Swim (9 page)
Authors: Jennifer Weiner
So we would watch, and, when I felt well enough, I would write the continuing adventures of the Golden Girls, sometimes guest-starring Grandma and me. Roommates would come and go, kids with broken legs or tonsil issues, just passing through. Once, I shared a room with a teenager recovering from her high-school-graduation-gift nose job. They wheeled her in just after a nurse had finished changing my bandages. The curtain was open, and, for a moment, we regarded each other. Both of her eyes were blackened, and her nose was in a splint, but, from her response, I guessed that I looked even worse. “Jesus, what happened to you?” she asked in a froggy, nasal voice, taking in my eye patch and the bandages on my cheek. Her parents shushed her. Grandma glared and jerked the curtain shut. The next morning, the girl was gone, and Grandma and I and our television set were alone again.
The summer slipped by in a syrupy, pain-spiked haze. It was a season without weather, because the hospital was always air-conditioned to the point of chilliness, a summer without any of the usual markers, picnics or fireworks or trips to the beach. On operation days, nurses would wake me up before dawn and wheel me into the operating room without so much as a sip of water. (“Why so early?” I asked, and my grandmother would make an uncharacteristically cynical face and said, “The doctors don’t want to miss their tee times.”) “You ready to go?” Grandma would whisper, bending close to me. Those mornings she didn’t bother with her makeup. I could see wrinkles around her lips, fanning out from the corners of her eyes, and deep grooves in her forehead and stretching from her nose to the corners of her lips. Her hair was still dark then—she dyed it, I knew; when I was home I’d help her brush the solution onto the spots she couldn’t reach. She was old, and the doctors and fathers who’d give the pretty nurses appreciative looks all ignored her, but to me, she was beautiful. I knew how she had looked, the beauty she’d once been. That beauty, I thought, was still there, like a layer of a shell hidden under subsequent accretions of mother-of-pearl, still there, if you looked closely enough.
“Remember,” she would tell me, “I’m going to be right there, waiting right outside.” She would hold my hand as they pushed my gurney down the hallway, letting go at the last possible moment, when the doors to the operating room swung open to let me through. Someone would poke a needle into the crook of my arm; someone else would position my head underneath the bright lights. “Count backward from ten,” a voice from nowhere would tell me, as the anesthesiologist put a mask over my mouth . . . but I’d never make it past seven. My eyelids would get heavy, my lips and tongue too heavy and immense to maneuver.
After my final surgery I jolted awake, my arms and legs itching, not knowing how long I’d been unconscious—days? Weeks? The right side of my face felt as if it had been soaked in gasoline and set on fire, with the invisible hand back, squeezing, squeezing. My right eye was bandaged and my left eye was stuck shut, the lashes pasted to my cheek with tears and blood and Betadine. The inside of my mouth, where the surgeons did most of their stitching, was so tender that for days all I’d be able to manage would be puddings and ice cream and milk-soaked Life cereal. The television and the notebooks were my anchors, my constants. “Write it,” Nana would tell me, her legs crossed at her trim ankles, her blouses perfectly pressed, in spite of a day in the punishing August heat. “Write it all down.”
“It hurts,” I managed, even though it was agony to move my jaw and tongue enough to even get those words out.
“I know,” said Grandma, stroking my hair. I picked up a pen with hands that felt as thick and clumsy as Mickey Mouse’s mittened extremitie. I remembered Katie and her mother walking through the curtains, bathed in the sunset’s apricot glow, headed back to the world of normal people, where nobody stared, where girls got normal things: friends, boyfriends, a husband, a home. I opened the notebook, and wrote
I will never be beautiful
. Then I shut my eyes, turned my face toward the wall, and pretended I’d fallen asleep.
That was the only night I ever saw my grandmother cry. She picked up the notebook, read what I’d written, closed it slowly, and turned toward the window. I saw her reflection in the glass, saw her shoulders hitching up and down, saw tears shining on her cheeks as she whispered, fiercely, over and over,
not fair, not fair, not fair.
I made myself stop looking, aware that what I was seeing was private, not meant for my eyes. The next morning, her cheeks were dry, her eyes were bright, her lipstick and mascara as perfect as ever. The page I’d written on had been missing from the notebook. It had been ripped out so neatly that it took me the rest of the summer to even notice that it was gone.
Praise for
Then Came You
“Absorbing . . . a beach read in the classic sense.”
—Philadelphia Inquirer
“One of the biggest names in popular fiction.” —
USA Today
“An emotional and affecting story of the unlikely village that forms around the creation of one small person.”
—Miami Herald
“
Then Came You
is most centrally about women being each other’s fairy godmothers, each other’s ‘mysterious benefactors’—with money, with inspiration, with love, with learning, with luxury. If you’re a Weiner fan, you’ll lap it up. And if you don’t know her yet, here’s the place to start.”
—Washington Post
Praise for
Fly Away Home
“She writes the best page-turners around.” —
Elle
“Hilarious! An unflappably fun read. . . .The message is choosing to live an authentic life. As always, Weiner gives us a woman who stands taller, curvier, and happier when she does just that.” —
USA Today
“Witty and irreverent. . . .A compelling beach read.” —
The Washington Post
“Weiner is a writer of innate brilliance.
