Literature & Fiction
![Kathleen Glasgow - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B01BKSVME8.jpg)
You'd Be Home Now
From the New York Times bestselling author of Girl in Pieces comes a stunning novel that Vanity Fair calls "impossibly moving" and "suffused with light". In this raw, deeply personal story, a teenaged girl struggles to find herself amidst the fallout of her brother's addiction in a town ravaged by the opioid crisis.
For all of Emory's life she's been told who she is. In town she's the rich one--the great-great-granddaughter of the mill's founder. At school she's hot Maddie Ward's younger sister. And at home, she's the good one, her stoner older brother Joey's babysitter. Everything was turned on its head, though, when she and Joey were in the car accident that killed Candy MontClaire. The car accident that revealed just how bad Joey's drug habit was.
Four months later, Emmy's junior year is starting, Joey is home from rehab, and the entire town of Mill Haven is still reeling from the accident. Everyone's telling Emmy who she is, but so much has changed, how can she be the same person? Or was she ever that person at all?
Mill Haven wants everyone to live one story, but Emmy's beginning to see that people are more than they appear. Her brother, who might not be "cured," the popular guy who lives next door, and most of all, many "ghostie" addicts who haunt the edges of the town. People spend so much time telling her who she is--it might be time to decide for herself.
A journey of one sister, one brother, one family, to finally recognize and love each other for who they are, not who they are supposed to be, You'd Be Home Now is Kathleen Glasgow's glorious and heartbreaking story about the opioid crisis, and how it touches all of us.
For all of Emory's life she's been told who she is. In town she's the rich one--the great-great-granddaughter of the mill's founder. At school she's hot Maddie Ward's younger sister. And at home, she's the good one, her stoner older brother Joey's babysitter. Everything was turned on its head, though, when she and Joey were in the car accident that killed Candy MontClaire. The car accident that revealed just how bad Joey's drug habit was.
Four months later, Emmy's junior year is starting, Joey is home from rehab, and the entire town of Mill Haven is still reeling from the accident. Everyone's telling Emmy who she is, but so much has changed, how can she be the same person? Or was she ever that person at all?
Mill Haven wants everyone to live one story, but Emmy's beginning to see that people are more than they appear. Her brother, who might not be "cured," the popular guy who lives next door, and most of all, many "ghostie" addicts who haunt the edges of the town. People spend so much time telling her who she is--it might be time to decide for herself.
A journey of one sister, one brother, one family, to finally recognize and love each other for who they are, not who they are supposed to be, You'd Be Home Now is Kathleen Glasgow's glorious and heartbreaking story about the opioid crisis, and how it touches all of us.
Editorial Reviews
"Necessary, important, honest, loving, and true." -Kirkus Reviews, starred review
"The narrative presents a nuanced look at a family trying to keep their loved ones safe and the toll that addiction takes on all of its members…A heartbreaking yet important story." –SLJ, starred review
"...compassionately illustrates the profound power of love...[a] remarkable and engrossing novel of life's balance and imbalance between struggle and joy."-Booklist, starred review
"As beautiful as it is raw… an unflinching tale of addiction." -Amy Beashel, author of The Sky Is Mine
"Raw, honest, and over-flowing with feelings… unlike anything I've ever experienced on the page." -Erin Hahn, author of You'd Be Mine and More Than Maybe
"In her gripping tale of an addict-adjacent teen and the fragile ecosystem she inhabits, Kathleen Glasgow expands our hearts and invites in a little more humanity." -Val Emmich, New York Times bestselling author of Dear Evan Hansen: The Novel
"Renders the invisible faces of addiction with rare humanity." -Amber Smith, New York Times bestselling author of The Way I Used to Be
"Nails what it's like to love someone with an addiction and humanizes the struggle of a teenage drug addict." -Hayley Krischer, author of Something Happened to Ali Greenleaf
"An evocative, soaring exploration of family, friendship, and the many lives that encompass a small town." -Laurie Elizabeth Flynn, author of The Girls Are All So Nice Here
"The narrative presents a nuanced look at a family trying to keep their loved ones safe and the toll that addiction takes on all of its members…A heartbreaking yet important story." –SLJ, starred review
"...compassionately illustrates the profound power of love...[a] remarkable and engrossing novel of life's balance and imbalance between struggle and joy."-Booklist, starred review
"As beautiful as it is raw… an unflinching tale of addiction." -Amy Beashel, author of The Sky Is Mine
"Raw, honest, and over-flowing with feelings… unlike anything I've ever experienced on the page." -Erin Hahn, author of You'd Be Mine and More Than Maybe
"In her gripping tale of an addict-adjacent teen and the fragile ecosystem she inhabits, Kathleen Glasgow expands our hearts and invites in a little more humanity." -Val Emmich, New York Times bestselling author of Dear Evan Hansen: The Novel
