Page 22 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

Even though he’s back in town, I assumed that Josh would take Sunday off before coming back for a week of work on Monday. Instead, he texts me first thing in the morning and asks if it’s okay if he comes over.

He pulls into the driveway right at nine. I unlock the door and open it for him.

“You really are a workaholic; I’m glad they did that intervention,” I say when he walks through the door.

Josh shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“James is so dramatic,” he starts. “The truth is that I hate when things are unfinished. Once I get a picture in my mind of how to solve a problem, it’s really hard for me to walk away until it’s finished.

That’s how I’m feeling about Ava’s room.

I know you have big plans for decorating it. ”

“Here I was thinking that you just missed my charming personality,” I respond with a smile.

“Obviously that, too,” he starts. “Mostly, Lenny told me to come back before he started telling you his secrets. Three days in a row, huh?”

That’s interesting , I think, because Lenny was definitely fighting the urge to share your secrets while you were gone . I don’t say that out loud, though, because the quality of the information is dubious at best and lacks any detail worth sharing.

“Lenny belongs on the big screen,” I say to keep the conversation in a safe place. “So much personality and so fun to be around. I wrote some heavy stuff while you were away, and my time with him was like a breath of fresh air.”

With that, he starts gathering tools from the various spots he stashes them on the first floor. I remember one important thing I need his help with today.

“Josh, it’s actually a good thing that you showed up today,” I say. “Remember the writing desk I told you about last week? The guy is going to deliver it sometime before noon. I am a strong, independent, and capable woman, but I have abysmal upper-body strength. Can you help him get it upstairs?”

“I’m here to serve,” he says, mimicking the tipping of a cap. I playfully punch him in the arm as he walks by. It’s nice to touch him, I think, before instantly making myself forget it.

Two hours later, while I simultaneously tend to business correspondence and watch mindless videos on my phone, the guy from the vintage shop in Asheville texts me that he’s a few minutes away. I run up to grab Josh, who is sanding the final patch job on the bedroom walls.

“We will finally be ready to paint these next week,” he says, before adding, “And by we , I clearly mean me.”

We sit outside on the front porch swing to wait for Aaron, the furniture guy, and it squeaks as we slowly rock together.

“I’d add this to the list if it weren’t already on there,” he says with a laugh. “There is always something to fix at this house.”

Aaron pulls into the driveway in a large pickup truck.

I expected a proper delivery truck and it dawns on me that Aaron is likely making a special exception for delivery today.

The desk is protected by a thick fabric wrap and cinched down in the truck bed.

Josh and I rise from the swing to greet him.

Well, I’m there to greet him and Josh is there to do the actual labor.

“Nice to see you again,” he says to me before turning to Josh. “Nice to meet you. Are you Gracie’s, uh, husband?”

Josh doesn’t miss a beat. “She wishes,” he says, laughing. “No, man, I’m just here to help.”

Something like a look of relief crosses Aaron’s face.

He’s almost as tall as Josh, with sandy-blond hair and a slight hipster vibe.

He’s a little young—probably late twenties—but he’s definitely cute.

Josh’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, and it dawns on me that his energy has shifted into protective mode. Interesting.

They both instinctively reach for the closest end of the desk, which is the toughest job given the need to support the weight as it’s slowly pulled from the truck bed.

Aaron gets there first and makes a point to tell Josh he should take his time to make sure he’s got a good grip.

Josh lets out a huff and I stifle my laughter at the apparent impromptu strength competition I’m now witnessing.

As we proceed up the front stairs and into the house, I give the dueling men quiet instructions and warn them whenever a step or slight change of direction needs to occur.

They easily maneuver the desk up the stairs and around the corner to the writing room.

Right in front of the window, I instruct, and then it’s there.

“I’m gonna get back to work,” Josh says before stepping out and heading back to Ava’s room.

