❤️‍🩹 Book Tour & Giveaway ➱ The Me I Used to Be: A Novel by author Kristan Higgins

WOW! WOMEN ON WRITING TOUR

The Me I Used to Be

By Kristan Higgins

Book Summary
Back in senior year, Audrey, Micah, Jasmine, and Beck were the Core Four: the lucky one, the beautiful one, the smart one, the sporty one. They had color-coded dreams, inside jokes, and a lifelong friendship they thought would last forever. But graduation night ended in a tragic accident, followed by the kind of silence that stretches for decades.
Now, they’ve returned for their reunion, each carrying a life that looks nothing like the glossy future they imagined. There are stalled careers, complicated marriages, outspoken adult children, and secrets that never fit into holiday cards. For one of them, a diagnosis of early-onset dementia turns the weekend into a ticking clock.
Across one unforgettable weekend, the Core Four must decide if their past can still change their future together.

Publisher: Lake Union Publishing (September 15, 2026)
AISN: B0G59SKB4J
ASIN: B0FXBCYPVK
ISBN-10: 1662537999
ISBN-13: 978-1662537998
Print length: 347 pages

Purchase a copy of The Me I Used to Be

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Me-I-Used-Be/dp/1662537999/

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-me-i-used-to-be-kristan-higgins/1148634013?

Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-me-i-used-to-be/d6616cdc8c20b6e5

Books A Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Used-Be/Kristan-Higgins/9781662537998

You can also add this to your GoodReads reading list:

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/244833238-the-me-i-used-to-be

Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Audrey

Reunion weekend

Thursday afternoon

I hear the crunch of wheels on the gravel driveway and get up, smoothing my long yellow dress, a hand going to my hair. I planned this outfit carefully, of course—wielding the iron, trying on different pairs of shoes. I mean, I plan everything carefully, but especially this. It’s important today to look my best. I’ve also taken an Adderall and had two cups of coffee this afternoon. I want to be on top of my game.

After all, I haven’t seen the Core Four in twenty-five years.

Gracie, my Irish setter, gets up from her spot and goes to the door to greet whoever it is. I glance out the window. The car is an aging Subaru hatchback, probably the most popular car in Vermont, and for a second I can’t see who’s driving it. A woman pulls out an oversize cloth bag and a pink box. She straightens and looks around, her hand shielding her eyes. She’s quite pretty, and I wonder whether she’s delivering a package.

It’s Micah. She’s never left Stafford, so technically I have seen her. It’s impossible to avoid each other in a town of 2400, and when we’ve been forced to speak, we both make it excruciatingly superficial: Hi. Good turnout today. Nice weather. I know she married James, her high school boyfriend, and that they have a college-age son.

Micah looks the worse for wear, I think with a not-unpleasant stab of satisfaction. Frumpy, heavier, her hair frizzier than in the olden days. Jeans, a button-down shirt, a blue sweater. Uninspired. It’s a bit of a shock. She was dubbed the beautiful one of the Core Four. At one time, she was desperate to leave Vermont, always putting down our little town, even knowing that I thought it was heaven. Then again, I was the lucky one who got to grow up on Bitter Creek Farm with my little brother and perfect parents, hundreds of acres of rolling hills and maple trees, horses and dogs and financial security. This was the house that hosted all the sleepovers, the place where we’d congregate before a dance or prom, the home away from home for all three of them. They shared my parents, my brother, everything.

And then they left me.

The doorbell rings, startling me even though I should’ve anticipated it. I take a breath, glance at myself in the foyer mirror. I look normal. I open the door and startle again. There are three women here, and I almost don’t recognize the other two. But of course I know who they are. There’s a moment of silence as the four of us stand in each other’s presence for the first time in a quarter of a century.

“Can I help you?” I ask. “With your stuff, that is? Also, um . . . welcome.” I invited them here, I remind myself. I wanted this.

“I’m good,” Micah says. “I just have this bag. Oh, and I brought cupcakes. You can help with those, I guess. I don’t want to drop them.” She offers me the pink box and I take it, stepping back so they can come in. Gracie sniffs everyone, tail wagging.

“You stuck with the Irish setters, I see,” Beck says. Her first words to me.

“This is Gracie,” I say.

“The place looks beautiful, Audrey,” Jasmine says. Her voice is warm, and I wonder why.

“Thanks,” I say. Jasmine’s smile is very white. She’s wearing a bronze-colored off-the-shoulder sweater and an immaculate cream skirt, green suede mules. Diamond engagement ring, diamond wedding band, diamond stud earrings. I have to look away before I go blind. We get it, Jasmine. You’re rich.