"Renders the invisible faces of addiction with rare humanity." -Amber Smith, New York Times bestselling author of The Way I Used to Be
"Nails what it's like to love someone with an addiction and humanizes the struggle of a teenage drug addict." -Hayley Krischer, author of Something Happened to Ali Greenleaf
"An evocative, soaring exploration of family, friendship, and the many lives that encompass a small town." -Laurie Elizabeth Flynn, author of The Girls Are All So Nice Here
Readers Top Reviews
CraftshleyefbRa.he
This is the exact sort of book I would have picked up at the library. Browsing through the shelves, the spine would be a nice minty blue and I would have picked it up, read the summary, immediately decided I wanted to read it, and probably devour it in a couple hours. Being an adult with an unfortunate amount of work to do, I spread the reading out over a couple days but I was just as engrossed as I would have been then. Joey’s struggles are something I am familiar with, but Emory is who I identified with most closely. My parents were both addicts who relapsed time and time again. My mom, especially, had a hard time staying sober. So much so that I decided I’d had enough and left. Being an adult who was newly graduated from college, I was thankfully able to do that. As is emphasized later in the book, you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped and, as an adult, an addict is perfectly able to refuse help, even if they’re on the verge of dying. There is a lot of drama to follow and a lot of name dropping in the beginning but Glasgow gently reminds us of the characters and their place in the story until I have their names down. Emory’s parents are absolutely maddening, especially her mom. They are rich beyond my comprehension, having a house that has three fireplaces, but only one of them works. Emory does not realize her privilege, which I guess is par for the course. When you’re rich, you don’t know it, even when you live in what seems to be a dying town, full of drugs and addicts. There wasn’t much mention of Emory facing her privilege. The adults don’t interact well with the kids, particularly the teachers. It can get quite cringy, particularly with the older English teacher who is set in his ways, teaching the classics all written by white men with horrible depictions of women and people of color. This is a small plot point and results in an assignment that is pretty poignant later on. There are many hints and clues dropped throughout the novel that become important later. These details were easy to clock, even if I didn’t know exactly how they would come into play. I was absolutely outraged at Emory and Joey’s mom; she was so controlling and blind to her kids. And they all go along with it, keep their heads down and comply because it’s easier. I can’t forgive her for that, for pushing her kids away like that. Even if Joey is responsible for his own choices, she definitely pushed him over the edge more than once with her controlling behavior. Someone should have interfered sooner, and that someone should have been their father. Or even Maddie, the older sister who is in college. This is not a perfect world, however, and that didn’t happen. Nor might it have happened in real life if this same scenario occurred. People are imperfect. The ending was open, if a bit hopeful. Emory was definitely changed by her experie...
Shirley McAllister
A Heart wrenching story of teenage drug addiction and its effects on one family. How it is a disease that is rampant and uncaring in its severity. It destroys people, relationships and families. This is a story of one family's fight for the life of their teenage son Joey and the sister Emmy that will break your heart. It is a story of teenagers growing up in a cruel world. How unforgiving other teenagers can be and how some of the most unlikely people become your friends and allies. Some of the other teenagers at school rally around Emmy when she is bullied by others because they themselves have been victims of addiction through their families. How some of Joey's friends lead him into relapse and other's help Emmy to find and help Joey. It is a story of teens growing up in a fractured society. It is a story of addiction, but also a story of healing. How one family deals with a crisis and the repercussions of some poor choices made. A horrible car accident, the discovery that Joey is addicted to opioids and was high at the time of the accident. A young girl's life is lost and the town and the other teens at school are cruel and unforgiving. The sister Emmy that was a passenger in the car and how she tries to save her brother from his addiction although her life is not in a good place. The story is real to life, it is sad, but unfortunately the events happen way to often in our schools and our communities. Parents are too busy with their lives to really listen to their children and children are too scared to talk to their parents. Addiction happens to people all ages and in all walks of life. The drugs, especially opioids are too readily available and too highly addictive. It can happen from one small accident, one prescription, and one life and all those associated are changed forever. We have to find a way to control this. I think every teenager and every parent of a teenager should read this book. It should be read in high schools. I recommend it. Thanks to Kathleen Glasgow, Random House Books, and NetGalley for allowing me to read a complimentary copy of the book for my honest review.