Aaron stands in the room with me to admire how amazing the desk looks in the space. The windows are perfectly centered over the dark, turned-wood furniture. Despite being vintage, the desk has a modern flair to it. It could not be more perfect.

“This desk belongs here,” Aaron says. “I’m glad you scooped it up before someone else did.”

“Me, too,” I say with a big grin. “This desk might be the exact place where I finish my debut book.”

Spontaneously referring to it as my debut makes me happy, because it silently telegraphs that I expect there to be another. I make a mental note to do that more often.

Aaron rocks back on his heels and then turns to me and says, “Sorry if this is weird or inappropriate, but would you ever want to grab coffee or a drink sometime? I’m down in Canopy and nearby towns a few times a week. My treat, of course.”

This makes me blush. I hate to admit it, but a much younger guy hitting on a woman my age is a certain sort of compliment.

The furniture shop belongs to Aaron’s family, and while they mostly sell vintage pieces, he does design and build some newer ones.

When I was in the store a week ago, we had a great conversation about our respective creative processes.

He was a bit of a flirt, but I thought he was just trying to sell the desk.

When I started dating again and friends would ask for my parameters, I decided not to worry about age at all.

I only go out with people once and lack the emotional fortitude to get serious with anyone, so why stress about something as basic as age?

I’ve been out with a twenty-seven-year-old and a fifty-five-year-old and plenty of ages in between. Men are men.

“I’d like that, but I’m keeping a pretty tight schedule this summer to write. Why don’t you text me next time you’re in the neighborhood and we can see if it works out?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he says as we start walking back toward the stairs. “I’d really like to see you again.”

He delivers the second part just as we pass by Ava’s room, and it feels surprisingly like a shot fired at Josh.

—

An hour later, Josh and I are at the kitchen island ready for the next set of questions. I’m a little surprised by the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

“Do you always have teenagers in skinny jeans hitting on you?” he asks without a hint of sarcasm.

“Josh, I detect some judgment in that question.”

“Not at all—I’m just curious.”

“I will answer this way: ever since I stopped regularly wearing my wedding ring—which I still get emotional about, just so you know—I get hit on by men of all ages, and I can’t quite figure out why.

My guess is that Aaron is in his late twenties, which is flattering, but dudes firmly in the AARP age bracket ask me out, too.

I never thought of myself as having an approachable aura.

My resting bitch face is real, but it’s not the deterrent I thought it’d be. ”

Josh gives a half-hearted laugh and smile. He looks at me briefly in a way that unsettles me a bit.

“You don’t have a resting bitch face. More like a persistently contemplative face. There’s a big difference. Will you really go out with him if he texts?”

“Maybe. Hard to say. He seems nice enough, but I’m really trying to stay focused on the book.”

Something about that seems to lift Josh’s spirits a little bit, and now I’m trying to decipher what is really happening at this moment.

Is there a chance Josh likes me? He would’ve asked me out already.

Is this a protective-big-brother sort of situation?

Dr. Lisa has put too many thoughts in my head. Josh clears his throat.

“Hey, you asked me to come up with some personal-life questions for you in preparation for stuff you have coming this week, and I thought of a few,” Josh says before getting a nod from me that conveys I’m ready to go. “What’s it been like being a single parent?”

“Different than you might expect. On one hand, not as hard as I thought, but that’s only because I’ve got family around.

My support system is industrial strength.

My parents bought a small condo in Chapel Hill right after we moved back to North Carolina so that they could be in town without being in the way.

They hate driving to and from Charlotte, where they still live.

Ben’s parents are two hours east, so they have a key to the condo now, too, and use it once or twice a month.

They all take turns having the kids over for grandparent sleepovers for entire weekends and even some school nights.

It’s the only reason I ever have time to fully decompress.

Never in a million years did I think my kids would still have four grandparents but not their dad. ”

“That’s all fairly practical, so I assume there is another angle to it as well?”

“Yeah, the shitty angle and, basically, exactly what you’d expect.

