Page 26 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

I burst through the door and obviously scare Josh when I do so. He pulls his earbuds out of his ears and stares. It takes a second for me to register that he’s working without a shirt on. It’s hot as Hades in the house, so I can’t blame the man, but good Lord.

Unlike when he adeptly averted his eyes this morning, I can’t stop staring.

He’s more fit than he looks with a shirt on, and his subtle six-pack is staring at me.

Wisps of dark hair cover his upper chest. Over the past year I’ve claimed many times that I don’t really have a “type” as a newly single person in her forties.

But in this moment, I realize if God has created a man who is physically more my type than Josh, I can’t imagine it.

“Sorry,” we say at the same time, then laugh.

“I forgot to text you that I’d be back to do an interview. The Drip was crowded, and I completely lost track of time,” I say, grabbing my wireless headphones from my bag.

“No worries,” he says while looking around for what I imagine is his shirt. “This is quiet work—you won’t know I’m here.”

I open the laptop and my headphones make that sad little sound to announce that they are out of battery. Shaking my head, I apologize (again) to Josh and tell him to turn the music up or suffer through one of my interviews. “Ten-four,” he responds.

I’m already a minute late when I click the Join button on my calendar reminder. Another day, another interview. Today it’s Tonya from Cosmo . Here we go.

—

“I’m sorry. You write a sex column?”

Can this day get any worse?

“No—I mean yes. It’s more of a digital sex-positivity space. I talk to all types of women—actresses, politicians, entrepreneurs, influencers. The goal is to help Cosmo ’s online readers feel more confident in their sexuality by hearing about experiences from complex, dynamic, and badass women.”

The Cosmo interview will be slightly different from others , Lucia had written. Why hadn’t I done any research? Screw research—why didn’t I just google Tonya’s name like a normal person? What am I supposed to say?

“Gracie, I can tell that you’re freaking out a little bit.

Here’s the deal: I interviewed Audrey May for my most recent column, which is online now.

Audrey freaking May. She’s likely going to be an Oscar nominee next year.

Let me tell you, that woman spilled all the details, and she’s getting nothing but love all over social media.

You’ll be fine,” she tells me, before adding in a direct voice, “Sex positivity.”

I’m sitting here at the kitchen island, in a fugue state, when I glance up and look across the room.

Josh has braced himself against the wall, trying to stifle his laughter.

He looks over at me with a smile on his face that lets me know he is going to enjoy every second of this.

I raise my middle finger out of the camera frame, and his subtle smirk becomes a huge, mischievous smile.

He tries to compose himself and puts his earbuds back in, but I notice he doesn’t restart his music.

I take a deep, audible breath. Tonya from Cosmo wants to talk to me about my widow sex life (which she probably expects will be boring) while my half-naked, incredibly attractive handyman works within earshot.

I’m sweating, but I don’t know if it’s the heat, the hot man, or the stress from this interview. Probably all three.

“Here’s the deal. If we’re going to talk about sex, I’m going to need to make a drink. Can I have a minute?”

—

“Tonya, for a sex-positive journalist, I have to say that’s a pretty reductive view of the intimacy that a lot of folks experience in marriage,” I say accusingly but still using a playful tone.

We’re fifteen minutes into the interview. I’ve told her about my early sex life—admitting that I had sex for the first time at sixteen, which will surely make my parents blow a gasket retroactively—and now we’ve hit the twenty-years-of-one-penis commentary.

“Gracie, for a lot of women my age—I’m twenty-six, by the way—the thought of being committed to one man and one flavor of sex for the rest of your life feels daunting, to say the least. I’m trying to understand how you survive that.”

“First and foremost, survive is a really interesting word choice,” I start. “I think the problem is that you’re afraid of predictability. You’re young and you want things to be new and exciting all the time.”

She nods, indicating that I’m on the right track. I keep going.

“But you’re missing one key thing: predictability and comfort are not the same as being boring.

There is nothing boring about someone knowing exactly what you like and the next thing you need without even asking.

There is nothing boring about being able to roll over on a Sunday morning and have a little fun,” I say, recognizing that I’m blushing because the stranger on Zoom and the attractive man in my home are both hearing me talk very openly about my marriage and sex life. But I’m on a mission now.

“You’re also assuming that sex stays one way for an entire marriage, and maybe it does for some people, but I can only speak about mine.

Ben and I went through a lot of phases depending on what life and work and family stuff were like at the time,” and now I pause, wondering if I want to say the next thing that’s in my mind.

“And when Ben died, we were in a particularly experimental stage.”

Her eyebrows shoot up and I know her internal monologue is going something like Yes—finally the juicy stuff . Josh has been screwing on the same switch plate since this interview started.

“Now, I won’t go into any more detail about that,” I add with a smile.

“I’m just trying to say that the key in my marriage was to be open and flexible.

Ben and I grew up together in a lot of ways.

He was a total dude and I have no doubt he would be thrilled that a national magazine might post an article broadcasting that he was having dirty sex right up until the day he died.

Talk about a cool, after-death way to impress your friends. ”

“That is oddly sweet and romantic,” Tonya says, laughing before continuing. “We only have about ten minutes left, so maybe we should pivot to your sex life now as a, um, widow.”

The pause before the word widow isn’t surprising. I’ve said the word so many times over the last year that it basically has no meaning, but for most people, it represents a worst fear. Even for the commitment-phobic twenty-six-year-olds.

