Chapters (47)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Author's Note
- · PLAYLIST ·
- · ONE ·
- · TWO ·
- · THREE ·
- · FOUR ·
- · FIVE ·
- · SIX ·
- · SEVEN ·
- · EIGHT ·
- · NINE ·
- · TEN ·
- · ELEVEN ·
- · TWELVE ·
- · THIRTEEN ·
- · FOURTEEN ·
- · FIFTEEN ·
- · SIXTEEN ·
- · SEVENTEEN ·
- · EIGHTEEN ·
- · NINETEEN ·
- · TWENTY ·
- · TWENTY-ONE ·
- · TWENTY-TWO ·
- · TWENTY-THREE ·
- · TWENTY-FOUR ·
- · TWENTY-FIVE ·
- · TWENTY-SIX ·
- · TWENTY-SEVEN ·
- · TWENTY-EIGHT ·
- · TWENTY-NINE ·
- · THIRTY ·
- · THIRTY-ONE ·
- · THIRTY-TWO ·
- · THIRTY-THREE ·
- · THIRTY-FOUR ·
- · THIRTY-FIVE ·
- · THIRTY-SIX ·
- · THIRTY-SEVEN ·
- · ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ·
- · DISCUSSION QUESTIONS ·
- Kate
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
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Better Hate than Never
Kate
My life has come to this: all my worldly possessions shoved into one trusty, albeit three-wheeled and wobbly, suitcase; seven dollars and fifty-nine cents in my bank account; and zero idea of what comes next.
This is what I get for heeding my monthly horoscope.
As the stars align, your path shifts. Change creates new chances. Old wounds offer wisdom. Your future awaits. The question is: are you brave enough to embrace it?
That damn horoscope.
Starfished on my sister Juliet’s bed, I stare at my reflection in the nearby standing mirror and ask it, “What were you thinking?”
My reflection arches an eyebrow as if to say, You’re asking me?
Groaning, I paw around the mattress until I find my dinged-up but still operational phone, then swipe it open to turn on music. It’s too quiet in here and my thoughts are too loud.
Moments later, a song from my aptly named playlist GET UR SHIT 2GETHER fills the room. But it doesn’t help—not even the most high-octane feminist anthem can change the fact that I am so prone to act first, think later, so easily goaded by a challenge, that one minor family crisis coinciding with a taunting horoscope, and look where I’ve landed myself.
Home, where I haven’t been in nearly two years, or stayed for longer than a week at a time since I graduated college. Specifically, in my older sister Juliet’s room while she flies over the Atlantic, headed for a stay in the quaint Highlands cottage I’ve been renting. A cottage, I quickly realized after breaking my shoulder and having to pass on my usual photojournalism gigs, that I couldn’t afford (neither budgeting nor saving has ever been my forte).
I had a rental cottage I couldn’t pay for, and my sister Juliet needed a change of scenery. Swapping places was a no-brainer at the time. Now, lying in my sisters’ apartment, left alone to contemplate my choices, I’m not so sure.
As if she knows my thoughts are spiraling, my phone lights up with a text from Beatrice, my other older sister and Juliet’s twin. I can feel her happiness in a few simple sentences, and a wave of calm crests through me, a reassuring reminder—I made the right decision in coming home.
BEEBEE: Hey, KitKat. I’m really sry for dashing off so soon after you got here. I know you get why I needed to talk to Jamie right away, but I’ll come back tonight & we can spend time together, OK?