Old Enough

Description

Finalist for the Lambda Literary Award in Bisexual Fiction

“Old Enough is full of growth, heartbreak, and winsome bisexual chaos.”—Vogue

A debut novel “as astute, funny, and loving as your best friend from college”* about a young bisexual woman who is pulled between a new sense of community and loyalty to a friendship she’s outgrown

*Isle McElroy

Savannah “Sav” Henry is almost the person she wants to be, or at least she’s getting closer. It’s the second semester of her sophomore year. She’s finally come out as bisexual, is making friends with the other queers in her dorm, and has just about recovered from her disastrous first queer “situationship.” She is cautiously optimistic that her life is about to begin.
 
But when she learns that Izzie, her best friend from childhood, has gotten engaged, Sav faces a crisis of confidence. Things with Izzie haven’t been the same since what happened between Sav and Izzie’s older brother when they were sixteen. Now, with the wedding around the corner, Sav is forced to reckon with trauma she thought she could put behind her.
 
On top of it all, Sav can’t stop thinking about Wes from her Gender Studies class—sweet, funny Wes, with their long eyelashes and green backpack. There’s something different here—with Wes and with her new friends (who delight in teasing her about this face-burning crush); it feels, terrifyingly, like they might truly see her in a way no one has before.
 
With a singularly funny, heartfelt voice, Old Enough explores queer love, community, and what it means to be a sexual assault survivor. Haley Jakobson has written a love letter to friendship and an honest depiction of what finding your people can feel like—for better or worse.Winner of SheReads’s Best of 2023 Award—Contemporary Fiction

A New York Times Editor’s Choice

One of Harper’s Bazaar‘s “18 Best Queer Books for Pride Month and Beyond”

One of NBC News’ Must-Read Books to Celebrate Bisexuality Day

Featured in NYLON‘s “June 2023’s Must-Read Book Releases”

One of LGBTQ Reads’ Most Anticipated Titles

One of Pink News’ “23 brilliant sapphic books that will be taking over your reading list this year”

Included in Lit Hub’s “New Books to Check Out Today”

One of The Messenger’s “Best Books to Read During Pride Month”

Featured in the Skimms’ “14 Reads That Belong In Your Beach Bag This Summer”

One of The Lesbrary’s “30 New Sapphic Books Out in June”

Included in Autostradde’s “Queer and Feminist Books Coming Your Way Summer 2023”

One of Scary Mommy’s “12 Queer Romance Novels to Get Your Heart Pumping”

Featured in Fangirlish’s “20 LGBTQ+ Books Coming Out This June”

One of Luxury London’s “Best Books of June”

Included in Scary Mommy’s “New Summer Reads”

“Jakobson is at her best when she allows the bubbles of denial and guilt to rise and burst with Savannah’s anger at her assailant, at her friend, at her mother and at a society that makes it impossible for any legal definition of justice to prevail…Through Old Enough, Jakobson offers a guiding hand to her readers. If you’re going through this mess, you’re not alone, she seems to say, and if you’ve already survived, you’ll understand.”—The New York Times Book Review
 
“The minute you crack the cover of Haley Jakobson’s Old Enough, you’re likely to recognize protagonist Savannah Henry; not because you’re necessarily queer, or a college student, or a survivor of sexual assault, or a person with a complex relationship to your lifelong BFF, but because Jakobson writes Sav with enough humor, heart, and nuance to make her feel simultaneously relatable and unique… Watching her form a sense of herself and learn to detach her self-worth from the world’s expectations of how survivors should live, love, and heal is genuinely gratifying…Old Enough is full of growth, heartbreak, and winsome bisexual chaos.”—Emma Specter, Vogue

“Equal parts funny and romantic . . . A provocative work of art about a young woman who struggles to accept the pain and trauma of the past while looking forward to brighter days in the future.”—Cosmopolitan, “The Best LGBTQ+ Books of 2023”

“The kicker here is the word bisexual. It’s on the book’s dust jacket, and all over the first chapter and the pages that follow. This is what bi readers say they’re hungry for the most – a book that proudly and vehemently says it’s a ‘big bisexual book.’”—USA Today

“Haley Jakobson’s debut novel, Old Enough, is an entertaining and quietly moving narrative about friendship, sexual assault, and remembering that what we owe ourselves comes before what we owe anyone else.”—Shondaland, “Best Books of June”

“Jakobson’s book is part coming-of-age story, part self-proclaimed ‘big bisexual novel’, part treatise on the ways friendship and girlhood and brushes at love – or something like it – leaves us bruised.”—Teen Vogue
 
