by Erin Duffy
About the Author
Meet Erin Duffy
ERIN DUFFY graduated from Georgetown University in 2000 with a BA in English and worked on Wall Street, a career that inspired her first novel, Bond Girl. She lives in New York with her husband and children.
She can be found on Facebook and Instagram: @erinduffybooks.
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About the Book
Behind the Book
I didn’t sleep very much while I wrote this book. Not because I had three young children who screamed and cried and insisted I console them for one reason or another at all hours of the night, but because most of the time I’d crawl into bed and my mind would stumble and trip over all the ways in which working had caused me to fail at motherhood. The list was always long, and often redundant, but as I neared the third month of insomnia, I began to seriously worry that, barring professional intervention, I’d never sleep again. There was the fact that I’d spent most of my afternoons writing, and so I hadn’t been available to greet my kids when they woke up from their naps. I hadn’t read to them, or sang to them, or even played with them, really, because I was too invested in Claire’s life and her family to pay attention to my own. One day, in an attempt to keep up with the mountainous pile of laundry accumulating on the floor in my bathroom, I dumped all of it into the washing machine, and then in the dryer, and accidentally shrunk my son’s sweater to roughly the size of a cocktail napkin. Awesome. For weeks I’d been working during every free minute I had. I pawned my kids off on their baby-sitter, wore headphones to block out their crying, and ultimately determined on more than one occasion that they didn’t really need baths before bed because I was too tired to deal with it. Then, the icing on top of my ever-growing cupcake of failure, I fed them boxes of macaroni and cheese for dinner multiple times a week, and let them eat it in front of the TV while I wrestled with the writing of Claire’s nervous breakdown. Ironic, I guess, as I was pretty close to having one of my own. I was just too busy to notice.
One afternoon as I was nearing the completion of Regrets Only, I drove to an empty parking lot not far from my house, stared blankly at the asphalt, and fought the urge to cry. There I was, clad in a ratty sweatshirt and mismatched socks, listening to the radio alone, legitimately believing that that was a perfectly normal thing to do. I began to wonder if this was how it was for all women who tried to balance a family and a career. Were there millions of us all over the world sitting in empty parking lots thinking about the canyon of things they didn’t do? Thinking about the myriad of reasons why they failed to embody the archetype of the modern female? Thinking about the ways in which they, quite frankly, sucked? I sincerely hoped that most were better than me and that they at least managed to put on shoes before they took their minivans out for joy rides to nowhere, but I couldn’t say for sure because no one ever talked about it. One thing was clear: I’d hit my breaking point, and I didn’t like the feeling of being broken all that much.
I fully believed that I should be better than that—that my inability to make a balanced dinner, not ruin the laundry, and sing “Rubber Duckie” to three kids under the age of two in the bathtub for thirty minutes while simultaneously trying to write a book made me a poor excuse for a parent. And so goes the mind of the modern working mother—so intent on proving she can do everything that she’s never satisfied with anything. I spent months stuck in this cycle, snuggling up with guilt every night like it was a long-lost love because I wasn’t able to do everything and therefore managed to disappoint myself, my family, my agent, or my editor—or the Chernobyl scenario: all of the above. I was a wreck—which, by the way, only made me feel worse—and exhausted, because constant self-inflicted emotional abuse is actually quite tiring. And so after a silent pep talk, I decided it was time to get off this hamster wheel and abandon the absurdly high expectations that were quickly inching me toward the psych ward. Great in theory, but admittedly easier said than done.
This cycle is part of normal life for a lot of women with children—the constant push-pull of trying to be a good mother while also taking some time—any time—to do things for yourself. I’ve spent a lot of time talking with girlfriends who all basically feel the same way. The stay-at-home moms fear their brains are turning to mush and wish they could exercise their talents in some way that doesn’t involve Play-Doh or puppetry, and the working moms are suffocating from FOMO on crack because they’re not able to spend time with their kids during the day. We blindly adopted the mantra that women can have it all—that we don’t have to choose—but how is that a realistic (or healthy, or practical, or obtainable) goal? Somewhere along the way we set the bar so high for ourselves, we have to pole-vault to clear it. Before I escaped to the parking lot, I’d written ten pages—ten solid pages that I liked a whole lot—but that wasn’t enough to make me feel good about myself. Instead, I thought about all the things I didn’t do: the cries I didn’t soothe, the music class I didn’t attend, the sweaters I shrunk (yes, plural—I admit there was more than one), the homemade dinner I didn’t make. And worse than all of that was the truth I was afraid to admit to anyone for a very long time: I really enjoyed the hours I spent alone with my laptop. If I hadn’t, I’d never have finished this book. When I got home, I hugged my kids, realized that they were just fine without me for a few hours, and tried to forgive myself. I accepted that becoming someone’s mother didn’t mean that I had to stop being me—that I wasn’t required to trade one title for another. I also realized that if I chose to wear all the hats at once, I could—I just shouldn’t expect to look good while doing it.