Melissa 'Dog/Wolf Lo
This book broke me into little pieces and spit me back out!!!
Sarah
I really loved this book and had a hard time putting it down. Glasgow really finds a good perspective and touches on such an important topic in health, not just from that of who is suffering from the disease, but giving insight to those who are fighting alongside them. I highly recommend this read to anyone!
Ash the Flash
Really good book from a great author. Reminded me very much of This Broken Road. I wish more YA authors would tackle the subject of opiate abuse. Great read!
Short Excerpt Teaser
1
My sister, Maddie, is crying, her pretty face damp and frightened. One of my legs is heavier than the other and I don't understand and I want to ask her why, but I can't form words, because there's an ocean inside me, warm and sweet, and I'm bobbing along the waves, just like the ones that carried me and Joey all those years ago in San Diego, when everything was perfect or as close to it as we could get. That was a nice time, when I was twelve and Joey was thirteen, letting the waves carry us, Maddie stretched out on the beach in her purple bikini and floppy-brimmed hat. Far away from Mill Haven, we were in a different world, where no one knew who we were.
I try to ask Maddie where Joey is, but she can't understand me. She thinks I'm saying something else, because she leans forward and says, "Do you need more? Do you need me to press the button?"
And her finger presses a button on the side of the bed and the largest wave I've ever known billows over me, like the parachute game we played in the gymnasium in kindergarten, all of us laughing as the fabric gently overtook us and blocked out the world.
My mother's voice is trembling. "This is not normal. This is not something that happens to people like us."
My father sounds weary. He has been weary for years now. Joey makes people weary.
He says, "There is no normal, Abigail. Nothing has ever been normal. Why can't you see that? He has a problem."
My finger stretches out for the button to make the waves come again. My parents make me tired, years and years of fighting about Joey.
My mother's hand touches my head. Like a kitten, I respond, leaning into it. I can't remember the last time she touched me, stroked my hair. Everything has always been about Joey.
"There was heroin in his system, Abigail. How did we miss that?"
The word floats in the air before me, something eerie and frightening.
There was vomit spattered on his hoodie at the party. When we found him in the bedroom. He was woozy and floppy and strange and made no sense and I thought . . .
I thought he was just drunk. Stoned, maybe.
"I will fix this," she says to my father. "He'll go to rehab, he'll get better, he'll come home."
She says rehab in a clipped way, like it hurts to have the word in her mouth.
"That's not a magic wand you can wave and make it all go away, Abigail. He could have died. Emory could have died. A girl did die."
The ocean inside me, the one that was warm and wavy, freezes.
"What did you say?" I whisper. My voice feels thick. Can they understand me? I speak louder. "What did you just say?"
"Emory," my father says. "Oh, Emory."
My mother's eyes are wet blue pools. She curls her fingers in my hair.
"You're alive," she tells me. "I'm so grateful you're alive."
Her face is blurry from the waves carrying me. I'm struggling inside them, struggling to understand.
"But she just had a headache," I say. "Candy just had a headache. She can't be dead."
My father frowns. "You aren't making any sense, Emmy."
She had a headache. That's why she was in the car. She had a headache at the party, and she wanted a ride home and it can't be right that a person has a headache and gets in a car and dies and everyone else lives. It can't be right.
"Joey," I say, crying now, the tears warm and salty on my face. "I want Joey. Please, get me Joey."
2
When I open my eyes, he's there.
I've seen my brother cry only once before, the afternoon he and Luther Leonard decided to dive from the roof of our house into the pool. Luther made it; Joey didn't, and the sound of his sobs as he writhed on the brick patio echoed in my head for days.
But his crying is quieter now.
"I'm so sorry," he says. His voice is croaky, and he looks sick, pale and shaky. There are stitches above his left eye. His right arm is in a sling.
"I thought you were drunk," I say. "I thought you were just drunk."
Joey's dark eyes search my face.
"I messed up. I messed up so bad, Emmy."
