Page 33 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

We walk up the stairs to the outdoor patio, and I spot quite a few familiar faces. Sunny is here. Brian from the hardware store. Shae from the wine shop. This is a reminder that most of my small-talk friends have been Josh’s friends all along.

I take in the cute string lights, the classic bar music playing over the speakers, and the welcoming atmosphere. It’s obvious everyone here is comfortable with one another. While there are a few young backpacker types who seem to be passing through town, it looks to be mostly locals.

Then I look across the patio and spot Josh at a high table drinking a beer and talking animatedly to a friend. Just when I wonder if he’ll look over and notice me, he does. Relief, or something like it, crosses his face. I wave and walk over.

“Gracie, this is my friend Tommy,” he says, introducing us. “He’s the guy running the business for me during my break.”

Tommy and I share quick pleasantries before he adeptly excuses himself to catch up with some new arrivals. He subtly winks at Josh before walking away, but I catch it.

“Hi,” I say to Josh, now that it’s just the two of us. He makes me feel so comfortable and safe. Normally I hate new social situations, but this just feels easy with him here.

“Hi,” he responds. “I’m really glad you made it. No surprise that Lara was the one who scooped you up. She adores you.”

“She preemptively invited me to a book club meeting for next spring after my memoir comes out,” I say with a giggle. “She said it would make her the most popular mom in the PTA.”

“That sounds like Lara,” Josh says.

“How many people usually come to this thing?”

“It really depends. On a nice fall day, it could be thirty of us. In the heat of summer and depth of winter, it’s usually only ten or so. It’s never the exact same crowd.”

“Did most of y’all meet in high school?”

“Mostly, and we span about six graduation years or so. Some of James’s friends come, and most of mine do. It’s a good group. I’ve been so busy that this was really the only way I got to see people for a few years.”

Josh looks down at my hands and notices that I don’t yet have a drink and offers to go inside and grab one for me. He doesn’t even ask what I’d like (he knows) and heads right in. He’s not gone for thirty seconds before Tommy is back at the table.

“Hi again,” he says. “Try not to get him too comfortable with easy-street living. We need him back at work at some point.”

It dawns on me that Tommy may not know Josh’s plans yet, so I take a playful tact.

“I’m pretty good at coming up with projects, but even I will run out of ideas sometime soon. He’s making quick progress in the house.”

“Yeah, I get that impression.”

He quickly glances to the side and sees Josh, his back to the door, pushing his way out with a drink in each hand. Tommy excuses himself and walks away again. Strange.

“What did Tommy want?” Josh asks when he’s a few feet away.

“He told me to take it easy on you,” I lie, because I’m not really sure how helpful the truth would be.

“I hope the rest of your day went well,” he says, sliding my drink across the slick table. “Sounded like it was going to be a busy one.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking a quick sip before adding, “It was incredibly busy, but it was also mostly good, so I can’t complain.”

“Mostly?”

I take another gulp of my drink and let out a dramatic sigh.

“Lucia told me a few hours ago that Maisy Miller extended an invitation to this new podcast she’s launching soon.

It sounds interesting, but I’m not so sure that I’m up to the task.

Just another one of those weird situations that I now find myself in—knowing something would be very good for me as a brand but maybe not so good for me, the person. ”

“I think you’re ready,” he says without a moment of hesitation and with complete confidence.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. You’ve spent a few solid weeks getting comfortable with interviews, and James assures me that your appearance on The Maisy Show really wasn’t that bad,” he responds. “As you requested, I still haven’t watched it.”

“James is too nice.”

He lets out a quick laugh and shakes his head. “You clearly didn’t have him as a big brother growing up.”

I return his laughter with my own and think of Ava and Benji.

At the end of the last soccer season, Ava’s coach congratulated me on raising a “natural leader” who “understands instinctively how to motivate others.” Benji was within earshot, and as we walked back to the car, he asked in the most sarcastic tone I’ve ever heard from a child, “Can you please explain to me what motivation means? Because I am clearly confused.” To everyone else she’s Ava, but to him she’s a bossy big sister with a short fuse and often very little patience for him.

“You really think I could handle an hour in front of a microphone with Maisy?” I ask, wanting a bit more assurance.

“I do, and I speak from experience that we can do hard things,” he begins.

“Six months after Katrina left, we were both invited to the same wedding—Lara’s, actually.

I almost skipped it because I was still pretty embarrassed and sad about the whole thing.

But I went and ended up having one of the best nights of my life.

A lot of my friends struggled with how to support me when it all went down, but that night things just clicked for everyone.

The guys decided to turn it into an epic guys’ night.

The wedding had a middle school dance vibe in the funniest way possible.

Some moments were a struggle, but on the whole?

A really good time. I learned that sometimes the only way to get past something is to go directly through.

Walking in the door was the hardest part.

The rest of the night was a breeze compared to that. ”

“So, the anticipation might be the worst part—is that what you’re telling me?”

“Exactly,” he responds. “Plus, if James is lying and that first interview really went as poorly as you felt like it did, maybe the better question is ‘Could it be any worse?’ If the answer is no, then I say go for it.”

“I think you have more faith in me than perhaps I have in myself,” I say with a gentle smile.

“That’s what friends are for,” he responds, raising his glass.

That’s us , I think. Just friends.

—

An hour later, we’ve been absorbed into a large group conversation, and most of the friends are a few drinks deep when I look around in shock at what I’ve just heard.

“Wait, wait. Let me get this straight,” I say, turning to Josh. “You have ten godchildren?”

Everyone is now acknowledging that this sounds a little crazy, but as a group, they try to insist that it happened organically.

