Come to the Edge: A Love Story

“Lyrically and precisely recaptures the frenetic ecstasy of early love.” —The Washington Post “[A] wistful story of love and ultimate loss . . . The life of a Kennedy is one of great privilege [and Christina] Haag’s memoir allows us intimate access. . . . She doesn’t bow to tabloid sensationalism; instead, she gently dusts off her tender, aching memories and bravely holds them to the light.” —Los Angeles Times “Perfectly captures what it feels like to be young and in love—the giddiness, the lunacy, the madcap swings between exhilaration and despair . . . Haag is a beautiful writer.” —Entertainment Weekly “The most honest, most thoroughly rendered, most memorable memoir of young love published in recent years . . . a remarkable work.” — New York Journal of Books “[A] haunting memoir.” — Marie Claire "Spellbinding... An honest, heartfelt account of love, politics and tragedy." — Kirkus Reviews "A piercing portrait of a vibrant, reckless, tender young man so bursting with life that nothing could contain him." — Publisher's Weekly "A brave, human, beautiful, wrenching memoir." — Dani Shapiro, author of DEVOTION "Romantic...memoir-worthy." — Glamour "The first credible portrait of John Kennedy Jr." — H eadButler "Vivid...moving." — Providence Journal "Deeply personal stories of survival, redemption and love." — More "A moving portrayal. Magical." — Palm Beach Post "A riveting read." — Southampton Press From the Inside Flap An elegy to first love, a lost New York, and a young man who led his life with surprising and abundant grace . When Christina Haag was growing up on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, John F. Kennedy, Jr., was just one of the boys in her circle of prep school friends, a skinny kid who lived with his mother and sister on Fifth Avenue and who happened to have a Secret Service detail following him at a discreet distance at all times. A decade later, after they had both graduated from Brown University and were living in New York City, Christina and John were cast in an off-Broadway play together. It was then that John confessed his long-standing crush on her, and they embarked on a five-year love affair. Glamorous and often in the public eye, but also passionate and deeply intimate, their relationship was transformative for both of them. With exquisite prose, Haag paints a portrait of a young man with an enormous capacity for love, and an adventurous spirit that drove him to live life to its fullest.A haunting book, Come to the Edge is a lasting evocation of a time and a place--of the indelible sting of the loss of young love, and of the people who shape you and remain with you, whether in person or in spirit. It is about being young and full of hope, with all the potential of your life as yet unfulfilled, and of coming of age at a moment in New York's history when the city at once held danger, magic, and endless possibilities for self-discovery.xa0 Rarely has a love story been told so beautifully. "We know how the story ends, of course. Girl loses boy. Boy loses everything. But in this finely-drawn, indelible portrait of a friendship and love affair, Christina Haag illuminates the private world of one of our nation's most legendary families. COME TO THE EDGE should be read not only for its fascinating insider's view, but because it's a brave, human, beautiful, wrenching memoir."--Dani Shapiro, author of STILL WRITING and DEVOTIONxa0"With unfailing grace, sensitivity, and tact, Christina Haag recreates in poignant detail her prolonged romance with John F. Kennedy Jr...The author never stoops to tabloid sensationalism or cheapens this rare glimpse into America's royal family. However charming the hero or scenic the backdrop, the memoir is tinged with the tragic darkness that inevitably shadowed the Kennedy clan...Jackie Kennedy Onassis floats through the narrative as an enchanting presence who is appealing in her wisdom and bounty. This is a beautiful and, in the end, unutterably sad book about fleeting innocence, blighted hope, and the elusive nature of youthful love."--Ron Chernow, author of HAMILTON and WASHINGTON: A LIFExa0xa0"Sensual and full of longing, COME TO THE EDGE is a haunting, timeless love letter, a universal tale of romance. Christina Haag has crafted a delicate memoir of love for a man we think we know and lay claim to, but, in truth, she is writing about all of us: our youth, our hopes, our own first kisses and dreams of romance. Gorgeous!"--Erin Cressida Wilson, screenwriter of SECRETARY and THE GIRL ON A TRAIN"An excellent literary debut, Christina Haag's wonderful memoir is the story of two young souls who braved the complicated morass of youth. It adds a sweet chapter to the bittersweet memory of our favorite son."