She, Myself and I

( 10 )

Overview

The Cassel sisters have little in common besides a pair of wacky parents and a maddening knack for eluding happily-ever-after endings. But when their lives require damage control, only a dose of sisterhood will do.

Paige, the oldest, is a go-getter divorce attorney who’s reeling from her own disastrously failed marriage–and the fact that her ex has suddenly come roaring out of the closet with a cute boyfriend in tow. Middle sister Sophie is having trouble adjusting to life as a ...

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She, Myself and I

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Overview

The Cassel sisters have little in common besides a pair of wacky parents and a maddening knack for eluding happily-ever-after endings. But when their lives require damage control, only a dose of sisterhood will do.

Paige, the oldest, is a go-getter divorce attorney who’s reeling from her own disastrously failed marriage–and the fact that her ex has suddenly come roaring out of the closet with a cute boyfriend in tow. Middle sister Sophie is having trouble adjusting to life as a wife and expectant mom. With her doubts on the rise along with her weight, she’s ogling every available baked good–and every available man–that crosses her path. And up-and-coming medical student Mickey has a racy new plan for her future that’s sure to shock her entire family. It includes a dangerously handsome, decidedly married chef…private cooking lessons…and spicy lingerie.

To top it all off, the parents who dragged them through the Divorce from Hell years ago are acting like teenagers in love…with each other! One by one, Paige, Sophie, and Mickey are about to learn just how good it is to have a sisterly shoulder–or two–to lean on.

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
“Smart, funny, sexy, and refreshingly real. Whitney Gaskell’s novel of life, love, and sisterhood is unputdownable.” —Melissa Senate, author of See Jane Date

"Whitney Gaskell has done it again. She, Myself & I is a warm, funny, charming, and engrossing story that will hook anyone who has a sister—-and any lover of quality fiction who doesn't"—Valerie Frankel, author of The Girlfriend Curse and The Accidental Virgin

"She, Myself & I is a witty, fast-paced, and intensely entertaining journey through the lives of three unforgettable sisters. Whitney Gaskell finds the humor and the heart in each and every one of her characters, a talent that makes the pages come to life and literally turn themselves."—Lindsay Faith Rech, author of Losing It and Joyride

"Whitney Gaskell delivers another winner with She, Myself & I. As funny as it is warm and touching, this is going on my keeper shelf along with all of Whitney's books. Filled with Whitney's trademark mixture of humor and poignancy, it made me laugh, cry...and wish I had sisters! Can't wait for the next one!"—Lani Diane Rich, author of Time off for Good Behavior

"A fresh, clever story about cold feet, morning sickness, and the one who got away."—Beth Kendrick, author of My Favorite Mistake

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780553383133
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 9/27/2005
  • Pages: 400
  • Sales rank: 849,315
  • Product dimensions: 5.15 (w) x 8.15 (h) x 0.85 (d)

Meet the Author

Whitney Gaskell grew up in Syracuse, New York. A graduate of Tulane Law School, she worked for several years as a reluctant lawyer before writing her first novel, Pushing 30, followed by True Love (and Other Lies), She, Myself & I, and Testing Kate. She lives in Stuart, Florida, with her husband and son, and is at work on her next novel.
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Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

I don’t know why I got that squirmy-stomach feeling when Scott knocked on the door. It was just Scott after all—the one person who couldn’t possibly surprise me any more than he already had. I took a few deep breaths to center myself, and, once I felt sufficiently calm, opened the door.

“Hi, Paige,” he said.

I stared at him. Since we’d divorced, Scott had apparently stumbled onto someone else’s fashion taste. Gone were the plain-front khakis, the slightly too-long floppy brown hair, the preppy tortoiseshell glasses, the quintessential boy-next-door whom most women—like me—don’t notice until they hit their late twenties and start looking around for husband-type material. Now his clothes looked expensively hip, and his hair was cropped short. The tortoiseshell glasses had been replaced with sleek silver metal frames. The once soft body was now lean and muscular. He looked amazing, far better than he ever had when we were together . . . but his new look was also unmistakably gay.

Okay, I was wrong. He was still capable of surprising me.

“Hey. Come on in,” I said, stepping out of his way.

I wasn’t sure what the greeting protocol was supposed to be, and I could tell by the way Scott was clasping his hands together that he didn’t know either. Were we supposed to hug? To exchange cheek kisses—mwah, mwah—like a pair of socialites? Maybe I should have written Miss Manners for the etiquette guidelines on greeting your gay ex-husband.

