Kirsten King is a novelist and screenwriter. Kirsten lived in Boston before relocating to Los Angeles, where she currently resides with her husband and two perfect cats. She has been published in Teen Vogue, BuzzFeed, Cosmopolitan, The Huffington Post, Shouts & Murmurs, and more. Her feature film, Crush, debuted on Hulu in 2022 and she has also written for television shows like The Second Best Hospital In The Galaxy on Amazon Prime. A Good Person is her debut novel.
A Most Anticipated Book of 2026
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"King’s debut, with its deeply unreliable narrator and zigzagging plot, evokes a zillennial Gone Girl." —New York Times Book Review
"Sharp, hilarious, and painfully relatable." —Monika Kim, author of The Eyes Are the Best Part
An electric binge-of-a-debut about a millennial antihero who seeks revenge on her ex-situationship with a hex, only for him to actually, literally die.
Lillian and Henry have been enjoying each other’s company, particularly in bed. Even though Lillian’s best (and only) friend calls it a “situationship,” Lillian knows better. And she has a plan to lock Henry down. She’ll be the best, most accommodating version of herself until he falls in love with her. But when Henry blindsides Lillian with a breakup instead of a love declaration, Lillian is left with no choice but to exact revenge with a hex.
Lillian expects Henry to grovel and come crawling back to her. What she doesn’t anticipate is becoming a prime suspect in his murder case when he’s found dead.
Desperate to control the narrative, clear her name, and assume her rightful place as Henry’s mourning girlfriend, Lillian’s pursuit of the truth will throw her into a dangerous tailspin, which may just upend her life for good.
A deliciously addictive novel that explores our darkest, most human impulses, A Good Person heralds Kirsten King as a striking new voice in fiction.
One of Marie Claire's Best Psychological Thrillers of All Time
One of Book Riot's Best Books of 2026
One of The Everygirl's Best Thriller & Horror Books of the Year So Far, According to Goodreads
One of Glamour's Best Book Club Books for 2026
One of Bustle's Best Books of March
One of Goodreads' Editors' March Book Picks
One of BuzzFeed's Best Books Editors Read in June
One of CrimeReads' Best Psychological Thrillers of March
One of CrimeReads' Best Debuts of March
One of Daily Break's Best Books of March
One of BookBub's Best New TikTok Favorites
One of BookRiot's Must-read Queer Books of April
One of LitHub's Best Reviewed Books of the Week
One of Scary Mommy's Favorite Queer Books of 2026
One of New York Times Book Review's Most Anticipated Novels This Spring
One of Autostraddle's Most Anticipated Queer Books of March
One of Our Culture's Most Anticipated Books of Spring
One of Publishers Weekly's Spring 2026 Writers to Watch
One of Publishers Marketplace’s "Buzz Books" Fiction for Spring/Summer 2026
"The title of this book is very much tongue-in-cheek, as our narcissistic, maybe sociopathic narrator Lillian is really anything but . . . [She] reliably makes shockingly, hilariously awful decisions at practically every turn." —Marie Claire
"You know that phrase, ‘I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs’? That is A Good Person by Kirsten King. You follow someone doing all the wrong things, consistently, and it’s so entertaining to watch." —New York Times Book Review
"King’s voice in the book sucks you in and simply won’t let you think about anything else until the final page." —Kimberly McCreight, The Week
"If delulu were a book, it would be A Good Person . . . Lillian is a terrible person and that’s why this book works so well. She believes herself to be rational and admirable while thinking all these awful things and it’s wildly entertaining to read." —Book Riot
"King’s debut novel, revolves around a narcissist named Lillian whose vision of the world is wildly skewed yet compulsively readable. This book is very funny and very dark and I liked it quite a lot." —The Cap Times
"Acerbic, darkly feminine and very funny. . . . The whodunit mystery might drive the plot, but comedy is the irresistible force of this unwaveringly caustic novel. . . Hilarious. . . King tenderly touches the possibility of her character’s transformation without indulging it, or sacrificing the delightful demons that propel the story." —New York Times Book Review
"I always love a slightly (or not-so-slightly) deranged woman anti-hero who demonstrates a modern absurdity and Kirsten King’s A Good Person deftly delivers. Through the journey of Lillian, a delulu narcissist who just wants to be loved, King skewers everything from modern dating to true crime. You won’t understand why Lillian makes the choices she does, but you will find yourself absurdly rooting for her by the end." —Glamour
