Page 27 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

People can claim they aren’t laughing at you, but let’s be honest—you always know the truth. At this moment, for example, I know for sure that Sunny and Jenny are both laughing at me as they gasp for air through the biggest laughs I’ve ever heard.

“That did not happen!” Jenny shrieks over the speakerphone. Sunny is convulsing with laughter next to me at our small round bistro table.

We’re hiding out in the comically tiny break room at The Drip so that I can tell them both the story in private, at the same time.

I cannot imagine telling this tale more than once.

Jenny, of course, will convene the members of the group text as they’re available over the next few days and tell an increasingly ridiculous version of the story.

That is, if it’s possible to be more ridiculous than reality.

“Let me get this straight. Josh had no shirt on, you were being asked about sex, everyone was sweating, and then Billy walked in?” Sunny asks, stifling her laughter to get the words out.

“Thankfully, the interview was over by the time repairman Billy showed up, but my goodness, you guys. It was a comedy of errors,” I tell them. I’m not laughing, but I will admit that two nights of sleep have allowed me to see some humor in it.

“What does he look like without a shirt on?” Jenny asks once the laughter dies down a bit.

“Jenny! I literally employ this guy,” I say to her. “Well, I mean, under the table and with no official documentation, but he works for me !”

“Gracie, I’m at the point in pregnancy where I can’t cut my own toenails—my husband has to do it for me,” she says in a playful tone. “I need to hear something sexy, please.”

“I would like to state for the record that I’m a happily partnered woman to a lovely man,” Sunny cuts in to explain. “But I can tell you, Jenny, that Josh is very good-looking with and without his shirt. Total babe. Gracie has to be able to admit that.”

“He’s very attractive,” I say in a monotone voice to convey that I’m confirming a fact and not rendering an opinion.

“Gracie showed me photos of Ben,” Sunny chimes in. “They don’t look alike, but she definitely has a thing for tall guys with good smiles. I think this could work.”

“And he knows your whole romantic history now, so there are no secrets or surprises,” Jenny adds before howling with laughter once again.

“I think this conversation confirms it,” I joke. “I need to sell the house earlier than expected and skip town. Cut my losses. Thanks for the pep talk, ladies.”

We hang up with Jenny a few minutes later after even more playful teasing, and Sunny walks me back to the front of the café. Every time she looks at me for the rest of the morning, she bursts into a fit of giggles.

—

Josh was conveniently out of town yesterday for a last-minute hiking trip with James, and it turns out that a little time away has removed any lingering discomfort—outwardly, at least—for both of us after the interview. We are adults, after all. Unlike Jenny and Sunny.

He walks in the door, spreads open his arms, and says, “It’s still cool in here!”

“Only because I’m here,” I say with a wink. “Heads up: today I have an interview at one instead of noon. It’s with a woman who writes a popular publishing-industry blog, so I’m hopeful it’s all about my writing process and not my dating life this time.”

“I’ll cross my fingers for you—actually, for us both—and run some errands so that I’m out of your hair,” he responds. “For the rest of the morning I’ll mostly be upstairs working in the kids’ bathroom, so the downstairs is all yours.”

It’s still borderline unbelievable to me that a man comes to my house every day and just starts tackling all of the to-dos on a list that I made for him.

He’s managed to repair most of the older, charming aspects of the house and pulled me back from the ledge of making purchasing decisions that are too modern for the space.

It’s annoying how he’s usually right, but the house does look amazing.

“Do you want me to hang those frames at some point today?” he asks, motioning to a handful of framed art prints that arrived yesterday.

“Don’t laugh at me, but I just need them to sit there for a little longer so that I can visualize the perfect place for them to go. I don’t have the right feeling about it just yet.”

“I thought you weren’t a feeler, Gracie Harris,” he says.

“When it comes to putting holes in these beautiful walls you’ve patched and painted, I want to make sure we get it right,” I say back, refusing to bite on the playful comment.

He gives me a classic Josh grin, grabs his tools, and makes the first of many trips up the stairs to bring his materials to the second bathroom. I give in to my work and don’t see him again until a few minutes before one when he waves and says he’ll see me in a couple of hours.

