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magazine.catapult.co/people/stories/the-families-we-choose

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We got to the house in the middle of the night, our five cramped bodies spilling out of the car and onto the driveway. It was Fourth of July weekend and we’d gone to a friend’s house in upstate New York. The leaves in the driveway swirled in front of the headlights of the car—a tiny storm for an invited audience. We threw our bags inside, sat at the kitchen table, and passed around a bottle of whiskey until it was empty. The night blurred greasy lamplight across my vision at the edge of the morning. It somehow felt momentous being there that weekend, all of us having agreed to go away together. I thought how a scene like this one was the closest thing I knew to what I mean by the word “family,” sitting around a kitchen table late at night and believing that there’s nothing in the world from which the people you’ve gathered here can’t keep you safe. I woke up early the next day, made coffee, and sat out on the porch until somebody else joined me while the heat of the day descended onto

Books Magazine Archive Perception Box Books Magazine Archive Perception Box Helena Fitzgerald Jun 28, 2016 People | Strange Friendships The Families We Choose “I didn’t know I had made a family of friends until it was already happening.” In this new column, Strange Friendships, Helena Fitzgerald explores the nebulous nature of friends. We got to the house in the middle of the night, our five cramped bodies spilling out of the car and onto the driveway. It was Fourth of July weekend and we’d gone to a friend’s house in upstate New York. The leaves in the driveway swirled in front of the headlig

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