adds up to one overdue sexual encounter by today’s rules, I believe.