Dear Gentle Reader, I imagined she would reply. What a trying situation! But now, more than ever, Miss Manners would stress the importance of conducting yourself gracefully. To wit: it is always socially acceptable to clasp hands in a firm and congenial handshake. Do not feel it necessary to engage in gratuitous kissing and grappling.

I stuck my hand out awkwardly, and Scott stared at it just long enough to make me feel like an ass. But just as I was withdrawing my hand—stupid Miss Manners—Scott grabbed it and swung our arms between us.

Is there anything weirder than shaking hands with the man who once promised to love, honor, and cherish you for the rest of his life?

“Thanks for letting me visit our apartment,” Scott joked, pulling his hand back and pocketing it. “I suppose this counts as a supervised visit by the noncustodial parent?”

“You agreed to the settlement,” I reminded him.

“Hey, I was just kidding. And don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson—never divorce a divorce attorney.”

Scott looked at the apartment, his expression wistful. We’d bought it together four years earlier, just after our wedding. It’s located in a converted downtown warehouse, and is roomy and airy and has a fabulous view of Town Lake out of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the living room. We’d snapped it up just before the real estate prices exploded in Austin, and there was no way either one of us would be able to afford it now. But Scott’s landscape architecture firm—which he’d started up after we got married, with a loan from me—had been successful. So as part of our divorce, I gave up my interest in his business, and he gave up his claim to our condo. Simple. Neat.

“You redecorated,” he said, taking in the new tufted white armless sofa and matching love seat, the glass-topped coffee table, and the groovy dining table and chairs I’d gotten from Crate & Barrel. I’d really thrown myself into decorating after Scott had moved out, probably—if I were interested in psychoanalyzing myself—in an effort to stamp out any lingering presence of him in the apartment. It was easier to get rid of the memories than learn to live with them.

“Mm-hmm. I did this ages ago. You haven’t been here in a while.” I smiled. “Do you still have that awful sofa?”

“Of course. Admit it—you miss that sofa.”

I’d hated his leather sofa. Hated it. It was an enormous brown monstrosity covered with nail-head trim, and it looked like it belonged in the office of an eccentric old man who spent his days pinning a bug collection into shadow boxes. I’d begged, pleaded, and cajoled with Scott to get rid of it when we’d moved in together, but he’d stubbornly insisted that he couldn’t live without it.

“I have two things in my life that I love more than anything else,” he’d dramatically declared when I’d delicately suggested it was the ugliest couch I’d ever seen and there was no way in hell I could possibly live with it. “You and this couch.”

Apparently his love for the couch was more enduring than whatever it was he’d felt for me.

“So, how’ve you been?” Scott now asked.

“Fine. Great. I made partner at my firm,” I said brightly.

“Really? Wow, that’s fantastic. Good for you, it’s what you always wanted,” Scott said. “And how’s everything else? Seeing anyone?”

“Um. No. I’m not. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Paige . . . maybe we should talk. We never really did. It might help both of us if we, you know, sat down and discussed what happened between us.”

“Nothing happened. You decided—sorry, discovered—you were gay, and so we got a divorce. I think it was pretty cut and dried.”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“And I don’t want to talk about it. Really, Scott, I’m fine. I’ve moved on, and my life is going great. I have no complaints.”

Scott looked at me, and I met his gaze straight on, keeping my face smoothed of emotion. After nine years of being a litigator, I’m well practiced at it.

“Okay,” he finally said. “But if you ever want to talk, I’d be happy to. Just say the word.”

“I appreciate that. But I’m fine.”

“Okay. Well. Do you have that stuff for me?”

I gestured toward the cardboard document box sitting by the door. It contained the last odds and ends he had left behind when he moved out. A few CDs, his Blade Runner video, the collection of ugly ties my mother had given him as Christmas presents over the years.

“It’s all there. I can’t believe you’ve gone two years without seeing Blade Runner.”

“I haven’t. My . . . friend has a copy of it.”

Friend.

Okay.

I had the distinct feeling that Scott wanted me to follow up and ask him about his new friend, but I just couldn’t do it. Instead I smiled pleasantly at him and silently willed him to leave.

“Well. Uh. I suppose I should get going,” Scott said.

“It was nice to see you,” I said.

“You, too. Bye, Paige.” Scott smiled, ducking his head the way he always did, and left.