It started when James and Kendell had their first a few years after they got married and continued straight through to Sunny’s daughter, born just two years ago.

In between those bookends are eight other kids of friends from high school, college, and extended family.

Over and over people have chosen him for this important honor. A petite brunette named Laney jumps in.

“A few years ago, a bunch of us were on a trip to Mexico—Josh was too busy to come. Anyway, we look around after we board and realize that if the plane goes down, Josh is going to be raising seven kids on his own,” she says.

“Can you imagine the A-frame bursting at the seams with toddlers and teens?”

This makes everyone laugh uproariously, especially me.

While this story isn’t new to the group, it’s clear no one has heard it in a while.

There is genuine joy and laugh-induced tears from folks just thinking about Josh trying to raise all of those kids on his own.

I grab on to the new fact that I’ve just learned: the type of house he lives in.

I find myself trying to imagine it. I can’t believe that we’ve never talked about it before, given how much we discuss mine.

Josh takes all of the ribbing in stride and says confidently, “For the record, I would’ve been great at it.”

A few new people arrive, and the group naturally separates into smaller conversations. A couple people, including Lara, start to say goodbyes before they leave. She confirms with Josh that he hasn’t been drinking much and can take me home. Then she turns to me.

“Thanks for helping to bring our old Josh back,” she says, looking at me with a heartfelt, genuine expression. She gives me a hug before I can ask for clarification, then hugs Josh and waves goodbye.

“Old Josh?” I ask once Lara has walked away.

Josh purses his lips and takes the last sip of a beer he’s been nursing since I arrived.

“We’ve talked a bunch about this, Gracie.

The last few years put a lot of money in my bank account, but it all made me a pretty shitty friend.

I was here a lot, but not really here. James is never going to let me forget it was his idea, but this time off has been really good for me.

Apparently, he’s not the only one who’s noticed the change. ”

“I’m helping you get in touch with your true self is what I’m hearing. Also, you’re rich.”

“Something like that,” he says with a slightly forced grin, locking eyes with me.

Here we are again. In a moment . At least I think we are, but neither of us seems bold enough to call it what it is.

Or maybe I just have a crush that is making me see things that aren’t really there.

No one prepared me for what it would feel like to have a crush as a grown woman.

Maybe I’ve just been confused since day one.

Then the music starts.

“Whitney time!” someone shouts.

“What is Whitney time?” I ask.

Before Josh can answer, Sunny sweeps up behind me to provide an explanation. Every Friends’ Night at 7:00, the bar plays “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” and the rule is if you are here, you dance. “No exceptions,” Sunny admonishes.

“It keeps us humble and happy,” Josh adds.

A few others pop in to explain more. This group of friends has danced through divorces and death. Graduations and even incarcerations. Broken hearts and business failures. James is usually the king of the dance floor, but he and Kendell couldn’t find a babysitter for tonight, I’m told.

Josh says as he holds out his hand, “Participation is compulsory.”

The entire group has moved to the open space on the patio, and I realize, oh my goodness, we are actually doing this.

These friends have danced through tears and sadness, and total happiness and bliss.

This is what showing up for your people and yourself looks like.

Josh whispers in my ear to explain that even during his lowest days, he was out here on the dance floor.

And it turns out, it has made him a good dancer.

Luckily, I am, too. Our bodies move confidently yet playfully on the dance floor.

During the chorus, he spins me around and then pulls me in tight.

In all of our time together, we’ve never been this close for this long.

I remember how hard it was to back away from our hug after only a few seconds the night he made me dinner.

Tonight he smells like cedar cologne—or maybe it’s his soap or just what a man who works around the house all day smells like.

I’m breathing heavily not from exertion but from the intensity of the moment.

His hand is on the small of my back, even though the current movement makes it awkward.

It feels like he doesn’t want to let go, and I don’t want him to.

My dress is thin enough that I can feel the heat of his hand.

The moment feels just as hot and heavy, and I glance around, expecting everyone to be staring, but they aren’t.

Everyone is wrapped up in their own fun little moments with each other. This is our moment, just the two of us.

When Josh moves his hand, it’s to turn me around for the emotional crescendo of the bridge.

Whitney is singing “somebody who,” and we are swaying not entirely to the beat, my back to his chest, lost in our own motion.

He has kept our arms entangled across my chest. I tip my head back and think I’ve given it all away—it’s a flash of pure excitement on my part.

I’m wondering if he’s feeling this, too, when he suddenly turns me back around and keeps me just a few inches farther away.

The physical intensity is replaced by the fact that we can now see each other and lock eyes.

The song ends, and we join the others in laughing and clapping at the group’s collective dance moves.

Josh and I stare bashfully at one another in the sudden quiet, slightly embarrassed by the fun we’ve just had. It’s at this moment that I know Dr. Lisa was right with her advice. I have to figure this out. I like him.

“We should probably get you home,” he says. “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for messing up your routine.”

My writing is the last thing on my mind, but I nod in quiet agreement and begin saying goodbye to those who I’ve met tonight.

“Fun fact you probably would’ve learned eventually in an interview,” I say to Josh to break the tension as we walk toward his truck. “But that is definitely one of my favorite songs of all time.”

“That tracks,” he says. “You were surprisingly on beat.” He gives me a side smile and points to where his truck is parked among a sea of other large vehicles.

Josh glides past me, unlocks the door, and opens it for me. “Chivalry isn’t dead after all,” I say as he slowly closes the passenger door and he smiles at me again through the closed window.

As I watch him walk around the front to the driver’s side, I decide to do it. Tonight.