Cover

Front matter

Praise for Jillian

“This book is incredible. The deadpan way it nails what it is to be a human who lies to herself and tells different lies to everyone else makes me want to laugh and scream. It is hilarious and weird, my two favorite qualities in a book.”

—Lindsay Hunter, author of Ugly Girls and Don’t Kiss Me

“Halle Butler’s Jillian is a wry, smart portrait of two women set on separate courses of self-destruction, each of them judging the other on the way down. This is a bold debut, a quick, vicious ride.”

—Cari Luna, author of The Revolution of Every Day

“Goddamn Halle Butler. What she's written here is a hilariously brutal tale of a woman destroying herself with cheery selfishness. I laughed myself nauseous watching the people surrounding Jillian struggle between exasperated judgment and aggravated compassion. Never before have a pair of characters made me so sick with hatred and empathy at once. Butler is writing exactly what I want to read.”

—Jac Jemc, author of My Only Wife and A Different Bed Every Time

“An authentic and beautiful portrait of a self-proclaimed asshole.”

—Chelsea Martin, author of Even Though I Don’t Miss You

“Halle Butler is a self-assured new voice in fiction, bringing fresh humor and originality to her engaging debut.”

—Elizabeth Crane, author of We Only Know So Much

Jillian

Halle Butler

Curbside Splendor

Jillian

Part 1

Part 1

ONE

Jillian was in the rapture of one of her great musings.

“But what I really want is to be a personal assistant, or to go door to door and help people get organized. Not, like, as a psychologist, but I might be good at that, too. More like helping people get the right bins and sort through their stuff. Just go in and help people get organized.”

“You really like organizing?” Megan asked. Megan was not listening. She pronounced it flatly. “You really like organizing.”

“I’m obsessed,” said Jillian. “My house is packed with color-coded boxes and labels and stuff like that.”

“You’re a collector,” said Megan.

Jillian burped, a discreet, air-valve release through her mouth. “Haha, yeah.”

The phone rang. Megan picked it up and said, “Good afternoon, doctors’ office.” The woman on the phone asked if this was Dr. Billings’s office. Megan answered in the affirmative.

“Well, finally,” said the woman. “I left a message on your machine and I did not receive a call within 24 hours as promised.”

“How may I help you?” asked Megan.

“I was beginning to think Dr. Billings was a figment of my mind,” said the woman. “Like I was imagining him, and that maybe I had dreamed leaving the message.”

Megan sniffed.

“But when I checked my call history just now, I saw that I had really called.” Megan didn’t have the energy.

“Umm, hello, hello,” said the woman.

“Yes, how may I help you?” said Megan.