Once the door latched behind him, I turned and stared out the window, trying to decide if the low, dark sky hanging over Town Lake meant it was about to storm. I decided I had time to get a run in before it rained. I went into my bedroom—I’d changed it, too, installing a Murano glass chandelier, a French armchair upholstered in gray-green silk, and the pure white bedding and walls I’d always wanted but Scott had detested, insisting that an all-white room made him feel like he was an inmate at an insane asylum—and stripped out of my suit. I pulled on a running bra, shorts, and a blue T-shirt with “University of Texas School of Law” emblazoned across the front.

I was all too aware of the potential psychological fallout of divorce—hell, it was my business—and I know for some people, women especially, it has the poisonous power to warp the rest of their lives. So when Scott and I split up, I’d been determined not to wallow. Instead I ran. It was cheaper than therapy, less numbing than medication, and had the added benefit of keeping my ass higher and firmer than that of your average thirty-four-year-old.

While I stretched my hamstrings, the phone rang. The Caller ID reported that it was my mother, and I considered not answering. But then I wondered if maybe, possibly, my mother had somehow intuited my run-in with my ex-husband and was calling to make sure that I was all right.

I decided to take my chances, and hit the talk button.

“I’m worried about Sophie. I think she’s losing it,” my mother said.

I thunked the heel of my hand against my forehead. I should have known—she was worried about my younger sister. As the oldest, I’m expected to be completely self- sufficient at all times. And Sophie, my middle sister—Mickey’s the youngest, the surprise baby who came along when I was twelve and Sophie was ten—was now preg- nant, which made her ripe and round and bitchy as hell. The whole family was cosseting her like she was a powerful yet unstable queen who might start shrieking “Off with their heads!” at the slightest provocation.

“Hi, Mom, how are you? Me? I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass. I’m serious. I’m worried about your sister. I just called her, and she was sobbing hysterically. I finally got her to tell me what was wrong, and she was all upset over nothing.”

“What was it?”

“The grocery store has stopped carrying those chocolate croissants she’s been so obsessed with lately. She had a meltdown about it in the middle of the bakery. Don’t laugh, she scared me to death, I thought something was wrong with the baby.”

“Sophie’s fine, Mom. She’s just very pregnant, and very hormonal right now,” I said, smiling at the image of Sophie screaming at the bakery clerk, demanding pastry while bang- ing her clenched fists on the glass counter.

“Will you go over and check on her after work tomorrow? I’d do it myself, but the garden club is coming over, and I still have to make brownies. Do you think brownies are enough, or should I make a sheet cake, too?”

“Mom . . .”

“Maybe I should make both. It’s just the last time I hosted, there was too much food left over,” she nattered on.

“Mom!”

“What?”

“I’m on my way out to go running. I don’t have time to talk about baked goods right now,” I said.

“Well, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Sigh.

“Don’t be mad. It’s just . . . Scott just stopped by. For the last of his things,” I explained.

My mother went silent at the mention of my ex-husband.

“Hello? Are you still there?” I asked.

“I don’t know what to say. How did that go?”

“Quickly. I’d already put everything in a box, he just had to pick it up,” I said. “He seemed more upset about losing the apartment than anything else. But I guess that makes sense. He actually loved the apartment.”

“You know, I never liked Scott. I thought it was a mistake when you married him,” Mom announced for the eight hundredth time.

This was an outright lie. My mother loved Scott, and had been thrilled when we announced our engagement. Despite her own failed marriage, she’d been stereotypically desperate to see me wedded, to the extent that I sometimes felt like the older spinster sister in a Jane Austen novel. And I’m sure Scott had seemed like the perfect prospective son-in-law—he was kind, successful, ambitious, polished—and there was no reason to think that he was anything other than who he appeared to be.

“That’s not helpful,” I said.

“I don’t know what else to say. Whenever I do say anything about your divorce, or Scott, you get angry at me,” she said.

“I do not,” I said, and I could hear the tone of my voice rising in pitch. I took a deep breath, before continuing in a calmer tone of voice. “I just wish you’d be a little more supportive. Please?”

“I am supportive. And I think the best thing to do is to just put this entire mess behind you. You should start getting out, meeting men, dating. I’m sure it will just be a matter of time until you meet someone new, get married again, and you’ll forget this ever happened,” Mom said.

God, I can’t stand it when she gets like this. I love my mother, and at her best, she’s all the things I’m not—she’s vivacious, personable, a born hostess. And she has an innate ability to make everyone—well, everyone but me—feel better about themselves. But when it comes to relationship advice, she always sounds like she’s quoting from a 1950s dating manual for teens.