Beck’s hair is short and funky, a change from the ponytail she always had in high school. Her clothes are simple but chic—beige wide-legged pants with a dark-brown silk shirt, a rectangular gold pendant on a long, thin chain. No earrings, no rings that say whether she’s married or not. She looks effortlessly cool, upstaging the rest of us in a surprise move. In high school, she almost always wore athletic gear—sweats and gym shorts, that sort of thing.

“I brought my cat,” Beck says. “Sorry, I should’ve mentioned that. Couldn’t get a pet sitter.” She sets a carrier on the floor. “This is Mr. Littlejeans,” she adds. Gracie sniffs the crate, and the cat gives a low growl.

“Mr. Littlejeans from the movie, or Mr. Little Jeans the singer?” Jasmine asks. I can’t say I understand what she’s talking about.

“The movie,” Beck says. “Rushmore. Wes Anderson’s second movie.” Right. She works in film.

“It’s fine, Gracie likes cats.” The feeling is not mutual, because Mr. Littlejeans turns up the volume, sounding like he might need an exorcist. “Well, come on in,” I say.

We go into the kitchen, and Jasmine immediately compliments me on the decor. “I just love this island,” she coos. “And are these pendants Hubbardton Forge? They’re beautiful.” She has always chattered when she’s nervous. She’s had some plastic surgery, I think—her nose is straighter, her lips fuller, though they look natural enough.

Just then, Mathilda thuds down the stairs. I’m grateful for the distraction, then nervous. Will she be mean to me?

“This is my stepdaughter, Mathilda,” I say.

“Kylo!” she growls. “I go by Kylo now. As Audrey already knows.” So, yes to being mean, then. 5 Kristan Higgins

“Sorry. My stepdaughter, Kylo. Kylo, these are my friends from high school. Beck Morrow, Jasmine Malinowski—”

“Hahn. Jasmine Hahn, honey, nice to meet you.”

“—and Micah Dell.”

“Yeah, I’m aware. Hi, Mrs. Paulson.” Of course. Kylo goes to Lola’s all the time and knows Micah took James’s last name. “I didn’t know you were friends with Audrey,” Kylo says to her.

“We go way back,” Micah says.

Mathilda—Kylo—gives me a questioning look. Micah’s never been invited here as an adult. Nor has Kylo ever heard me speak Micah’s name.

“Will you be hanging out with us this weekend, Kylo?” Micah asks.

“I’ll be at Everest’s, thank God. No offense.”

“Her girlfriend,” I say, reaching for humor. “Not the mountain.”

“So not funny, Audrey. Also, my they-friend, okay? You know Everest uses they/them pronouns.”

“Of course, I know Everest. Lovely person,” Micah says. “So easy to talk to.” Kylo’s face softened. “They are. They’re awesome.”

“Drive safely, Ma—Kylo,” I say. “Text me when you get there.”

“I won’t.” She shoots me a dark look and heads out.

“Good to meet you,” Beck calls.

Another awkward silence falls. “Let’s sit down,” I say. “You can leave your stuff there for now.”

“Can I let my cat out?” Beck asks.

“Sure.”

She opens the carrier and the cat creeps out and hisses at Gracie, who gets the message and pads over to her bed.

“Um . . . I’ve got snacks and drinks,” I say. “Make yourselves comfortable in the family room. Through there.” They know where it is, I remind myself.

Just then, Clay comes in, and I’m relieved.

“Well, hello there!” he says. “So nice y’all are here at last.” He offers his hand to Beck. “Clayton Joyce, Audrey’s husband. I take it you’re Beck, since Audrey said you used to play basketball?”

“That’s me. Nice to meet you.”

“That means you must be Jasmine,” Clay says, shaking Jasmine’s hand.

“Yes. Lovely to meet you, Clayton.”

“Call me Clay.” He smiles at Micah. “And of course, I already know you, Micah. Best muffins in town, outside of Audrey’s here.” Right. He stops by there now and again, since I never told him not to. “How ’bout I put on some coffee or make some tea?” He looks at me, an unspoken question in his eyes. “Sweet tea? Ice water? Seltzer water? Mineral water? Cranberry juice? Wine? Too early for cocktails?”

Jesus, Clay, enough. “I’ve got this, honey. I baked a pie, and Micah brought stuff, and I’ve got a nice dinner planned for later. Thought we’d eat in tonight.” I pause. “Talk about old times.”