“[Sav is] a sophomore in college, thoroughly out as bisexual amongst her new chosen family at school, but not far enough removed from her high school self as to feel fully-realized as an adult. It’s an experience Jakobson captures so tenderly that reading Old Enough feels like holding up a mirror to your younger self, no matter how far removed you are from that period in your life.”—NYLON

“Both heartfelt and heart-wrenching, Jakobson explores finding your chosen family, falling in love, and facing the past in this unmissable debut.”—PopSugar, “Best Books of 2023”

“OLD ENOUGH is the queer coming-of-age novel that most of us never had…It’s a heartfelt and humorous examination of the fractured and nonlinear nature of healing and becoming whole. Savannah’s journey shows the lengths we go to in order to hold ourselves together and the integration that can come from letting ourselves fall apart — a process that’s recognizable to queer people and survivors alike.”—Them

“Jakobson’s characters are a delight, their dialogue intoxicating, their mistakes and attempts at reconciliation beautiful to watch. Readers will down this breathless debut in one sitting, sending gentle prayers up to their 20-year-old selves.” —Booklist, *starred review*

“Jakobson brilliantly blends complex ideas and relationship dynamics with Savannah’s witty stream of consciousness and sharp dialogue…This poignant rendering of one young woman’s journey out of denial and shame into a budding self-love is essential reading.”—Kirkus

“Jakobson lands the intensity of college friendships and sexual relationships with exquisite depictions of Sav and her cohort…This writer shows plenty of promise.”—Publishers Weekly

“Haley Jakobson’s Old Enough is an absolute snack. Full of humor and heartache, Jakobson makes the hard thing look easy: crafting a novel that explores the messy way we navigate who we were and who we’re becoming with tenderness and grace. Part campus novel, part coming of age story, Old Enough is about the secrets we keep from others (and ourselves) and how community can transform our lives. A novel for anyone who’s lost a friend, found themselves, and survived their twenties, Old Enough is a gem.”—Katy Hays, bestselling author of The Cloisters

“Haley Jakobson’s Old Enough evokes the stormy early years of college with such tenderness and honesty I was transported right back to campus. This pitch-perfect story about queer coming-of-age is brilliantly observed, wildly funny, and full of insights into the way the past can snake through the present—no matter how hard we try to escape. I loved every word and can’t wait for what Jakobson writes next.”—Julie Buntin, author of Marlena

“A deeply immersive, thought provoking and engaging exploration of identity and how and when we get the courage to be fully ourselves, Haley Jakobson’s OLD ENOUGH is a novel about growing up, letting go, and learning to love and be loved on our own terms.”—Lynn Steger Strong, author of Flight
 
“Haley Jakobson’s OLD ENOUGH is a campus novel as astute, funny, and loving as your best friend from college. A story of transformation and reckoning, this debut portrays the difficulty of becoming your true self when you haven’t fully recovered from the past. It is a testament to the power, and the weight, of friendship, in all its messiness and its necessity.”—Isle McElroy, author of The Atmospherians
 
“Haley Jakobson brings to life a modern undergraduate experience in all its messy, cringey glory and gives Generation Z the queer coming of age novel it needs in the era of both social media and social anxiety. Her work explores the tension between community of origin and community of exploration, and allows flawed teens and twenty-somethings to flail their way into meaning and identity.”—A.E. Osworth, author of We Are Watching Eliza Bright

“If you’re looking for a group of cool queer friends, look no further than Old Enough. These characters jump off the page, transporting us into an immersive and heartwarming love story for a new era. Haley Jakobson shows us the power of chosen family, the nuances of bisexuality, and the strength it takes to overcome your past in service of your future.”—Jen Winston, author of Greedy
 
“As always, Haley Jakobson’s writing pulls you in and moves something within you already at the very first sentence. I truly loved this book. Read it!”—Rachel Brathen, bestselling author of Yoga Girl
Haley Jakobson (she/her) is a bisexual writer and playwright living in Brooklyn, NY. In her work she explores girlhood, bisexuality, brains, and bodies. Her debut novel, Old Enough, was named a New York Times Editors’ Choice and described by Vogue as being full of “winsome bisexual chaos.” Haley is a gemini apologist and a killer follow on Instagram.1