Girls swoon over those dark eyes. Or they did. Before he became trouble.
Joey Ward used to be cool, a girl said in the bathroom at Heywood High last year. She didn't know I was in the stall. Sometimes I stayed in there longer than I needed to, just for some peace. It's hard all the time. Pretending.
Not anymore, another girl answered. Just another druggie loser.
I cried in the stall, because I knew Joey was more than that. Joey was the one who taught me to ride a bike, because our parents worked all the time. Joey was ...
My sister, Maddie, is crying, her pretty face damp and frightened. One of my legs is heavier than the other and I don't understand and I want to ask her why, but I can't form words, because there's an ocean inside me, warm and sweet, and I'm bobbing along the waves, just like the ones that carried me and Joey all those years ago in San Diego, when everything was perfect or as close to it as we could get. That was a nice time, when I was twelve and Joey was thirteen, letting the waves carry us, Maddie stretched out on the beach in her purple bikini and floppy-brimmed hat. Far away from Mill Haven, we were in a different world, where no one knew who we were.
I try to ask Maddie where Joey is, but she can't understand me. She thinks I'm saying something else, because she leans forward and says, "Do you need more? Do you need me to press the button?"
And her finger presses a button on the side of the bed and the largest wave I've ever known billows over me, like the parachute game we played in the gymnasium in kindergarten, all of us laughing as the fabric gently overtook us and blocked out the world.
My mother's voice is trembling. "This is not normal. This is not something that happens to people like us."
My father sounds weary. He has been weary for years now. Joey makes people weary.
He says, "There is no normal, Abigail. Nothing has ever been normal. Why can't you see that? He has a problem."
My finger stretches out for the button to make the waves come again. My parents make me tired, years and years of fighting about Joey.
My mother's hand touches my head. Like a kitten, I respond, leaning into it. I can't remember the last time she touched me, stroked my hair. Everything has always been about Joey.
"There was heroin in his system, Abigail. How did we miss that?"
The word floats in the air before me, something eerie and frightening.
There was vomit spattered on his hoodie at the party. When we found him in the bedroom. He was woozy and floppy and strange and made no sense and I thought . . .
I thought he was just drunk. Stoned, maybe.
"I will fix this," she says to my father. "He'll go to rehab, he'll get better, he'll come home."
She says rehab in a clipped way, like it hurts to have the word in her mouth.
"That's not a magic wand you can wave and make it all go away, Abigail. He could have died. Emory could have died. A girl did die."
The ocean inside me, the one that was warm and wavy, freezes.
"What did you say?" I whisper. My voice feels thick. Can they understand me? I speak louder. "What did you just say?"
"Emory," my father says. "Oh, Emory."
My mother's eyes are wet blue pools. She curls her fingers in my hair.
"You're alive," she tells me. "I'm so grateful you're alive."
Her face is blurry from the waves carrying me. I'm struggling inside them, struggling to understand.
"But she just had a headache," I say. "Candy just had a headache. She can't be dead."
My father frowns. "You aren't making any sense, Emmy."
She had a headache. That's why she was in the car. She had a headache at the party, and she wanted a ride home and it can't be right that a person has a headache and gets in a car and dies and everyone else lives. It can't be right.
"Joey," I say, crying now, the tears warm and salty on my face. "I want Joey. Please, get me Joey."
2
When I open my eyes, he's there.
I've seen my brother cry only once before, the afternoon he and Luther Leonard decided to dive from the roof of our house into the pool. Luther made it; Joey didn't, and the sound of his sobs as he writhed on the brick patio echoed in my head for days.
But his crying is quieter now.
"I'm so sorry," he says. His voice is croaky, and he looks sick, pale and shaky. There are stitches above his left eye. His right arm is in a sling.
"I thought you were drunk," I say. "I thought you were just drunk."
Joey's dark eyes search my face.
"I messed up. I messed up so bad, Emmy."
Girls swoon over those dark eyes. Or they did. Before he became trouble.
Joey Ward used to be cool, a girl said in the bathroom at Heywood High last year. She didn't know I was in the stall. Sometimes I stayed in there longer than I needed to, just for some peace. It's hard all the time. Pretending.
Not anymore, another girl answered. Just another druggie loser.
I cried in the stall, because I knew Joey was more than that. Joey was the one who taught me to ride a bike, because our parents worked all the time. Joey was ...
