The People We Choose Katelyn Detweiler (graded readers TXT) 📖

fall when you dive into the shark tank.” He lets out an evil chuckle, and I toss an oversized chaise pillow squarely at his smug face.

“You,” I say, sighing heavily, “are such an annoying little brother sometimes, do you know that?”

“Only because I have years to make up for. You had it too easy being an only child.”

I’m opening my mouth to make some kind of scathing retort when Joanie interrupts from the doorway.

“Did you think the table would set itself?” she asks, hands on her hips as she squints in at us. “I see four very capable hands in here.”

“Yes, Mom,” Max says, springing up from his chair.

“Yes, Joanie,” I say, more reluctantly, as I pry my legs one by one from the wonderfully cloudlike cushion.

Before I turn toward the kitchen door, I see Mama and Elliot outside by the grill, Mama seemingly demonstrating something with a pair of tongs and a burger patty. Elliot is leaning in, dutifully listening. If he’s annoyed that she’s taking over, he doesn’t show it.

I smile.

And then I follow Max down the hallway to set the table, because it’s time for our family dinner to begin.

acknowledgments

Every book is its own unique journey, and this has been an especially weird and windy and wonderful one. As everyone in my life well knows by now, I am chronically obsessed with hypotheticals—with asking hard, maybe sometimes even impossible, questions. (Thank you all for putting up with me, by the way.) The particular question driving this book has been with me for a long time now: What if you unknowingly fell in love with a person you’re not allowed to love, not like that, not under any circumstances? As I wrote, though, the question became about so much more: What is family love versus friendship love versus romantic love? How are those loves different, how are they the same? How do we define what makes a group of people family, and what makes that love so special? These are not easy questions, and it took a village of wise people to get me on the right path.

To my agent (among many other things!) Jill Grinberg, I remember the first time I worked up the courage to tell you about this idea, years ago now, over some matcha at Primrose. You listened thoughtfully, quietly, never batting an eye, and then started asking me so many necessary and valuable questions about my intentions and hopes for this book. You have poked and prodded and nudged this story along through so many variations and courses, and for that I am immensely grateful. Denise Page and Sam Farkas, thank you both for reading and sharing your brilliant insights, for helping to make this book richer and rounder and better in all ways. Sophia Seidner, thank you for all the vigilant, empowering work you do behind the scenes. I am thankful every day to be part of the JGLM team, as an author and as an agent—to share all pieces of my working life with such a fiercely talented and funny and kind group of women.

To my editor Margaret Ferguson, working with you feels like earning an MFA in the best, most rewarding way possible. Your wisdom and expertise are unparalleled, truly a vast treasure trove of knowledge, and you make me an endlessly better, more careful, more thoughtful writer with each project I’m lucky enough to share with you. Thank you for pushing me further with each new draft, for asking all the big questions—and the little questions—and for not stopping until the story was as it was meant to be. It is an honor to be on your list.

To my Holiday House team—Terry Borzumato-Greenberg, Michelle Montague, Emily Mannon, and everyone else who helped bring Calliope Silversmith to life—thank you for championing me and this book and for allowing me to bring my hypothetical questions to the world. Thank you to my copy editor, Chandra Wohleber, for your insightful polishes.

To my dear readers and friends, Melissa and Lauren DelVecchio, thank you for helping to make this book better and more accurate, and for sharing your beautiful family with me. Your love is an inspiration, always.

To all of my family and friends who have heard me talk about this book idea for years upon years, thank you for listening. Thank you for entertaining my absurd questions and ultimatums. Thank you for accepting and supporting me as I am. I love you all with my whole being. Whether we share blood or not, you are my family. My people for life.

To my parents, Denny and Carol, I will thank you endlessly, because you’ve made all things possible. This book and every book I’ve written and every book I’ll ever write—they’re because you believed in me unconditionally. You let me dream big dreams and you made me keep fighting for those dreams to come true, no matter how scary or distant or impossible they sometimes felt. Thank you for holding my hand through it all.

To Danny, thank you for living and breathing this book with me. All the countless drafts, the constant push to write, write, write through pregnancy (because what if I would never write again otherwise?!), the balancing of momming and revising and working full-time, all from home, all together, every day. Thank you for being next to me for every last bit of it, for being a superhuman who keeps our home and family merrily chugging along. Thank you for being my first reader, my caffeine supplier, my master chef. You make every day a good day.

To Alfie, your first acknowledgment! You are my joy and my reason, and you are worth every cup of coffee it takes to write these words. Thank you for teaching me the meaning of motherhood.

And to my readers, thank you for joining me on this unusual journey, for trusting in me, and for, I hope, loving Calliope Silversmith and her beautiful family as much as I do. Thank you for being here. You are my