"[A] twisty, darkly comic tale of millennial self-delusion that plays out like if Lena Dunham wrote Search Party—and I can’t think of a book that has made me laugh harder in recent memory." —Bustle
"King’s debut, with its deeply unreliable narrator and zigzagging plot, evokes a zillennial Gone Girl." —New York Times Book Review
"[A] wickedly funny spiral into the mind of someone who insists she’s decent while proving otherwise at every turn . . . King leans hard into the comedy of narcissism, letting Lillian rationalize every terrible choice with astonishing confidence. Reading A Good Person is like watching a slow-motion disaster you can’t look away from. Or if Ottessa Moshfegh dabbled in murder. Almost too uncomfortably recognizable, the novel asks a deliciously awkward question: Who actually gets to call themselves a good person?" —Seattle Times
"Once you hop on this wild ride of a novel, you won’t want to get off . . . With tart prose that tastes like sour candy, Kirsten King’s debut is a home run. Commenting on everything from corporate culture to dating and gender roles, this novel had all the ingredients of a must-read." —Marie Claire
"Lillian is in a toxic situationship with a man who couldn't care less if she lived or died—we've all been there. Reeling after he cuts things off with her despite her doing everything in her power to be the 'Cool Girl,' she drinks a little too much and tries to perform a hex on him. Which, TBH, he deserved . . . It is laugh-out-loud funny; I couldn't put it down from start to finish, and there's nothing I love more than an unhinged female character." —Buzzfeed
"Who among us hasn’t spiraled after being blindsided by a breakup? In Kirsten King’s A Good Person, that notion is taken to the extreme . . . Expect a debut that’s part Fleabag, part Gone Girl." —theSkimm
"Riveting. . . King drives the narrative with a style both lean and muscular and a tempo that keeps you avidly moving from one page to the next. It’s notable that King also writes for film and television. . . That experience may have honed the practice of taut pacing needed for a can’t-put-it-down thriller. It’s probably not a coincidence that bestselling authors of suspense novels, like Lee Child and Tim Sullivan, also had years of experience in television before turning to the written page. . . With Lillian, King has created a character who is convincingly disturbing, and places her in a world that smartly smudges the line between good and bad, aggressor and victim, real and unreal." —WBUR.org
"Fans of unlikeable characters are going to fall head over heels for this insufferable lead. . . [A] fast-paced story of one unhinged woman trying to take back the narrative she believes she so desperately deserves. A Good Person is a wild ride and one that's impossible to pull yourself away from." —Bust
"This book was incredible. Kirsten King’s love-to-hate narrator thinks she’s found the perfect man, at least until he dumps her unceremoniously then turns up dead the next day . . . Who is a good person? What treatment do they get that allows them to remain that way? While the unlikeable female narrator has had its day as a trend, A Good Person reinvigorates the trope for a new era of complicated antiheroes ready to rage against the patriarchy." —CrimeReads
"[A]n incredible thriller with an unreliable narrator that I quite literally could not put down until I finished it!" —The Nerd Daily
"[A] delicious feat of obsession and modern dating." —Forbes.com
"Lillian is not likable. She’s not even reliable, and she’s far from pleasant to be around. Her psyche is a haunted house: too spooky to live there, but it’s a propulsive place to spend a brief stint. So unhinged, you can’t look away . . . King performs an admirable feat, immersing us in Lillian’s head while cluing us into her egotism through the mouths, reactions and choices of the supporting characters. Although Lillian’s narcissism intensifies her perceptions of the world, her unreliability begs a profound and relatable question: Can we really trust ourselves?" —Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
"I couldn’t put this book down . . . What ensues is such a fun, wild, delusional ride I started questioning my own sanity by the end. I can’t recommend it enough!" —The Strategist
"This thriller book seems like a hoot!" —Book Talk with Lauren
"I usually can’t watch cringe comedy, but for some reason I couldn’t stop reading this book—peering through my fingers. It’s hilarious and the epitome of can’t-look-away-train-wreck." —Katie Couric Media
"Through Lillian, Ms. King aptly captures the complex, contradictory nature of being young and vulnerable in our increasingly lonely age." —Newcity Lit
"A Good Person explores the nature of human impulses at its most explosive states." —The Johns Hopkins News-Letter
"This psychological thriller takes a familiar subject (a situationship gone wrong) and adds a deliciously dark, funny, and anxiety-inducing twist." —The Newsette
