Adult Assembly Required, page 1
Praise for Abbi Waxman and her novels
“Abbi Waxman is both irreverent and thoughtful.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Emily Giffin
“Move over on the settee, Jane Austen. You’ve met your modern-day match in Abbi Waxman. Bitingly funny, relatable, and intelligent, The Bookish Life of Nina Hill is a must for anyone who loves to read.”
—Kristan Higgins, New York Times bestselling author of Pack Up the Moon
“Meet our bookish millennial heroine—a modern-day Elizabeth Bennet, if you will. . . . Waxman’s wit and wry humor stand out.”
—The Washington Post
“Abbi Waxman offers up a quirky, eccentric romance that will charm any bookworm. . . . For anyone who’s ever wondered if their greatest romance might come between the pages of books they read, Waxman offers a heartwarming tribute to that possibility.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“It’s a shame The Bookish Life of Nina Hill only lasts 350 pages, because I wanted to be friends with Nina for far longer.”
—Refinery29
“I hope you’re in the mood to be downright delighted, because that’s the state you’ll find yourself in after reading The Bookish Life of Nina Hill.”
—PopSugar
“[Waxman is] known for her charming and comical novels, [and her] latest book stirs up all of the signature smiles and laughs.”
—Woman’s World
“Brilliant. Simply brilliant. The Garden of Small Beginnings is funny, poignant, and startling in its emotional intensity and in its ability to make the reader laugh and cry on the same page. . . . I loved this book!”
—Karen White, New York Times bestselling author of the Tradd Street series
“Meet your new favorite wry writer.”
—The Daily Beast
“Waxman’s skill at characterization . . . lifts this novel far above being just another ‘widow finds love’ story. Clearly an observer, Waxman has mastered the fine art of dialogue as well. Characters ring true right down to Lilian’s two daughters, who often steal the show.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
“Kudos to debut author Waxman for creating an endearing and realistic cast of main and supporting characters (including the children). Her narrative and dialogue are drenched with spring showers of witty and irreverent humor.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“This novel is filled with characters you’ll love and wish you lived next door to in real life.”
—Bustle
“Waxman’s voice is witty, emotional, and often profound.”
—InStyle (UK)
“We’re forever fans of Abbi Waxman’s sweet, witty, feel-good novels. Her latest, about a mother and daughter making college visits along the East Coast, is her best yet.”
—HelloGiggles
“An aptly and hilariously titled novel. . . . Waxman again delivers with her signature wit and laugh-out-loud writing, offering us authentic characters who feel like people we’ve met and loved in our own lives—all while offering sly commentary on the roller coaster that is the college application process for parents and their college-hopefuls.”
—Shondaland
“Abbi Waxman’s warm, quippy novels explore familial dynamics with sarcastic wit and plenty of heart. . . . Being a teenager—or parenting one—is tricky territory, but Waxman steers her characters through it with compassion, snappy dialogue, and the right dose of zany humor. Things may (or may not) get easier for the Burnstein women, but the ride, literal and otherwise, is highly enjoyable.”
—Shelf Awareness
“Waxman shines at creating characters that feel like best friends, inspiring compassion, laughs, and cheers, and fans of Katherine Center and Linda Holmes’s Evvie Drake Starts Over will adore this.”
—Booklist
“Waxman expertly navigates the fraught shoals of college admissions in this spot-on tale. . . . Waxman’s alternating first-person narration from Jessica and Emily rings true, while a memorable supporting cast . . . provide excellent support. . . . This sweet treat doesn’t require a college-bound child to enjoy, though anyone who has helped their offspring weather the admissions process will definitely appreciate this sharp send-up.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Funny and insightful.”
—Book Riot
Berkley Titles by Abbi Waxman
The Garden of Small Beginnings
Other People’s Houses
The Bookish Life of Nina Hill
I Was Told It Would Get Easier
Adult Assembly Required
BERKLEY
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
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Copyright © 2022 by Dorset Square, LLC
Readers Guide copyright © 2022 by Dorset Square, LLC
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Waxman, Abbi, author.
Title: Adult assembly required / Abbi Waxman.