It was the first day of Gender and Sexuality Studies 101. There were only six of us and the pressure of forced intimacy was palpable. The first person I noticed was a long-necked girl sitting with perfect posture, tapping her manicured nails on her notebook. Coffin-shaped, pink polish, with thin gold bracelets on both wrists. She was very pale, with a light smattering of freckles across her nose. A single small, pear-shaped diamond dotted the center of a gold band on her left ring finger. It was a promise ring, I could practically smell it, but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was a feminist move to reclaim her ring finger, a kind of “I’m-married-to-myself” fuck-you to the patriarchy. I hated that word now, “patriarchy.” All I could think of were overpriced graphic tees and white liberal mothers on Facebook updating their status to “WE’RE STILL WITH HER” and “PANTSUIT NATION!” Not that I’d prefer timelines littered with American flag beer koozies and Bible quotes. Although, I did love the liberal Christians-the ones who believe Jesus is a woman and include their pronouns and a verse from the Corinthians in their email signature.

Promise Ring Girl was sitting next to a person in a navy button-up, ironed meticulously so that the collar was stiff and crisp. They were Black and wore a maroon beanie, a tight fade peeking out from underneath. I didn’t want to assume their gender, not that I should have assumed Promise Ring’s. They side-eyed her tapping nails and didn’t seem amused. They lounged in their seat, legs spread, resting one elbow on the back of their chair. They took up space. There wasn’t an ounce of self-doubt about them. I checked for rainbow paraphernalia. I didn’t see any, but they didn’t really seem the type. They shifted in their seat, and I heard the jingle of keys from underneath the table. I strained my neck until I clocked a silver carabiner hooked around their belt loop. Bingo. Ugh. Problematic that I was doing this, but I’m sure everyone was assuming that I was straight and in a sorority, so.

I looked around. The classroom was old and outdated. Desks the color of manila folders and uncomfortable plastic chairs. The kind with the two metal circle screws near the top, which always snagged my hair. The floor was shiny linoleum, but not shiny enough to cover years of scuff marks. There was a new wing at school that had been renovated over the summer, all plush carpets and ergonomic everything. I heard the STEM kids all had standing desks.

“Hello hello hello!”

Professor Tolino flew into the room carrying a tote, a purse, a leather backpack, and what looked like a burlap sack hanging all over her person. I knew who she was because I had looked her up on one of those teacher rating sites. Four and five stars, reviews that said things like “fair grader” and “final wasn’t crazy” and one that said, “loose cannon, but in a good way.” That sold me.

I only knew one person in the class, Candace Kelpin, also a sophomore who lived on my floor. She was very short, had a dimpled chin, and could be spotted a mile away because of her mess of frizzy curly red hair. Her Instagram bio read, “yeah, carpet/drapes.” We’d been friends since last semester. The first time we talked we were both in the bathroom, and I was brushing my teeth. I saw her glance down at my Birkenstocks.

“You gay?” she asked.

I nearly choked on my toothbrush.

“Yeah,” I blurted.

It had just come out. I had just come out. I had only told a few people I was bi. Izzie knew, and my mom, and Nova, obviously. After Nova ghosted me over the summer, I decided I should make an effort to look gayer, so I had gotten my septum pierced in July and bought a pair of Birkenstocks. Besides that, I was pretty femme and my nails weren’t even that short, and I was too tall to cuff my jeans without them looking like capris. I thought Doc Martens were absurdly expensive for a wildly uncomfortable shoe. Candace was the first person at college I had come out to.

“Sweet,” she said. “Come over later. Like sixish. Bring wine or cookies and weed if you have any. I’ll introduce you to the queers. I’m in 217.”

I showed up at 6:07 with wine and cookies and no weed. I entered the room to find, as Candace had promised, the queers. A lot of them. They were laughing and smoking, and a few people with technicolor hair turned to see who had walked in. Candace hopped up from her twin bed and threw her arms around me.

“I totally forgot your name, dude.”

I laughed. “It’s Sav,” I said, presenting her with the wine and cookies.

She gestured toward her desk, and I added my snacks to an already heaping pile of cheap wine and a lot of weed. Candace put her fingers in her mouth and whistled, jumping up on a chair. Everyone turned toward her.

“Queers, this is Sav! Sav, these are the queers! Pronouns, Sav?”

“She/her!” My voice squeaked a little.

“Hey, Sav!” bellowed the queers.

A drink was shoved in my hand and I was pulled onto a floor cushion and into a conversation about why tops-and-bottoms rhetoric was bullshit.

“Wait, everyone is secretly a switch, right?” argued someone with oversized wire glasses and a silver mullet, definitely self-dyed and self-cut.