"If you enjoy a spastically funny, deeply narcissistic and mind bogglingly delusional unreliable narrator, then Lillian is your girl . . . [A] fast, fun, twisted read that felt cinematic and kept up a consistently blended amusing/disturbing tone throughout. Though Lillian is an egotistical leech, I still found myself nodding along to some of her darkly astute observations and appreciated when she mocked performative progressive culture even as she giddily participated in it." —The Rolling Ladder
"King explores the complexities of one’s internal world and external actions . . . It’s tragic at points, then emotional, conflicting, all while maintaining a sharp humor." —V Magazine
"Magic, irony, relationships—if you liked [King’s] film Crush, you might like this too!" —Book and Film Globe
"A horrific delight." —Bad on Paper
"Self-preservation is a blood sport for Kirsten King's protagonist in A Good Person, a dark satire with cosmic twists. . . . King's contemporary debut catapults readers into the "neurotic" psyche of one of modern literature's most audacious narcissists and follows her through a series of mishaps that land her in the middle of a murder investigation . . . A screenwriter, King artfully spins a story that straddles pure comedy—particularly the dialogue between her protagonist and her equally self-absorbed mother—and the horror genre. Lillian, one realizes with mounting dread, has the makings of a true sociopath. Encountering multiple thrilling plot turns that throw Lillian's world into disarray, A Good Person accelerates toward a brilliant finale as appalling as it is inevitable. . . . [An] artfully written dark satire." —Shelf Awareness (starred review)
"Crime fiction with a liberal dash of black humour." —Crime Fiction Lover
"[A] clever tale of a vengeful woman . . . King raises thought-provoking questions about performances of victimhood and the desire for justice, and the propulsive narrative careens through some surprising twists. It’s equal parts thrilling and chilling." —Publishers Weekly
"A character-driven dark comedy, A Good Person balances outrageous behavior with biting humor and a compulsively readable voice. Recommended for readers who enjoy sharply funny, voice-driven fiction with morally complicated women at the center." —Booklist
"Electrifying. A Good Person is a compulsively readable and sharply insightful spin on the unreliable narrator and an utterly fresh take on a page-turning thriller. I loved it." —Kimberly McCreight, New York Times bestselling author of Like Mother, Like Daughter
"A Good Person is a laugh-out-loud, unflinchingly sharp thriller that's unlike anything I've ever read before. An ode to unlikable female characters and the darkest, most honest parts of ourselves, this novel reads like a love letter to Amy Dunne of Gone Girl. In other words, it’s my dream book. I absolutely loved it." —Olivia Muenter, USA Today bestselling author of Such a Bad Influence and Little One
"An enthusiastically deranged frolic of a novel, A Good Person is for readers who adore mess. I couldn't get enough of Lillian's voice, both disturbing and delightful, and felt so sorry for every character that crossed her path. Truly an enchanting debut from Kirsten King with a wink, a smile, and a swift kick in the ass. Loved!" —Rachel Koller Croft, USA Today bestselling author of Stone Cold Fox and We Love the Nightlife
"Wild, wicked, and laugh out loud funny. Lillian is a bad person, but Kirsten King is a GREAT writer." —Sarah Harman, author of All the Other Mothers Hate Me
"I raced, cringing, through Kirsten King’s taut psychological thriller, compelled and repelled in equal measure by Lillian’s assured narration. After spending so much time in Lillian’s head, the reader starts to lose sight of what, exactly, makes ‘a good person.’ And that’s high praise." —Laura Sims, author of How Can I Help You
"Sharp, hilarious, and painfully relatable, Kirsten King's debut will keep you laughing as you turn each page. Lillian is the chaotic friend, the ex you still stalk, and the woman you claim to despise but still can’t stop following." —Monika Kim, author of The Eyes Are the Best Part
"I stayed up way too late reading Kirsten King’s A Good Person. I could not put it down, had to know how it ended. Wow. Maybe Lillian is not your textbook definition of a good person, but I fell for her hard." —Marcy Dermansky, author of Hot Air
"An unforgettable read, driven by a delightfully diabolical antiheroine whose antics are both terrifying and impressive. I gulped it down in two delirious sittings, gobsmacked by the twists and turns, and by Lillian's dangerous self-delusion. But be warned: the most terrifying twist might be just how much Lillian reminds you of yourself in your darkest moments." —Caitlin Barasch, author of A Novel Obsession
