Her
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Praise
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Acknowledgments
About the Author
ALSO BY LAURA ZIGMAN
Copyright Page
FOR BRENDAN
ACCLAIM FOR LAURA ZIGMAN’S
Her
“Laced with insight. It’s a bit like juicy gossip—you can’t wait to get the dirt.” —Boston Magazine
“Hilarious . . . thoughtful. . . . Zigman . . . has fun proving that sometimes the hard part in life isn’t finding Mr. Right—it’s hanging on to him that’s tough.” —Orlando Sentinel
“It’s impossible not to like Elise, the down-to-earth heroine of Her.” —San Francisco Chronicle
“Laura Zigman conveys neurosis, misperception and desperation with a deft comic hand . . . edgy hilarity and snappy, cinematic dialogue.” —The Miami Herald
“Zigman’s latest contribution to the ‘single girl’ genre of fiction is filled with funny repartee among hip characters who know their way around designer clothing shops. Zigman’s fans will enjoy this entertaining, fast-paced book.” —Book
“Zigman’s sharp and funny prose makes us sympathize with Elise even as she goes off the deep end.” —Raleigh News & Observer
“Laura Zigman has knocked one out of the park with her third novel Her. With her signature straightforward style and casual prose, Zigman serves up another post feminism heroine.” —The Milford Daily News
“Zigman makes her heroine neurotic, jealous and believable. . . . Check Her out.” —People
Prologue
She was my fiancé’s ex-fiancée; the mother of all exes; my worst nightmare incarnate. Exceeder of all expectations; destroyer of trust; obliterator of reason, rationality, sanity, she was my nemesis, my tormentor, the one I could not get over.
Her name was Adrienne, and I knew she had come to cause trouble.
It didn’t take long.
Of French descent (France, not Canada); a graduate of Yale (master’s in art history); an avid rock and mountain climber (Kilimanjaro, 1995); horrifyingly gorgeous (more, much more, about that later); and recently single (Francesco, her Spanish painter-boyfriend, had, it seemed, once too often threatened suicide if she refused to marry him), she dropped back into Donald’s life, and thus into mine, right before our wedding.
I’ll cut to the chase:
I did not handle it well.
I behaved badly; became unhinged; undone, an addict in constant need of a fix.
Given the same set of circumstances, I doubt that many women would, or could, have acted much differently.
At least, that’s what I used to tell myself.
It happened quickly:
One minute I was taste-testing cakes, canapés, champagnes; sniffing stationery; fondling tulle (or was it toile?); the next, I was stalking Adrienne. This transition, or transformation, of mine, from bride-to-be to madwoman, was inexplicably seamless, raising all sorts of questions (namely: Had I always been latently insane?) which I was far too busy spying on Adrienne to answer. In almost no time at all, she had become the object of my obsession; the subject of endless speculation, conversation, jealous suspicion; my cross to bear.