—

I’m confused when Josh returns from his errands and comes through the door with grocery bags.

“I know we established that I’ve gone through a relatively long phase of not taking care of my own self, so I can recognize it in others.

I can’t watch you eat another takeout from Lenny’s tonight, Gracie.

I can’t do it,” he says. “Plus, I made a promise to your kids the morning they went to camp to feed you if you got stressed out.”

Morning and late at night are my most productive times—a brain trained over twelve years of being a mom.

Mid to late afternoon has always been a creative wasteland for me.

So far this summer, it means that my schedule is to work all morning, do interviews (the fun ones with Josh or the boring real ones with the real journalists) at noon, and then catch up on my reading or trash TV until an early dinner—which Josh usually catches me eating before he leaves around 5:30.

The blue-plate special leads into a few more hours of evening work, which is often my most productive time of the day.

I pretend to consider his offer, despite the fact that I haven’t had a proper home-cooked meal in weeks and would do anything for it.

“Only if I can interview you while you cook,” I finally answer.

“Wait—I offer to cook dinner and I have to pay a cost to do so?”

“Absolutely.”

—

At five o’clock on the dot, Josh is in the kitchen getting ready to start the meal. He doesn’t strike me as a guy who eats this early, so I have a feeling it’s a kind gesture for my benefit.

“What’s for dinner?” I ask, adding with a coy smile, “I hope it’s something I like.”

“Veggie tacos,” he responds. “Nothing too fancy, but I took a guess based on your love of margaritas that tacos would be a good choice.”

“You chose wisely. I will make us both a drink to go with the meal.”

I watch Josh start his work in the kitchen with an unmasked curiosity.

He cooks just like he does home repairs.

First, all of the tools he needs are put out on the counter.

Cutting board, knives, prep bowls. Then he washes all of the veggies.

He is careful and methodical—in direct contrast to the way I move around a kitchen like a hurricane.

“Can you talk and cook at the same time?” I ask.

His big laugh answers the question for me, and I waste no time diving right in while he tends to dicing onions and garlic.

“You know a lot about my dating life now, thanks to Tonya at Cosmo . So, now it’s my turn to pepper you with probing questions about your love life.”

“You’re serious?”

“One hundred percent. I want this friendship to be built on equitable ground, and it can’t operate that way if you know everything about me, but you’re still a mystery. First question: Have you ever been married?”

“Yes.”

I wait for him to go on, but nothing is forthcoming. “Yes? I only get a yes?”

“Yes, I was married in my early twenties. My high school sweetheart, Tessa, and I managed to stay together during college even though we were a few hours away from one another. We got married a few months after graduation. It took us about six more months to realize we had made a terrible mistake.”

He’s now slicing a red pepper while he’s telling me this, and I wait until he looks up and catches my eye. Only then am I convinced he’s being honest. I’m shocked.

“We stayed married for another year so that our families wouldn’t totally freak out, but I was indeed married and divorced before my twenty-fifth birthday.”

“Does she still live in town?”

“No. She moved away a while ago. She’s remarried and has two kids. We see each other every now and again when she comes home to visit her parents. It feels strange to call her my ex-wife because we really were just kids.”

“Josh, I’m not sure I’ll be able to top this first revelation. My mind is truly blown right now.”

He makes a joke about being an actual man of mystery, but all I can think about is how, aside from Ben, he’s the most honest and open guy I’ve ever met. He grabs the last remaining veggie, a sweet potato, and begins chopping it.

“It’s probably breaking the rules for me to ask you a question, but how old were you when you married Ben?”

“Twenty-three. Just like you.”

“That’s the universe for you. For every success story there has to be one failure to keep things balanced out.”

He scoops up all of the veggies and drops them in a big bowl, tossing in olive oil and a host of spices to season it all.

My stomach growls, and I realize that downing a margarita before my meal likely was not the most responsible decision.

I’ve always been a lightweight. The mental lubrication does, however, allow me to keep on my line of questioning.

“You seem like a guy who only answers the question exactly how it’s presented to him, so let me follow up with this: Have you ever been married more than once?”

“No, but I was engaged. To someone other than Tessa, I mean.”

“I need all the details on this. Please tell me everything while you cook,” I beg.