“All righty, then! I’m gonna be stayin’ out in the guesthouse,” Clay says. “Y’all don’t want a man gettin’ in the way on your girls’ weekend, but I’ll be around if you need me. Okay, baby?” His accent is on full throttle because he thinks it’s charming. And it can be. Just not right now. He slides his arm around me and drops a kiss on my head, being the Wonderful Husband. “You sure you don’t want some help, hon?”

“No, it’s fine. Thanks, Clay.” I watch him leave. “So. That’s my husband.”

“He seems nice,” Jasmine says.

“He was a widower. I married him when Mathilda was five.” Well, info-dumping is one way to catch up. “Anyway. Go sit down”—I point to the family room—“and I’ll bring some food out.” I don’t mean to sound so bossy, but I can deal with only so much right now, and sub tlety isn’t on the list.

I wonder whether they notice the newer pieces of furniture. It’s been twenty-five years; most people do buy new couches and chairs. I listen for conversation and hear nothing. From the fridge, I get the charcuterie board I picked up from the uber-expensive organic market this morning, grab the cloth napkins and a knife for the cheese. Two bottles of white wine and glasses are already set out in the family room, as well as a pitcher of ice water with lemon slices. I hope I haven’t for gotten anything. I don’t think I have. Taking a deep breath, I pick up the tray and go in.

They’re all sitting there, looking around the room. Jasmine is smiling; Beck looks calm; Micah, anxious. God knows what my own expression is telling them.

“Jasmine and Beck, did you come together?” I ask, putting the tray on the coffee table. They arrived at the same time, and there are only two cars in my driveway—Micah’s Subaru and a giant Range Rover. Did they stay friends?

“No, we just pulled in at the same time,” Beck says. “I took the train and grabbed an Uber at the station.”

Okay, then. So, not close enough to share a ride.

“The foliage is remarkable,” Jasmine says brightly. “The forecast says it’ll be a beautiful weekend. Are you busy with the reunion, Micah? I looked at the class Facebook page and saw that you’re in charge. Chairman?”

“Most of the stuff is all in place,” Micah says. “The committee’s been great.”

More silence. I reach for a bottle of wine, twist off the cap and fill four glasses. “Figured we’d need this,” I say. “Grease the wheels, so to speak.” We’ve never had a legal drink together. The thought makes a lump form in my throat. With some effort, I look around at each of them. “To the Core Four, I guess. Thank you for coming.”

“To the Core Four,” they echo. Jasmine smiles, Micah stares at her lap and Beck wears a grim expression. We all take a healthy swallow, and Beck leans forward and grabs some cheese and meat and puts them on her plate. “I’m starving,” she says. The others take some, too, though Jasmine only nibbles on a cracker.

About the Author, Kristan Higgins

Kristan Higgins is the author of more than twenty novels, all of which were New York Times and/or USA Today bestsellers, much to her surprise and delight. Her books have been translated into two dozen languages and have sold millions of copies worldwide, receiving dozens of awards and accolades, including starred reviews from Entertainment Weekly, People, The New York Journal of Books, Publishers Weekly, Library Journal and Booklist.

A smitten grandmother and the mother of two delightful adult children, Kristan enjoys gardening, mixology, the national parks and being overly helpful to strangers. She lives in Connecticut but is often on Cape Cod with her heroic firefighter husband, a rambunctious dog and their indifferent cat.

Follow the author at:

Website: www.kristanhiggins.com

Book Giveaway

Don’t miss the giveaway of The Me I Used to Be! Enter at The Muffin from September 21 to October 4.

https://muffin.wow-womenonwriting.com

At their twenty-fifth high school reunion, four former best friends discover that growing up is way messier than anticipated—and the past isn’t nearly as finished as they thought.

#FriendshipFiction #WomensFiction #grief #newrelease #mustreadnovels #giveaway #KristanHiggins #kindleunlimited

Tour Calender

September 22nd @ A Wonderful World Of Words

Read an excerpt of Kristan Higgins’ latest novel The Me I Used to Be.

https://awonderfulworldofwordsa.blogspot.com/

September 24th @ All Things Writing

Learn what Caitrin thinks about the latest Kristan Higgins novel, The Me I Used to Be.

https://www.caitrincking.com/blog

September 25th @ Chapter Break

Enter a giveaway for The Me I Used to Be by Kristan Higgins.

https://chapterbreak.net/

September 29th @ Cozy Home Delights