“Absolutely not! Touch-me-nots are real and valid and so are pillow princesses!” This from someone who looked like a cross between a young Sigourney Weaver and a midthirties Freddie Mercury.

I had literally no idea what they were talking about, let alone which category I fit into. My eyes wandered around the room. There was a large print on the wall with many squiggly lines that looked like a wave. I had taken a meditation class once where the instructor told us to imagine our breath like the tide rolling in and out. Meditation made me feel like I was going to die, but the wave image had stuck. I took a deep breath. There were little stalks drawn on the bottom of the print. They looked like what I imagined a broccoli tree to look like. Wait, did broccoli grow on a tree?

“It’s a tarot card.” Candace interrupted my thoughts. “It’s all about joy and, like, celebrating success. Good vibes. My ex got it for me. No good vibes there, but I like the print.”

“What happened with your ex?”

Oh, well, that was forward of me.

“I cheated. Not my best move. Don’t worry, though, she cheated too. Right, Mitchie?” Candace cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed across the room. Someone with a long black braid swung her head around and flipped her off.

“Fuck you, Candy!” she yelled before turning back to the joint she had been passing around.

“You . . . still hang out?”

“Ah, young, sweet queer.” Candace swung her arm around my shoulders.

“You have much to learn about the inner workings of the gay group dynamic.”

•

“Cool if I sit here?”

I looked up to see very white teeth attached to a curly-headed person with a soul-crushing jawline and the kind of lashes no amount of castor oil could promise me.

“Yes, of course!”

I snatched my denim jacket from the desk next to me.

“Sweet, I’m Wesley. I use they/them pronouns.” They sat down next to me. “I like your water bottle.”

“I-thank you-I’m-Savannah. She/her, it’s from Amazon, I feel guilty about it.”

What had happened to my ability to string together a normal sentence?

“Ah, the clutches of capitalism and the quest for hydration and a dope aesthetic. I feel you.”

They spoke like a quippy Twitter feed but somehow it was endearing. I resisted the urge to shout, “I’m good at banter too, you just have very green eyes!!” Before I could respond, a pile of syllabi was dropped onto my desk.

“Pass these around, my dear.” Professor Tolino was already on the other side of the room, fiddling with the blinds.

“Vitamin D is an essential element of the Socratic debate, don’t you think?”

She directed the question to someone wearing an oversized tee that read, not your babygirl. They were Asian, with those very blunt bangs that only ten percent of the population pull off, and I saw platform combat boots sticking out from under their desk. A neon orange backpack rested near their feet. I had no idea how some people could wear their personality so effortlessly. I had regular panic attacks deciding if I could pull off gold hoops.

Not Your Babygirl nodded, but Professor Tolino had already bounded toward the other side of the room. She started scribbling on the whiteboard with a blue marker.

“Names, pronouns, why you’re here.” She swung around and pointed at Promise Ring.

“I’m Lara Wentworth.” Her voice had a singsong quality. “She, um, her.”

I tried not to judge the pregnant pause between her words.

I also tried not to think about the trademark curve of her designer nose, her Gucci belt, or how I could see her collarbones peeking out beneath her knitted black top. She had an Alpha Phi sticker on her computer. Of course.

Shit. I was being so judgy. Not everyone in a sorority was a horrible person. I mean, Izzie wasn’t. People just want friends, I reminded myself. A community. I wanted that too.

“I’m an anthropology major. I study people. And, like, people have genders, so. Ha ha. I’m here!”

Dangly Keys was up next, but they currently had their head tilted toward Lara, not even attempting to unfurrow their brows. They sucked in their breath before turning to look at the rest of us.

“Yeah, it’s Reg. She/her. Psych major with a focus on restorative justice. Needed this class to fill a requirement, but, uh . . .” Reg looked over at Lara again, no expression on her face. “Happy to be here.” She then forced a smile at Lara, who beamed back.

This was going to be interesting.

“Whatsuuuuuup. I’m Candace, she/they. You can call me Candy if you think I’m sweet.” Candace laughed at her own joke. “Undeclared and still shopping around. But this class is a prerequisite for being gay, so I had to take it!”

Everybody chuckled. It was impossible not to like her.

Candace winked at Not Your Babygirl, who was seated next to her.

“I’m Vera, she/her. Fine arts major, exploring the impact of satanic worship on feminine liberation. Through textile.”

My phone buzzed. I peeked under my desk. It was from Candace.

I’d sell my soul to Satan for her to step on me.

I snorted.

“Bless you, Sav.” Candace bowed her head in prayer.

