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In this dazzling new novel, Emily Giffin, the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Something Borrowed, Where We Belong, and The One & Only introduces.
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Elaine knew their banter was a sign of their closeness, and her heart swelled with affection and gratitude as they were escorted to the round table near the fireplace that Rob always requested. They were all in a good place, she thought. Josie and Meredith were works in progress, one a little too wild, the other far too moody; yet each was following her passion, studying to be a teacher and an actress, respectively.

The conversation that night was smart and lively, heavy on current events. September 11 was still a fresh wound. The war in Afghanistan was under way. Enron had just filed for bankruptcy, and Winona Ryder had shoplifted. She had always relied on the force of her personality, but a girl like Sophie made her rethink things, and she vowed to get more serious about her studies in her final, fifth-year stretch of college. Meredith, too, reflected on her life that evening. She was as diligent and hardworking as her brother, but she was more of a loner than he, and often felt a void she could never quite pinpoint.

Maybe it was love, she thought that night, watching Daniel with Sophie. Maybe that was what was missing. Rob lit twenty-five candles, then they all sang off-key except for Sophie, who had a clear soprano voice and watched Daniel close his eyes for several seconds before blowing out the flames in just one try.

He just smiled a secretive smile before Rob cut the cake and he opened his family presents— a leather briefcase from his parents, flannel pajamas from Josie, a coffee-table book about baseball from Meredith. The next morning she awoke early to the sound of rain on the roof and Rob packing for a quick trip to Memphis, his last-ditch effort to settle a case before year-end.

She got up to make him coffee and send him on his way, then went to the gym with her daughters, all of them wishing to lose five pounds, especially knowing that after the holidays, it would be ten. They came home, showered, and spent the rest of that day shopping, fighting gridlock traffic and Lenox Square mall crowds, and getting into occasional squabbles with one another. They returned home at dusk, just as Daniel was leaving to take Sophie to the airport for her red-eye back to London.

The rain had finally cleared, but the temperatures had plummeted, and they stood in the driveway, shivering as they hugged and kissed and wished one another a very merry Christmas. As they got in the car, Sophie said a final thank you. Elaine quickly drew a piece of wrapping paper over the slippers she was giving him and told him not to peek.

He had never been one to peek, unlike his sisters, who prided themselves on finding the most cleverly hidden presents. He sat at the table and sighed, looking wistful, clearly missing Sophie already. He nodded, then helped her wrap, handing her pieces of tape or holding ribbon in place with his thumb while she tied. He confided that they were serious, committed to doing their surgical residencies together. Elaine smiled at her son, thinking that as young and ambitious as he was, he seemed to understand what really mattered most in life.

She looked up and asked if she could borrow his Macy Gray CD. He went and got it for her, telling her to be careful, not to scratch it. He sat on the edge of her bed and asked her a few more questions about her acting classes and whether she liked anyone. As in a boy. So he gave up and went to take his shower.

She would do that tomorrow. About an hour later, after his shower, Daniel reemerged in the kitchen, his mother still busy putting ribbons on the tins of homemade cheese straws she always delivered to their neighbors. She glanced up at him and frowned.

First Comes Love: A Novel

He grabbed his Yale baseball cap and green plaid scarf from a hook by the door, put both on. Satisfied, she nodded, then returned her gaze to a big red bow. He talked about how proud he and his wife were of all that Daniel had accomplished, but how that paled in comparison to their pride in his character and compassion. Later, Elaine would wonder how many in that church thought her husband was exaggerating.

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Of course a father is going to speak in superlatives about his dead son. Yet Daniel really was extraordinary, and sometimes it actually, illogically, seemed to her that being so special had made him more susceptible to tragedy. But he was a golden child, too good for the world. What if she had insisted that she scramble him eggs instead?

First Comes Love by Emily Giffin

What if she had stalled him just long enough to tie the plaid olive-green scarf dangling around his neck, one side longer than the other? What if she had simply gone to him, kissed his unshaven cheek, said something, anything, more than all righty? She knows the answers. And that she would never have laid eyes on that soft-spoken, gray-haired officer who appeared in their doorway some thirty minutes later, his patrol lights casting eerie red and blue flashes across the front lawn.

Instead, in an alternate universe, the one they all futilely imagined, Daniel would be happily married to Sophie, the father of two or three children.

He would be practicing medicine somewhere, likely right here in Atlanta, making a real difference, saving lives. He would be turning forty at the end of this year, an older, wiser version of the young man he had been.


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The kind of person who understands that nothing is as important as family. That love comes first. They tried to remind themselves of this—of what Daniel stood for and what he would have wanted for them. Sometimes they even made choices in his memory or imagined him watching from above. But that was just something they did, and it never really eased their pain. Still reeling, regretting, wondering what if. Crew finest— gold ballet flats, gray pants, and a pink, sequined sweater set.

Sitting cross-legged on the braided rug, some children beam back at me, while others wear blank expressions, waiting without judging. It is the beauty of first graders. They are guileless, not a jaded one among them. After fourteen years teaching at the same elementary school, I have a reputation as fun, energetic, and creative. I am not considered strict, but not a pushover, either. It might seem like Groundhog Day to some, including a few of my colleagues who really need to change professions, but I am passionate about what I do, thrilled to watch things click for a new crop of children every year.

Yet amid the anticipation is always a melancholy feeling that the summer is over, coupled with a familiar prickling of self-doubt and anxiety that has marked all my first days of school, both as a teacher and as a student before that. I consider the many potential obstacles ahead, wondering how many of my kids will have ADHD or dyslexia or other garden-variety learning issues. Who will become frustrated or disheartened when they fall behind their peers? Which children will have impossible-to-please parents who will bombard me with emails and calls, make outlandish suggestions for our curriculum, or point out grammatical errors in my newsletters under the guise of constructive criticism?

No matter how many times I proofread my correspondence, it is inevitable that at some point during the year I will misspell a word or misplace an apostrophe, mistakes that somehow seem more egregious from a teacher than, say, a lawyer or doctor. Then there is the disturbing matter of Edie Carlisle, the firstborn of my most significant ex, Will Carlisle. Hello, boys and girls! My name is Miss Josie! I grew up right here in Atlanta and graduated from the University of Georgia.

Go Dawgs! I love animals and have a rescue dog named Revis. I have one sister and a beautiful four-year-old niece named Harper.

Love Notes

My favorite color is pink, like my sweater. My hobbies include swimming, reading, baking cookies, dancing, and playing board games. I hope you will all be good friends to one another this year. It sounded pretty good, the exuberant delivery elevating it to a solid A, even though I could hear the annotated version in my head, which went something like this:. And teachers, for that matter. I have a dog, and a sister named Meredith. I can keep secrets, especially my own, which is a good thing, because if your parents knew some of my skeletons, they might send around a petition to have me fired.

Did your father tell you that he dumped me right before he married your mother and had you? I will do my best not to hold this against you, but please show a little mercy and keep your happy-home anecdotes to a minimum. Do you have any questions for me? Four hands shoot into the air, and as I consider who is the least likely to ask the one query I have come to loathe, a fidgety boy with messy hair and ruddy cheeks blurts it out: Do you have a husband? Three seconds flat.

A new record. Congrats, Wesley, I think, glancing at his laminated name tag which I made over the weekend, and making a mental note to work into the curriculum that a bare left ring finger means please do not ask questions on the topic of marriage.

Perhaps I could squeeze it in between our weather unit and the introduction to the metric system. I force a bigger, brighter smile, doing my best to ignore the knot in my chest. Maybe one day! Gluten-free snacks! Homemade Halloween costumes!