I’ve grown to like Tonya over the course of this interview, but I’m not going to spill freely without making her work for it a bit. “What would you like to know?” I ask, tossing the ball back into her court.

“Are you dating yet?” she asks.

“I am,” I respond. “I went on my first date about six months after Ben died.”

“Interesting,” she says. I wonder if Dr. Lisa is her therapist, too.

Again, I’m not going to make it easy for her, so I ask, “Interesting how?”

She pauses for a moment. It’s an honest pause, like she’s trying to figure out how to word a complex thought she’s mulling over.

“I guess I just expected that after twenty years together, you’d need more time before getting back out there…that it might feel overwhelming or too hard or even wrong.”

“It was all of those things,” I say, nodding to affirm her theory.

“It turns out everyone you know has a single friend they want to set you up with, but I had no illusions that I would find another Ben on a first date. To be honest, there are some days I’m convinced that I won’t find that ever again.

As a result, dating this time around is casual and low stakes to me.

Not easy by any stretch of the imagination, but casual. ”

“I walk into every first date wondering if this will be the one where the sparks fly,” she admits, seeming to surprise even herself.

“I get that. It’s not that I don’t take things seriously or have a small fleck of hope deep in here,” I say, putting my hand to my heart. “Writing about Ben for the last year has made me realize that I’m much more of a romantic than I care to admit. I want to feel those sparks, too.”

“I hope this question doesn’t come off as insensitive,” she begins. “How have men handled the fact that you’re both a widow and have two kids?”

“Everyone I’ve been out with knows my story—there are no dating-app surprises here since I’ve mostly been set up,” I share.

“God bless the friends who sent their cousins and brothers on those early dates with me. They were romantic sacrificial lambs. I cried into my salad and dessert courses more than once. So embarrassing.”

This makes Tonya giggle lightly. Humility aside, I’ve mastered the art of making grief funny.

“What about sex?” she asks, bluntly getting back onto the topic of her column.

“I’m getting back into the swing of things,” I respond.

She loses the poker face she’s maintained since we started talking about sex and a smile crosses her face.

“At first, I took dates too seriously. My best friend convinced me to lighten up and be more open about the possibilities.”

“Good for you,” she says. “Have you learned anything revelatory from those experiences?”

“Well, I forgot what it’s like to discover a person for the first time,” I begin.

“Everything with Ben was so familiar. We talked earlier about how I slept with two people before him, but that was a long time ago. I was a literal teenager. It’s been fun as a grown woman to see how different men approach intimacy, what they think they’re good at versus what they are actually good at, and I do like the newness of it, but… ” I trail off.

She’s looking at me expectantly, and I realize that she’s throwing my approach back across the table—no clarifying questions, no filling the silence.

“I haven’t done any second dates yet,” I say. “That level of intimacy still feels like a hurdle and something to figure out.”

“Would you like to get back to that?” she follows up.

“Absolutely,” I answer. “I know that I went viral after writing an essay about how I hate physical touch, but the truth is I miss it all. Maybe one day I’ll find it again, but getting my hopes up doesn’t feel productive.”

We chat for a few more minutes about how I create comfortable boundaries and why I’m avoiding dating apps at this stage of life. With a minute left to go we have time for one final deep dive. “Gracie, what about more than the physical stuff? Do you truly want to have another great love story?”

This question gives me pause. Words are swimming in my brain, trying to find a safe (for me) way to explain how I feel. In the end, I’m just honest.

“Love for me is scary. You need to understand: I wake up every day loving someone I will never see again. I will get wrinkles—well, more wrinkles—and my hair will turn gray, and I will grow old, and Ben will always be this forty-two-year-old man who I want so badly to be right next to me but who I move further away from every day. The pain is a reminder of what I had, but it hurts so deeply right now. Tonya, the world doesn’t dole out tragedy fairly.

Being ready for the real thing means being willing to accept that this could all happen to me again—to love so deeply and then lose it. That’s a lot to ask of one heart.”

With that, the interview is over. Tonya stops recording and then tells me this has been one of her favorite interviews so far. I smile and tell her it’s the same for me, which is the surprising truth of the matter.

We end the call and I wonder how to transition back into reality after pouring my heart out like that.

How do I even look at Josh the next time he turns around after everything he’s just heard, that I just shared?

He’s learned a lot about me over these weeks of our interviews, but that? That was something else.

“Wow,” I say out loud to put some movement into the air. “That was certainly something different.”

Josh turns and smiles at me, but it’s a new look I’ve never seen before—if I didn’t know better, I’d call it a longing expression.

Just as I’m about to ask him what he thought as the only audience member to that wild ride, the doorbell rings.

His buddy quietly opens the door and his footsteps approach the kitchen.

When he sees I’m not on the phone and spots Josh, he says loudly, “For Christ’s sake, Anderson, put on a damn shirt. ”

Then he turns toward me, holds out his hand, and says, “You must be Gracie.”

Josh takes the opportunity to walk outside and make small talk with Billy, while I throw back the rest of my drink and mentally debrief on what just happened.

Was I too open? Am I going to regret telling her all of that?

Is she going to pull out one juicy detail that has strangers obsessing over my dating life again?

What on earth does Josh think of all of that?

Before I can fall too deep into the spiral, I hear a guttural noise from outside as the AC kicks back on.

The register at my feet begins to blow cool air—finally.

As the temperature in the house slowly starts to drop, I sneak upstairs to the safety of the writing room and allow Josh to escape before we unwillingly tip over our awkward interaction quota for the day.