"I adored this deliciously acidic, addictive novel. Lillian is my favorite kind of heroine, interior, self-interested and dripping with venom. Her grotesque worldview is, in turn, funny, tragic, minutely observed and worryingly relatable. Poisonous, giddy, excruciating, delightful - an exceptional debut." —Emma van Straaten, author of Creep
"A daring thrill ride into the dark corners of a troubled mind. . . . What starts as a hilarious zippy sugar high becomes a harrowing crash—I was...entranced, reading through my fingers but also never putting it down." —Elizabeth Rose Quinn, author of Follow Me
"You’ll laugh, you’ll gasp, you’ll find it painfully relatable. A Good Person is delightfully dark, funny, and thought-provoking. I couldn’t put it down." —Annakeara Stinson, author of forthcoming Nerve Damage
"King’s A Good Person is a ferocious, anxiety inducing, and hilarious debut. Lillian is an antiheroine for the ages and a brutal figurehead for the worst parts of gen z. The experience of reading her progressive downward spiral felt like a sustained panic attack. I audibly said "oh no" about every three pages. A mic drop of a debut." —Caroline Glenn, author of forthcoming Cruelty Free
Chapter One
My name was misspelled on the cake. That was the first thing I noticed. Instead of "Happy birthday, Lillian!" it said "Happy birthday, Lilian." It felt like a bad omen for the year to come-like that missing l might derail everything. I stared at the pastel store-bought cake while my colleagues sang an off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday." The loudest voice in the room by a landslide was my coworker Jessica, who had the vigor of a theater kid who'd been begrudgingly cast in the chorus and was fighting for her life to change her fate. Jessica was the company's latest hire, and she was constantly asking people to go to coffee so she could "pick their brain," as if that were a normal turn of phrase and not a deranged way of asking to harvest intel. She was fresh out of college, with more collagen and optimism than I had ever had in my life. I hated her.
I didn't really have friends at work. Sometimes I traded GIFs with people on Slack, but I found it difficult to connect with the other women in the office. They all did reformer Pilates, drank matcha, and were invited to weddings every other weekend. How they knew so many people, I wasn't sure. They were also all excellent at pretending to be passionate about our company, which was a small marketing firm called Fizzle that advertised themselves as progressive, as if having a white woman as our CEO meant we weren't participating in capitalism the same way everyone else was.
My boss, Candice, who was second-in-command to our CEO, stood next to Jessica. Candice was dressed head to toe in red, with cherry Crocs to match. She seemingly had Crocs for every season, even ones that had been insulated for Boston's harsh winters. The other girls at work often complimented her style, but I personally thought she looked like an emotionally stunted clown.
"Happy birthday to youuuuuu!" Candice sang.
Candice was mostly an okay boss. She had the kind of millennial guilt that meant she was generous with time off, and she once let a colleague stay home because she was "emotionally hungover" from watching Squid Game. I assumed her bright outfits and kindness would dull over time, but in my three years at the company, she had maintained her cheer. I wanted to like her, but she made me feel like a dark cloud waiting to rain on a corporate culture that was built on the back of a kombucha scoby.
"Blow out the candles!" Candice said, pushing the cake toward my face.
I smiled to the best of my ability and blew out the candles. I decided against making a real wish on a defective cake. I didn't want to risk any cosmic wires getting crossed and making whatever I (Lillian with two l's) wanted come true for Lilian with one l instead.
Normally, I liked attention, but today's birthday was an exception. Against my will, I was turning twenty-nine. By now, I was supposed to have a skincare routine that didn't make me break out. I was supposed to have a job where I made six figures and people didn't talk over me in meetings. I was supposed to have enough underwear to make it through a month without dipping into garments I had owned since college. I was supposed to throw out my underwear from college. I was supposed to have a committed partner who loved me.
That part, at least, I could say I was working on.
"Who wants a slice?" Candice said, chipper, beginning to cut the cake.
The women in my office broke out into overlapping chatter of "Maybe just a tiny piece" and "A little sliver for me" and "I had a big lunch."
"First piece goes to the birthday girl!" Candice exclaimed, handing me a slice that was so big it felt like sabotage.
"Thanks," I replied flatly.
