For Mom and Dad, who are not required to read this book. You certainly didn’t inspire the events (can you imagine?), but you inspired the act of writing. You got a weird kid, and you somehow knew what to do. Forever in awe of that.

For John, who gives me the confidence to create. I adore you more with each passing year. Never stop singing nineties R&B ballads at inopportune times.

For my three wonderful babies, who write better books and have better hair than I ever will. You can’t read this book. Put it down now.