It didn’t happen overnight, but slowly, I stopped hearing the ever-present voice in my head telling me that what I was doing wasn’t enough. I stopped thinking that the world was going to end if my kid ate mac and cheese out of a box, or skipped a bath (or two or five). I stopped putting myself atop the list of things to sacrifice every single day, and I’m okay with that. I’d like to ensure that my two-year-old daughter learns to be okay with that, too. I don’t want her to wind up sitting in a deserted parking lot one day because she’s foundering under the weight of too-great expectations. I want her to know what it feels like to be satisfied, and content, and somewhat balanced in her life. I imagine that’s a pretty nice way to feel.
If there’s one thing I learned while writing Regrets Only, it’s that it’s okay to allow my priorities to change daily, instead of trying to make everything my number one priority 100 percent of the time. I love Claire so much because she’s able to finally get to a place where she says, “You know what? I’m good where I am. I’m done thinking about everything I’m not doing and am going to be happy with what I am doing instead.” I hope I can get to that place, too. I still have a ways to go, but I’ve promised myself that I’m going to try.
Bo’s Pear and Applesauce Recipe
Ingredients:
1 apple
1 pear
½ teaspoon cinnamon
Directions:
Rinse, peel, core, and dice the apple and pear.
Steam the apple and pear pieces in a steamer basket over simmering water for 3-4 minutes, or until tender.
Move the fruit to a food processor and add cinnamon. Puree until blended.
Read On
More from Erin Duffy
LOST ALONG THE WAY
The story of three friends who find themselves on a laugh-out-loud life adventure, Lost Along the Way illuminates the moments that make us, the betrayals that break us, and the power of love that helps us forgive even the most painful hurts.
“Duffy effortlessly explores complex issues, especially how much pressure women put on themselves and one another to be perfect and have everything together.”
—Library Journal
ON THE ROCKS
A witty and heart-warming novel about the perils, pitfalls, and dubious pleasures of being a young, single woman in the Facebook Age.
“Alternately hum
orous and touching, this novel is a fast, fun read.”
—RT Book Reviews, four stars
BOND GIRL
A fast-paced, hilarious odyssey in four-inch heels, Bond Girl is The Devil Wears Prada meets Wall Street with a touch of Emily Giffin—a novel set in the financial world leading up to the (infamously) tumultuous year of 2008.
“Erin Duffy is a fresh, funny, and fabulous new voice in literature. . . . Great story. Delicious debut.”
—Adriana Trigiani, author of Lucia, Lucia and Brava, Valentine
Praise
Praise for Lost Along the Way
“Duffy delivers a summery novel about friendships, with both hardship and hilarity.”
—Philadelphia Inquirer
“Duffy effortlessly explores complex issues, especially how much pressure women put on themselves and one another to be perfect and have everything together.”
—Library Journal
“A rollicking beach read.”
—Kirkus Reviews
Praise for On the Rocks
“Alternately humorous and touching, this novel is a fast, fun read. . . . [Abby] is someone you’d want to friend, freezer full of ice cream and all.”
—RT Book Reviews, four stars
“With its more realistic and modern ending, this engaging novel offers readers relaxing and light yet thoughtful summer escape.”
—Library Journal
“Duffy’s second novel is tenderly introspective. . . . Abby’s attempts to navigate the ever-changing rules of dating are infinitely relatable and will prove to be an ideal beach read for fans of Elin Hilderbrand and Sarah Pekkanen.”
—Booklist
Praise for Bond Girl
“I’m crazy about Bond Girl. Erin Duffy is a fresh, funny, and fabulous new voice in literature. . . . Great story. Delicious debut.”
—Adriana Trigiani, author of Lucia, Lucia and Brava, Valentine
“Witty and very racy . . . Trust me, you won’t be bored with this Wall Street story.”
—Washington Post
“A compelling, fun read.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Bond Girl is a sparkling debut, smart and snappy but never weighed down by financial terminology. Who knew Wall Street could be this much fun?”
—Entertainment Weekly
“Duffy’s first novel is a sharp, witty look at the intricacies of the trading floor and the people who populate it. . . . Filled with too-good-to-be-true anecdotes and enough of a biting, cynical bent to offset the chick-lit romance angle, Bond Girl is a fun read.”
—Booklist
Also by Erin Duffy
Lost Along the Way
On the Rocks
Bond Girl
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
P.S.™ is a trademark of HarperCollins Publishers.
REGRETS ONLY. Copyright © 2018 by Erin Duffy. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Cover design by Lex Maudlin
Cover photograph by Laura Klynstra; © Lana Veshta/Shutterstock (texture); © heliopix/iStock/Getty Images (flowers)
FIRST EDITION
Digital Edition MAY 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-269825-4
Version 03312018
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-269824-7
ISBN 978-0-06-285463-6 (library edition)
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