Fly Away Home
is a well-tuned hymn to the resilience of women in the wake of heartache, regret, and the failed promises of Botox.” —
Philadelphia Inquirer
Praise for
Best Friends Forever
“A smart, witty fairy tale for grown-ups.” —Maureen Corrigan, NPR
“One of our favorite heroines of the summer. . . .Another superlative novel by Weiner, about a big girl with a bigger heart, that will have women and men of all sizes cheering.” —
USA Today
“Touching and true-to-life.” —
The Washington Post
“A hilarious caper, resplendent in charm and poignancy.” —
Booklist
(starred review)
Praise for
Certain Girls
“Fresh, funny, and real. . .” —
The Miami Herald
“
Certain Girls
is the kind of book that gets under your skin, reminding you what it felt like when you were thirteen and capturing exactly what it feels like now.” —Laura Zigman,
The Washington Post
“Hilarious. . . .Weiner offers her signature snappy observations and spot-on insights into human nature.” —
Publishers Weekly
“Positively delightful. . . .Enjoy the charisma of Cannie’s earthy and mature female voice.” —
Entertainment Weekly
Praise for
The Guy Not Taken
“Puts Weiner on the map as one of her generation’s best literary voices.” —
The Boston Herald
“Shouldn’t be missed. . . .It is the reader who will be taken by this set of eleven marvelous short stories.” —
Entertainment Weekly
“Fans will savor Weiner’s confidential tone and salty wit.” —
People
“Another delightful example of Jennifer Weiner’s tender way with words and emotions.” —
Harper’s Bazaar
Praise for
Goodnight Nobody
“Weiner’s sharp wit makes murder entertaining.” —
The Miami Herald
“Weiner’s got a brilliant eye for social stratum, character sketches and renderings of suburban atmospherics.” —
The Washington Post Book World
“A Peyton Place for the 21
st
century, only more modern, hip and funny than the original.” —
The Boston Globe
“Hilarious. . . .begs to be read in one sitting.” —
Philadelphia Inquirer
Praise for
Little Earthquakes
“Hilarious, heartbreaking, and insightful.” —
The Miami Herald
“Immensely readable. . . .Weiner’s gift lies in her ability to create characters who amuse us and make us care.” —
The Washington Post
“Weiner, a wonderful natural writer and storyteller, renders her characters and their messy, sometimes wrenching lives in details that resonate as the real deal. . . .smart, loveable, and mordantly funny.” —
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)
“Lively, witty, and often touching. . . .Weiner’s snappy dialogue and captivating characters make
Little Earthquakes
endlessly appealing.” —
People
Praise for
In Her Shoes
“Irresistible. . .” —
The Washington Post
“An entertaining romp. . . .This book is like spending time with an understanding friend who has a knack for always being great company. Bottom line: wonderful fit.” —
People
“If chick lit is indeed a genre, Weiner is creating a smarter, funnier subspecies. . . .She is a sharp observer of the frustrations of blood ties.” —
Philadelphia Inquirer
“Weiner, a marvelously natural storyteller, blends humor and heartbreak to create an irresistible novel.” —
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)
Praise for
Good in Bed
“Funny, fanciful, extremely poignant and rich with insight.” —
The Boston Globe
“
Good in Bed
is a delight, a contemporary Cinderella tale told with intelligence, with, and style.” —Susan Isaacs, author of
Almost Paradise
and
As Husbands Go
“A crackling debut. . . .Cannie emerges as one of the most emerging, realistic female characters in years. [Grade:] A.” —
Entertainment Weekly
“A breezy, sweetly oddball urban fairy tale. . . .Jennifer Weiner endows Cannie’s story with a lot of brassy heart.” —
The Miami Herald
Jennifer Weiner
is the author of ten books, including
Good in Bed, In Her Shoes,
which was made into a major motion picture, and
Then Came You.
She was the co-creator and executive producer of the ABC Family sitcom
State of Georgia
, which ran during the summer of 2011. She lives in Philadelphia with her family. To learn more, visit
www.jenniferweiner.com.
Atria Books/Simon & Schuster Author Page
authors.simonandschuster.com/Jennifer-Weiner
Author’s Website
Facebok
facebook.com/JenniferWeiner?ref=ts
Twitter
Atria Books was launched in April 2002 by publisher Judith Curr as a new hardcover and paperback imprint within Simon & Schuster, Inc. The name Atria (the plural of
atrium
—a central living space open to the air and sky) reflects our goals as publishers: to create an environment that is always open to new ideas and where our authors and their books can flourish. We look for innovative ways to connect writers and readers, integrating the best practices of traditional publishing with the latest innovations in the digital world. We are committed to publishing a wide range of fiction and nonfiction for readers of all tastes and interests.
The first book published under the Atria name,
The Right Words at the Right Time
by Marlo Thomas, became an instant #1
New York Times
bestseller, and since then Atria has gone on to publish more than 185
New York Times
bestsellers. Atria is the publishing home to many major bestselling authors including His Holiness the Dalai Lama, Jude Deveraux, Vince Flynn, T.D. Jakes, Shirley MacLaine, Kate Morton, Jodi Picoult, Sister Souljah, Brad Thor, Jennifer Weiner, Lauren Weisberger, Zane, and Rhonda Byrne, author of the international bestsellers
The Secret
and
The Power.
In recent years, the imprint has placed a strategic emphasis on publishing for diverse audiences through the acquisition of the African American–oriented press Strebor Books, the launch of Atria Books Español, and co-publishing agreements with Beyond Words Publishers and Cash Money Records. Atria Books also publishes literary fiction and topical nonfiction in trade paperback under the Washington Square Press imprint, and popular fiction and nonfiction under the Emily Bestler Books imprint, launched in 2011.
Atria—books that entertain and enlighten.