“I seriously doubt that I will ever forget that my husband left me because I have a vagina instead of a penis,” I said dryly.

“Paige!”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? And I have no plans to start dating, so please don’t start trying to set me up with anyone,” I said.

“I wasn’t going to,” my mother said, in a tone of voice that made it clear that was exactly what she was planning to do. “But, when you’re ready, I do know a few nice available men—”

“No. I’m not interested,” I said, cutting her off.

“Well, maybe not now . . .”

“Not ever. I’m serious. I’m too damn old to go through this again. From now on, it’s just going to be me and my work, and that’s enough,” I said.

“You don’t really mean that. You’re just upset, and understandably so. Just give it some time, honey. You’ll meet the right man, and then you’ll start feeling better, you’ll see,” she said.

“Don’t you have it the wrong way? Aren’t I supposed to feel better first, before I get involved with someone else?” I asked, knowing that I was baiting her. I couldn’t help myself. I was so sick of everyone presuming that the two-by-two lifestyle was necessary for personal happiness. It certainly hadn’t made me or my mother or any of my countless clients happy.

“No,” Mom said firmly. “I don’t think that you’re going to get over this until you move on and meet someone new.”

“Well, that’s just not going to happen,” I said. “Besides, talk about the pot and the kettle. You never remarried, and I can’t remember the last time you went on a date.”

“I don’t tell you everything, you know. And for your information, I have been seeing someone,” Mom said.

“Really? Who? And since when?”

“Don’t cross-examine me. I’ll tell you when I’m ready. I have to run, I need to get the brownies started. So you’ll go by your sister’s tomorrow?”

I considered this. Sophie and her husband, Aidan, lived on the north side of town, so it was hardly on my way home from the office. I’d have to fight my way through grinding commuter traffic to get up there, which would take at least forty-five minutes, maybe longer. But I felt a little guilty for snapping at my mom, and I knew she wouldn’t let me off the phone until I agreed. And if I had to continue the conversation about my nonexistent love life or about her apparently thriving one, I’d lose my mind.

“Fine. I’ll go. Bye,” I said, and then hung up and went for a nice, long, anesthetizing run.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 10 )
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  • Posted May 15, 2009

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    I Also Recommend:

    LOVE THIS BOOK...good book about sisters!!!!!

    Whitney Gaskell is one of my favorite writers of all times. Her books are gripping from the first page and laugh-out-loud hilarious. Every story has great characters, heartwarming plots, and hilarious dialoged. You'll fall in love with the characters from the beginning and want to read every book she has ever written. You won't regret this buy!!!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 29, 2006

    Fabulous!

    This book was absolutely fabulous. I read the book in a day. Easy reading, humorous, and a great character study. I enjoyed this book immensely and recommended to those that have sisters or not. A great read! Look forward to reading other books written by this author

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    An intriguing character study

    The oldest of the three Cassell sisters thirty-four years old Paige is amiably divorced from her spouse Scott when he one day announced he was coming out of the closet she buries herself in her legal work vowing no more men. The middle sibling pregnant thirty two years old Sophie remodels her kitchen without the knowledge of her husband Aldan who is away on business. The youngest twenty two years old Mickey has given up Brown University Medical School to be with her married lover, Chef Oliver................... While Sophie struggles with raging hormones, the carpenter she hired Zack is interested in dating Paige, who changes her mind about her male taboo. Complicating their relationship is that Sophie insists he is her carpenter, her parents, who angrily divorced years ago, are making morning coffee together, and Mickey seems destined for a broken heart..................... SHE, MYSELF, & I is an intriguing character study that concentrates predominately on the oldest sister, but also provides strong looks at the younger siblings. Paige and Mickey are fine protagonists, but the zany pregnant Sophie steals the show with her decision making and declarations that drive everyone crazy. Whitney Gaskell writes a lighthearted romp that showcases sisterly love and support amidst all types of tribulations..................... Harriet Klausner

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted January 11, 2011

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    She, Myself & I

    I really enjoyed this book!!! Great writer - fast read!

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted March 24, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    Good book!!

    It's a great book for a rainy day or sitting on the beach.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 4, 2006

    Great Book!

    This book is great if you have sisters! I have two sisters and I am the oldest and alot of the scenarios in this book remind me of my sisters and myself. It's a good read and I would definately recommend this book especially if you have sisters.

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    Posted May 18, 2009

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    Posted November 2, 2008

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    Posted September 19, 2013

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