Description: First edition. | New York: Berkley, 2022.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021034762 (print) | LCCN 2021034763 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593198766 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593198773 (ebook)
Classification: LCC PS3623.A8936 A66 2022 (print) | LCC PS3623.A8936 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021034762
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021034763
First Edition: May 2022
Cover design and illustration by Vikki Chu
Book design by Elke Sigal, adapted for ebook by Kelly Brennan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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CONTENTS
Cover
Praise for Abbi Waxman
Titles by Abbi Waxman
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Summer
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Fall
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Readers Guide
About the Author
This book is for my mother, Paula, who gave me a childhood free from scorn and filled with encouragement. Every time I came up with some harebrained idea, she would say, That’s awesome . . . let’s go find a book on it. Thanks, Mum.
It is also for Emily, Ruth, Shannon, Daniela, Amanda, and Megan, who have helped my family and me with so much skill and generosity that it feels like we got better on our own, which we 100 percent didn’t. Therapy is the gift that keeps on giving, even if it is hard to wrap.
And finally, and sadly, in memory of Liz Newstat, who made Chevalier’s Books in Larchmont even more wonderful in real life than it is in fiction. She is sorely, sorely missed.
When two people meet, each one is changed by the other so you’ve got two new people.
—John Steinbeck
Summer
ONE
Liz Quinn, the manager of Knight’s, one of the few remai
However, even Liz was having a hard time not feeling sorry for the customer standing in front of her.
To start with, the young woman was wet. It doesn’t rain very often in Los Angeles, particularly in August, but it does rain, and ten minutes earlier the clouds had challenged themselves to dump as much rain as they possibly could. Liz had discovered a puddle in front of Douglas Adams and tracked it along the shelves to P. G. Wodehouse. There she found the Homo nimbus and spoke to her.
“Excuse me, would you care for a towel?”
The young woman turned to look at her, and Liz realized she’d been crying.
“Uh . . . yes, thank you. It started raining.” She was still crying, albeit silently; the tears kept rolling down her cheeks, leaving cinematically visible tracks in whatever grimy residue they were washing away.
“I’d ask if you were OK, but clearly you’re not,” said Liz, whose mastery of the précis was unsurpassed. She raised her voice and called to the back of the store, “Polly, bring a towel, will you?”
A muffled voice called back.
“No, I’m not OK,” said the woman. “I’m sorry about the floor.” She took a breath, and reached out to shake Liz’s hand. “My name is Laura Costello, and I’m having a bad day.” She realized that made her sound like a member of a twelve-step group with an extremely low requirement for membership, but it’s what came out.
“In what way bad?” asked Liz, always interested in other people’s disasters. She wondered what was taking Polly so long with the towel, then remembered she herself had used it to dry Ferdinand the store cat, who’d also missed the memo about the rain. Her brow furrowed slightly as she tried to remember what she’d done with it . . . Had she left it under the cat? Oh well, Polly would work it out. Liz refocused on Laura.
“Well,” said Laura, taking a deep breath and unloading at a rapid clip, “I moved here for grad school, but I came early so I could get settled and maybe line up some part-time work and today I had a job interview and it went well but I didn’t get it so I guess not that well and then I went home and my apartment building was on fire.” She paused. “Not my apartment building . . .”
Despite the narrative speed and slightly hysterical delivery, Liz was following. She nodded, her hands folded in front of her like a puzzled but hopeful maître d’. “I understood what you meant. I can see how that might put a kink in your knickers.”
Laura Costello looked at her cautiously, not entirely certain what knickers were, and sniffed. “So I called my grandmother for suggestions but she snorted and called me a wuss, and to distract me told me a friend of mine had cheated on her boyfriend Dave with Other Dave. The one with the toes.”
Liz was clinging to the thread, like the fantasy-genre jockey she was. “The original Dave was toeless?”
Laura shook her head. “No, he has toes, but Other Dave has extra toes.”
Liz raised her voice again. “Polly! Towel!”
“And then she said I could always come home, which she knew would calm me down because obviously that’s not what I want to do.”
“Of course not,” said Liz supportively, though she was beginning to regret even starting this conversation in the first place. Liz had what you might call resting approachable face, which meant this kind of detailed personal download got thrust on her all the time. It was a pity, because she really wasn’t very interested.