Professor Tolino’s eyes landed on me, one eyebrow raised.

“Hi! She/her. Creative writing.” The words tumbled out.

There was a beat. Professor Tolino looked at me expectantly.

“Oh! Um. Savannah. Sav. Either. Yes.”

There was a laugh from Green Eyes, and I blushed. They jumped in.

“Hey, y’all! I’m Wesley, they/them, I’m a sociology major. More specifically, the sociology of gender. Basically, gender is a thing in my life that is interesting!”

I laughed too loudly.

“Thank you, everyone. I’m thrilled to meet you all. I hope in this room we can cultivate a sense of collaboration, critical thinking, and respect for the individual experience. Let’s take a look through the syllabus, shall we?”

There was nothing more mind-numbing than going over a syllabus. I peeked over at Candace, who was now pretending she didn’t get her own copy and was sharing with Vera instead, the two of them crowding over one desk, knees precariously close.

“I guess I’m seeing that a lot of these books are older, and very focused on the gender binary.”

I turned to see Wesley speaking. I scrambled to flip through the pages in my syllabus to find the reading list.

“There are some dope essays and books that have been published in the past decade, give or take, that are really good. A lot of perspectives from folks of different cultures that have a more nuanced relationship to gender than the US does.”

“I’d love to hear more, Wesley! Let’s find a time to chat in the coming week and see if we can change up the list a bit?” Professor Tolino seemed genuinely excited.

Wesley beamed. I realized I was also smiling and immediately became very invested in the zipper on my jacket.

“You’ll see that at the end of the semester you have a final project, and I’d like to plant the seed now to start thinking about it. I want you to be my teachers and present on something you feel truly passionate about. Gender and Sexuality Studies covers a wide range of topics, so there are plenty of subjects to explore. It’s my hope that as we trek on, you’ll be inspired by the conversations we have together. So, be vigilant in our discussions and really start to ask yourself where your passions lie, yes?” She looked around at all of us.

I nodded eagerly, despite having no fucking clue what I was passionate about.

Lara asked if she could be excused to the bathroom. Her voice was chipper, peppered with invisible question marks at the end of her sentences. I resisted the urge to scour her Instagram right then and there, already making a bet with myself about how many posts featured pumpkin spice lattes and how many captions read, “Saturdays Are for the Boys,” unironically.

“Actually, Lara”-Professor Tolino interrupted my thoughts-“I think this is a good stopping point for all of us. I’ll let you out a bit early today. It was lovely meeting you, new friends. Get to work on the assignment for next week; it should already be up on Blackboard, Lord willing. See you next class!”

“Thank you!” Lara and I spoke at the same time. Goddamn it.

Candy’s hands thudded onto my desk and she rocked back and forth, tipping my desk with her.

“What are you doing tonight? I just ended things with Maya.”

“Who’s Maya?”

“Maya. You know, that other orientation leader I was paired with over the summer?”

“Is she the one who bit your shoulder too hard?”

“Dude!” Candace shushed me and looked around the room. Vera had left.

“I still have a fucking bruise.”

“Did you end it over that?”

“Over what?”

“The bite!”

“Oh, nah. The sex was amazing. But she wanted to switch dorms to be on my floor. Plus, I’m pretty sure I’m polyam now.”

Candy was dating someone new every other week. I knew not to get too attached to anyone unless they made it to the month benchmark; otherwise I ended up with a bunch of random information about how to make kombucha in your closet or why Jenny from The L Word is a queer reclamation of the manic pixie dream girl trope and that is why it’s okay that everyone secretly wants to fuck her. I had only watched season one of The L Word, but that was more than enough to know that nothing justified wanting to fuck Jenny.US

Additional information

Dimensions	0.6900 × 5.1900 × 7.9400 in
Imprint	Dutton
ISBN-13	09780593473023
ISBN-10	0593473027
Author	Haley Jakobson
Audience	General / adult
BISAC	FIC071000, FIC072000
Subjects	queer romcom, FIC072000, lgbt books, queer friendship, bisexuality, lgbtq books, fiction books, books fiction, lgbt fiction, lgbt novels, bisexual romcom, sexual abuse, toxic friendship, books for pride, coming-of-age stories, bisexual fiction, novels by queer writers, queer fiction, pride books, lgtbq, bisexuality books, lgbt, queer, LGBTQ, trauma, bisexual, romance, drama, fiction, Friendship, coming of age, campus novel, mental health, pride, novels, college, LGBTQIA, gender identity, sexual identity, FIC071000, pride month, Female friendship