My coworkers wished me happy birthday and walked back to their respective desks with their paper-thin slices of cake in hand. I wondered if any of them would suggest post-work drinks in celebration, but the invitations didn't come.
My performative birthday ritual was over.
I checked my phone to see if Henry-the guy I had been dating for the last four months-had texted me, but all I had were six texts from my mother:
Happy birthday!! Call me later.
Did you hear about the E. coli outbreak?
Don't buy celery.
Killed one person already.
Some mail came for you.
Looks like junk.
Engaging with my mother was like opening a door during a snowstorm-any comfort you had could be quickly disrupted by the cold gust of air she carried with her. She was an extremely dramatic person who treated life like a telenovela, shrieking if a car cut her off in traffic or if she forgot her coffee inside the house. Every time she picked up the phone to talk to a friend, she let out a sharp gasp that left me waiting to hear if my grandma, a friend, or David Schwimmer was dead (my mom really liked David Schwimmer). Usually, these reactions only meant that someone had gotten a bad haircut or won four dollars on a scratcher. I didn't have the energy to engage with her antics today.
When I got back to my desk, I opened up an incognito tab and navigated to Henry's LinkedIn profile. In his headshot, his brown hair was gelled back, and he wore horn-rimmed glasses that looked like the kind you might buy at a drugstore in an effort to get a new personality. Henry worked at State Street Bank as a risk analyst, a job he had explained to me at least twelve times but one I couldn't fully absorb. When he spoke about work, I raised my eyebrows and reacted appropriately at the right moments, but, in truth, I had no clue what his position entailed. LinkedIn was the only social media Henry used and my only virtual connection to him. I had found his private Instagram account a while ago, but when I asked him about it, he said that it was old and deactivated. He insisted platforms like Instagram and Facebook created a dangerous political chasm between mostly like-minded people. He claimed he could not-in good conscience-participate in social media because of it. In theory, I agreed with him, but not enough to exert any restraint over my own habits. Plus, I liked watching people I went to high school with get progressively uglier online.
Henry and I first met while I was out for drinks with my colleagues at a pub near Fenway Park. At work functions, you were supposed to drink a maximum of two drinks and be the most normal version of yourself possible. However, my coworkers were insufferable, so I was three drinks deep when I spotted him. He was at the bar sipping a whiskey soda and working on his laptop. He was handsome, but not so attractive that he felt out of my league. He looked a little bit like Bill Hader, whom I had always wanted to fuck. I approached him as I ordered my fourth glass of wine.
"Who brings a laptop to a bar?" I teased, resting my elbow on the counter and quickly recovering when it slid off the bar.
Henry seemed taken aback but smiled when he registered that I was joking.
"I'm just finishing some work," he explained.
The bartender placed my glass of wine in front of me.
"Do you want to buy this for me?" I nodded to the glass.
Henry looked surprised but recovered. "Uh, yeah. Sure."
I scooped up my wine and clinked my glass against his, nearly knocking it over. Henry grabbed his own cup, steadying it before it could spill onto his electronics.
"Cheers," I said.
I returned to my colleagues, who were talking about the latest prestigious television show that everyone had decided was Really Saying Something. I glanced over at Henry, who was still hunched over his MacBook Pro. As the night progressed, my coworkers trickled out of the bar one by one while Henry remained. When they all were gone, I tipsily strutted back to where he sat, plopping down next to him. His cell phone was resting on the counter. I grabbed it, and his arm shot up to block me, like a strictly programmed robot.
"Relax." I smirked. "I'm just putting my number in."
Henry's mouth fell open, but he didn't protest.
"Unless you don't want me to," I said, raising an eyebrow to challenge him.
He didn't answer. So I entered my number.
"Are you usually this forward?" Henry asked.
"No," I lied.
Men liked to think that you were breaking your normally chaste rules to pursue them. They wanted to feel like you were virginal to the rest of the world and a whore with them. It was why I always made sure to say "I never do this on a first date" whenever I slept with someone on a first date. Men wanted to feel like you were a new car that only had a few miles on it. I understood all the ways in which this was a retrograde way of thinking, but it was the reality, so I embraced it.
"There. You're welcome." I smiled, handing him his phone back.
"Oh. Okay. Thanks," Henry replied.