Laura gathered her long wet hair into a makeshift knot and looked at Liz, wide-eyed. “So I was wandering around trying to think of what to do and it started raining so I got on the first bus that came along and here I am.” She was trying to hold it together, and behind her head the twist of hair was slowly and silently unfurling like a cinnamon bun, expanding in the heat of the store. “I have no job, no friends, and now no apartment and no dry clothes or actually any clothes except the ones I’m wearing.” Unexpectedly, she smiled. “But I’m still here and in another month I’ll start grad school and then I’ll have somewhere to live.” She turned up her hands. “It’s fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine.” There was a wobble hiding somewhere in her voice, but it was keeping its head down pretty successfully.
At that very minute, Polly Culligan, one of the employees of the bookstore, turned up with the towel. “Sorry,” she said breathlessly, “the cat didn’t want to let go.” Then she noticed the drying tears and the soot and the expression on Liz’s face and raised her voice. “Nina!” she yelled. “Put the kettle on.”
* * *
• • •
Nina Hill was the co-owner of Knight’s, and a bookish person of the first order. She had been spending the afternoon going through school reading lists for the year, making sure the store was completely stocked. True, most local parents would purchase their books online, the quislings, but you would be surprised how many copies of The Outsiders the store ended up selling at the last minute (stay gold, Ponyboy). Plus, if a local parent walked in and asked for The House on Mango Street or The Great Gatsby and some other parent had snatched up the last copy, there would be hell to pay (and Amazon would pocket the profit). Nina took this responsibility seriously and had been deep in concentration when the door suddenly burst open and a tall, damp woman accosted her where she sat. Nina leapt to her feet, yanked out the earbuds that had prevented her hearing the yelling, the knocking, or the requests for kettle assistance, and prepared to do battle.
“Hello,” said the sudden arrival, who was, of course, Laura. She looked down. “How did you fracture your wrist?” She’d appeared so abruptly because the rain had made the door to the office swell, and she’d had to push rather harder than she’d expected and . . . you can imagine the rest.
“I’m sorry,” said Nina. “Are you looking for a book?” She backed up a little, which caused her to step on the cat, who bit her on the ankle. Ferdinand had only just recovered from the loss of the towel, and being stepped on was a bridge too flipping far.
“Is it a Colles’ fracture?” asked Laura, still standing there dripping on the carpet. The thing to know about both Nina and Laura—though they didn’t realize it about each other at the time—is that they were both women of singular focus. Nina was obsessed with books, popular culture, movies, and anything meme-able. Laura was obsessed with sports, bones, muscles, and achieving a full range of motion. Unfortunately, Laura’s specific area of interest was making her come across as a bit of a nutter. Especially when you added damp, smoke, and the wild hair that was reminding Nina of Scandinavian Hagrid, which isn’t even a thing.
“I don’t know what kind of fracture it is,” Nina said crossly. “Are you from my health insurance company?” Her voice was surprisingly deep, and there was zero nonsense in her tone. Possibly even less than that.
Laura frowned. “No.”
“Are you from the city?” LA’s Occupational Safety and Health Division didn’t normally get involved in nonwork-related incidents, but Nina was taking no chances.
“No.” Laura took a step back and stomped on Polly, who was right behind her. She squeaked, but had more self-control than the store cat and didn’t bite Laura at all.
“Hey, Cerberus,” growled Liz dryly from beyond Laura’s shoulder, “this person needs a cup of tea, not an interrogation.”
“Liz?” said Nina.
“Yes,” replied her friend and business partner, pushing past Laura, who seemed to be frozen in place. “Who else would it be? This is not a surprise attack, an insurance checkup, or even a random piece of Dada performance art, it’s a damp customer who’s having a bad day and needs a cup of tea.” She bustled over to the kettle, flicking it on and turning around to raise her eyebrows at Nina. “Remember those people who sometimes come between you and your tidy shelves? The ones we depend upon for our livelihood?”
“Oh,” said Nina, squinting dubiously at Laura. “Yes . . . I remember them.”
Laura looked at the small, slender young woman in the fifties fit-and-flare dress and immediately worried they weren’t going to get on. Nina was the kind of hip, geek-chic girl who’d looked over her vintage-framed glasses in high school and made Laura feel oversized and clumsy. “Sorry,” said Laura, “I probably should have introduced myself before asking about your wrist, but I’m training to be a physical therapist and a cast always catches my eye.” She dropped her gaze to underline her nonthreatening status and immediately started being jealous of Nina’s shoes, which were small and beaded. She had always wished she were “quirky” enough to wear vintage clothes, but she’d never been able to pull it off.