It’s a lot of pressure to be two parents at once and try to do everything on my own.

Between school events and sports teams and birthday parties, it’s just a ton to manage.

Not to mention my work and writing schedule.

That’s before we even get to the emotional side of things—therapy for me, therapy for the kids.

I have no idea how single parents do it without such amazing friends and family willing to pitch in. ”

“I only met them briefly, but your kids seem pretty great.”

This makes me blush and fills me with pride. Like a lot of parents, I think my kids are spectacular. What we three have been through in the last year has only deepened our bond.

“They really are fantastic. Ava is like a mini Ben in personality. She’s inquisitive, super friendly and social, and loves to try and see new things. Benji, of course, you know a bit about now. He really is a riot, but he’s naturally more introspective, like me.”

“I always thought it would be fun to have kids,” Josh admits, “but life seems to have other plans.” He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t push him.

He starts to ask questions about my family, my job, and how I see my life in a year or two if the writing path works out for me.

It feels good to share a bit of my life story with him and to imagine what might be waiting for me down a future road.

All I can really think about, however, is how happy I am to have him back in the house after his few days away.

—

Before he heads out a few hours later, Josh catches me staring at the walls in the dining room.

“What’s going on in here?” he asks.

“Just thinking,” I reply, rotating my body completely around to consider the space and view from every angle.

“Do you usually brainstorm while staring at empty walls?” he says in a joking but curious tone.

“I’d really like to do a beautiful wallpaper in this room,” I tell him. “It feels like a spot in the house to do something fun and different, and I could choose a vintage pattern to fit with the era the house was built in.”

“What’s your hesitation?” he asks. Last week, I shared with him how it’s strange to make so many decisions by myself after two decades of always having Ben around to bounce ideas off of. Now he tries to act as a sounding board every time I have trouble with a new design choice.

“Wallpaper isn’t everyone’s thing,” I explain. “And I don’t want to do anything to hurt the resale value.”

The vibe in the room palpably shifts when I drop the words resale value . Josh takes a quick half step back away from me, and I realize that despite our hours of conversation and the deep secrets I’ve shared, never once have I mentioned getting rid of the house.

“You’d really sell this place?” Josh asks in a tone that makes his disappointment clear.

“Yes,” I say, before instantly adding, “Maybe? I don’t know.”

“I thought I was fixing this place up for you,” he says in a gruff voice, “not for random people that I’ll never meet.”

So far this summer, there has never been a time when I felt the need to manage Josh or his emotions.

He’s just not that kind of guy. Right now, though, it feels necessary to keep our friendship on track.

The whiplash between the Aaron thing followed by a heartfelt conversation and whatever is happening now is throwing me for a loop.

I’m not proud to admit it, but my tactic is to play the dead-husband card.

“Ben and I bought this house and then he died, suddenly,” I tell him, or maybe remind him.

This isn’t a fact that sits top of mind for most people.

“That’s not me being dramatic, either, Josh.

Literally ten days after our only other trip here, he died.

For about nine months, texts from James were the only reminders that I actually owned a second house.

My brain compartmentalized so many things, and I just couldn’t think about it. ”

“That makes total sense,” he allows in a gentler tone. He’s been blindsided, though, so feelings are slipping through his usually calm demeanor and mannerisms.

“I guess I didn’t realize how attached to the house you are,” I say. “My intention wasn’t to make you upset or think that I don’t love the house. It’s really complicated.”

“Maybe I’m attached to the thought of you and your kids getting to enjoy it,” he says, immediately diverting his eyes from mine. “So many people come and go from Canopy, and I wanted to give you a reason to hang around.”

I smile at the sweet sentiment, but he’s done making eye contact.

“It’s important to me that you know I appreciate everything you’ve done—that you’re doing—for me. Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad, but I should go,” he says.

And just like that, he walks out the door without resolving the first disagreement of our friendship.