I walked out of the bar in the straightest line I could manage, imagining myself as a Julia Roberts character in a '90s movie: hot, spontaneous, and with great undamaged hair that swayed in the wind behind me. I pictured Henry watching me walk away, shaking his head in disbelief at his luck. The next day, I realized I'd forgotten to close my tab and canceled my credit card out of laziness. A few days later, Henry texted:
You're forward. I'm equal parts scared and impressed.
Since that fateful meeting, we had been consistently hooking up, though our emotional progress was slower than I would have liked. Even though we had sex weekly, he worked so much that he didn't have time for dinners or much more. On weekends, he was usually busy working or volunteering. But after four months of seeing each other, I was ready to finally feel safe with Henry. I wanted to spend weeknights with him smoking weed, watching bad Netflix shows, and pretending to listen when we told each other about our days. I wanted to relax.
My reverie was interrupted as Candice approached my desk, her Crocs squeaking against the linoleum floors. I quickly navigated away from Henry's page to my work email and squinted at my computer, like I was lost in thought.
"Hey, girly," Candice said, hovering behind my desk. "Any fun birthday plans for tonight?" she asked. "You know we have puppy yoga this evening if you're free!"
Candice often arranged team-bonding activities that were thinly veiled Instagram photo opportunities. At these gatherings, she carefully placed the few women of color in the front row of every photo. In the pictures she shared online, we looked like an ad for a diverse college campus that had no fat people. Since I was white and not hot in an otherworldly way, I was usually put in the back, so I avoided any team-bonding events that didn't at least provide free alcohol. I especially wouldn't be attending one on my birthday.
"I have plans with friends," I lied.
Candice smiled. "Aw, of course you do. We'll miss you!"
"Same," I said, fixing my face in a way that I hoped looked genuine.
"I did actually want to chat with you about something else if you have a minute." She squatted down so she was at eye level with my desk.
Was I in trouble? I had looked at porn on my company laptop so many times that I got a bug that IT needed to fix last week, though I'd assumed they weren't able to source where the virus had come from. Was she going to scold me for that? On my birthday, of all days? If she did, I would say she was sex-shaming me; using buzzwords to claim wrongdoing usually worked on people like Candice.
"You know how the Wellness Witch is coming in next week?" Candice asked.
I relaxed, relieved that she just wanted to talk about work. The Wellness Witch was a client our company had been trying to court for months. She was an unvaccinated woman who'd built her brand convincing people that they could improve their lives through amateur witchcraft. On TikTok, she taught spells and potions, and talked about manifestation. She'd even sold supplements, juices, and placenta for a while until the FDA intervened. She had millions of followers, and every ad agency in Boston was trying to represent her for sponsorship deals. I personally found her nauseating, but she had dollar signs all over her, so it didn't matter what I thought.
I strained to smile. "Yeah. I'm excited for us to pitch her."
"I was actually thinking you could put together the presentation and co-lead the meeting with me. You've been here for a while now, and I would love to make sure I'm fostering your growth." Candice beamed.
"Co-lead?" I asked.
"I mean I don't mind doing most of the talking-I won't put that on you. But maybe you could put everything together?" she asked.
Candice was presenting me with a "learning opportunity," that thing bosses did when they needed to pawn off additional work onto their reports but couldn't afford to promote or pay them for it. I wouldn't receive a commission if we landed the contract, nor would I get credit, but if I didn't do it well enough-or if I wasn't grateful enough-it would be used against me.
"That sounds great," I said, silently seething.
Candice clapped her hands. "I knew you'd be down, birthday girl! I'll send you what I have so far in a brief later today, and you can start putting together the deck."
"Cool," I said, my mouth in a tight line.
Candice moved on to Jessica's desk next. "Hey, girly pop! I'm seeing you at puppy yoga later, I hope?"
Jessica spun around in her chair. "Hell yes! I'm, like, obsessed with dogs."
My phone pinged, interrupting any dark thoughts I had about Candice before they could fully form. It was Henry.
What ya up to tonight?
I hadn't told Henry it was my birthday. I didn't want him to know I didn't have plans on a day when I was supposed to be surrounded with gifts and a large group of friends whose entire goal was to make me happy. Plus, I did have some options: My mother had asked if I wanted to come home for dinner, and my college friend Jamie had asked me to drinks. I hadn't answered or acknowledged either of these invitations in the hopes that this exact moment would come to fruition: Henry would want to see me. I smiled. Fuck my defective cake. I didn't need a birthday wish to get what I wanted.