--James McBride, author of THE GREAT LORD BIRD and THE COLOR OF WATER"A tender tale of lost love that offers a discerning glimpse into the Kennedy family." --Fernanda Eberstadt, author of LITTLE MONEY STREET"I couldn't put this book down."--Nate Berkus on Stylecast Christina Haag is an award-winning actress and New York Times bestselling author.xa0 She lives in New York City and is working on a novel. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. We had been together more than a year, and there were things I had learned. He was chivalric and competitive, puritan and sensual. He wore Vetiver and Eau Sauvage, and when he didn’t, his skin was like warm sun. He loved to cook but burned hisxa0food, and he slept with the windows open. I wore his sweaters, he ate off my plate, and we spent most nights at his apartment on Ninety-first Street. And if he was in a mood and I wanted something, a small thing -- a light turned on, a fan turned off -- I found that if I said the opposite, it worked like a charm. When I smiled and told him this, it made no difference. Like a reflex, he was helpless to it. He had a theory, he said, that what he called his occasional contrariness was due to being “bossed by so many women” when he was young.There were things he would say like mantras. They might have been passed along by someone wiser, someone who knew, his uncle, or his mother maybe. He ’d say them to remind himself of human nature and the way of the world; that struggle wasn’t always the best path, but sometimes it was; and that whatever Fortune brought, it wasn’t because he thought himself superior. He had faults, like anyone, but never arrogance, never meanness, never snobbery. What he aimed for, and succeeded some days in attaining, was the remarkable equipoise of humility and confidence that is grace.My apartment, eight blocks from John’s, had a terrace that jutted over the parlor floor below, and whether he remembered his key or not, John preferred to enter through my window. He’d give a whistle—soft, two-toned, and flirty -- and with a foot on the stone planter and his hand on the iron rail, he ’d hoist himself up the side of the brownstone. I liked it, and the neighbors got used to his Romeo act, but one night when we were in bed, we heard a voice through a bullhorn.“This is NYPD. Come to the window.”We burst out laughing. Then a spotlight froze the room.“You go to the window,” he hissed.“No, you!”“Come on . . . the papers.”I did what he asked and lifted the sash. Everything’s fine, I explained. Just my boyfriend crawling through the window. Below, three officers stood in front of a double-parked squad car, the cherry lights whirling like mad. One of them aimed a bright beam on my face.“Ma’am, I’m sorry. We need to confirm you’re all right.”“Really, Officer, I’m fine.“Ma’am, whoever’s in there needs to come to the window at once, or we will enter the apartment.”John stepped beside me, and they turned the light on him. He spoke with an easy, self-effacing charm, the same way he did with reporters and people he didn’t know well. He didn’t press the point or pull rank; he simply wondered if this might stay off the record. Even two flights down, they recognized him -- not right away, but when the officer in charge began to apologize at length without blinking, it was apparent. Before they got back in the squad car, the junior guy, slow on the uptake, suddenly began shaking his head. “Sir, I think . . . Was that JFK Jr.?”I closed the window and pulled the lock shut. John was back in bed, hands behind his head and ankles crossed. He looked pleased. “I’d say we gave them their story for the night, don’t you?”There were times when he could go unnoticed, slipping through the streets without heads turning or his name being repeated sotto voce as he passed. But after the fall of 1988, when he appeared on the cover of People as the Sexiest Man Alive, that happened less often. From then on, whenever a picture was published in the Post or the Star, it was more likely that strangers would approach to tell him what his father/mother/uncle meant to them. He would be cordial, graceful, and sometimes, depending on his mood, he’d thank them. Most of the time, he would just let them talk. And when they left, it would be with the sense that they knew him, that the words they had said had not been said before.There would be a shift in him then, effortless and imperceptible to whoever was walking away, but I’d notice. It was as though a measure of spirit would leave him and then, as easy as breath, would slip back in. He had found something that had not quite been realized when he was younger -- a necessary removal that allowed him to walk this world and keep his kindness intact. Conscious of it or not, he had found a persona. Read more