Page 37 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

“Her agent is coming for a quick trip soon to read some of it,” Josh adds.

“Why is your agent coming all the way to Canopy? Why not just read it virtually?” James chimes in to ask.

“Most agents probably would do just that,” I begin, “but Felicity has a different style. She checks in on me, in person, every couple of months. It’s a very nontraditional arrangement that I have—a first-time writer with a book deal and big advance before I ever wrote a single word.

She’s got a bit more hand-holding to do.

Plus, it’s a chance to escape the city for a bit. ”

“Are you feeling good about it?” Kendell follows up. James told me a while back via text that she’s a fan of my work, so I don’t interpret her questions as prying or pushy. Instead, I suspect she’s just hopeful I hit my deadlines so that she can read the book.

“I’m actually feeling really good, which is its own brand of scary,” I say. “Felicity will read some polished chapters when she gets here, and her reaction will say a lot about the direction of the next few months.”

At the mention of postsummer life, James and Kendell jump into a long dialogue about how busy their fall is set to be: five kids spread between three different schools, competitive sports teams, and a big trip over fall break to see Kendell’s family in Tennessee.

“Summer is the only time I get to feel even remotely like a real person,” she says. “I try to remember that Lucy is already in eleventh grade and I won’t have the kids around forever, but it’s still really hard. Fall is always mind-numbingly busy.”

“Is it strange not having the kids around this summer?” James interjects to ask. “I can’t remember the last time we had a completely quiet house. I can’t even imagine it.”

“It’s… different than I expected,” I say with a hint of hesitation. “They’ve been away at camp at the same time twice before, but I wasn’t alone, of course.”

Flashes of those two summers fly through my brain.

I remember the movies, dinners, uninterrupted conversations, and long walks that Ben and I took—desperately trying to catch up on a year’s worth of romantic moments while we had the chance.

In many ways, it felt like I was getting to know him all over again.

“To be fair, Josh has been here talking your ear off, just like I said he would,” James jokes, keeping the conversation upbeat. “So, I’m not sure how alone you’ve really been.”

“Still, though, spending hours at my writing desk or at The Drip or reading in bed in complete silence feels so strange,” I begin.

“Sometimes I’m exhilarated by it, sometimes I’m really sad, sometimes I’ll think of the kids and my heart will ache, sometimes I feel complete relief about getting to shape my own day.

And of course, I find a way to feel bad for whatever emotion is making itself known at the time. ”

“Oh, a classic mom-guilt cocktail,” Kendell says, raising her glass. “We should share recipes sometime.”

James chimes in. “Last week, Little James said to Kendell, ‘Mom, remember when you missed my band concert a few years ago?’?”

“No context, no explanation,” she adds. “Just the random thought of the one time I’ve ever missed a performance. And he just went about his day while I cried on the back deck.”

Josh sits quietly as we share about the seven kids that belong to three of us at the table.

He seems just a bit sad not to be able to jump in with his own parenting war stories.

He’s the cool uncle. His stories are pure fun—not the jumbled mix of exhaustion, joy, frustration, and pride that the three of us feel.

Instead, after a few more minutes, he jumps in to share my instant photo and letter tradition. It’s a hit with Kendell, who insists she’s going to steal the idea when Lucy goes to cheer camp the two weeks before school starts.

“In fact, we should take a photo before you two leave,” I add proudly. “My kids instructed me to be more social this summer, so they will be happy to see proof of life of new friends.”

We spend the next half hour talking in a hundred different directions about the house, our extended families, current events, town gossip, and everything in between.

I liked James from the start and always hoped he would become a friend.

Hosting him for dinner in the house he found for us—just with a different person by my side than I expected—is the definition of bittersweet.

While the guys clean up, I invite Kendell upstairs to see the changes on the second floor, but mostly to show her my writing room, as I suspect it will feel extra special for her. She gasps when she sees the vintage wood desk, dark-green velvet curtains, and gold-accented desktop accessories.

“This room has such a vibe, Gracie,” she says. “It makes me want to sit down and write!”

“You are totally welcome to,” I say back, watching her admire the desk.

She turns around with a somewhat serious look on her face.

“While we’re up here and have some privacy,” she begins, “I just want to say how happy it makes me to see you and Josh together. He’s like a little brother to me.

I’ve known him since he was seventeen, and I’ve never seen him look this way before.

He’s completely himself with you, and trust me—he’s had issues with that in past relationships.

It says a lot about how good the two of you are together. ”

I blush and think again how lucky Josh is to have such wonderful, caring people around him. I also wonder if this is a bit of what Sunny meant weeks ago when she told me about his bad habit. Still, I sense that there is more that Kendell wants to say.

“Gracie, I have read everything you’ve published over the last year.

I admire you and your work so much. I know there will come a time in the next month when y’all will try to figure out if this can last past the summer.

Please know that you can do it and that something great like this is worth fighting for. ”

“We’re mostly taking it day by day at this point,” I say, because it’s true but also because I haven’t let myself think too far ahead, just in case disappointment might be on the horizon.

“My life is so complicated. Sometimes I struggle when I think about dragging Josh into my mess, especially the boring mess—school calendars, soccer games, report cards, preteen drama. Can you imagine him signing up for that after all this time on his own?”

She quietly leans on the desk and takes a deep breath. Her eyes turn soft and watery.

“Josh would be great at that mess,” she says with a slight wobble in her voice.

“He should’ve been a dad by now. A husband.

The parent who sneaks in Kool-Aid for the kids at the end-of-year party instead of the organic juice boxes the room mom put on the sign-up list. The guy who claims he’s definitely not volunteering to coach a team but is on the sideline by the first game.

The one who takes his kid for ice cream after a rough math test. Gracie, he’d be absolutely perfect for your mess. I think he longs for it.”

“I take it he’s been a great uncle?” I ask, because right now I can’t imagine someone else being a perfect fit who isn’t Ben. My mind knows Kendell is telling the truth that Josh would be a natural, but my heart doesn’t want to picture it just yet.

“The best,” she says. “He and James share the same core goodness and love for family. James has been the best dad—I would’ve never had five kids if that weren’t the case.

I’m sure it’s not always been easy for Josh to see his brother get this full family life when things didn’t work out the same for him, but he’s never let it change how he is with us. My kids adore him.”

I realize that Kendell is trying to make a strong pitch for Josh—letting me know that this accidental bachelor might just be able to handle stepping into the complicated world of a widowed mom of two.

I fight the urge to let out a nervous chuckle, because I’m quite convinced that I’m the one who needs to make the sales pitch, and it won’t be easy.

“We should get back down and take that photo,” I say, reaching out my hand to Kendell. “Thanks for this.”

We walk downstairs and catch the Anderson brothers goofing off in the kitchen as they load the last of the plates into the dishwasher.

Together, in this lighthearted moment, their distinct personalities meld into a moment of pure joy.

I instinctively see the goodness that Kendell just described radiating from them both.

And in this one moment, I let myself believe that maybe my mess is indeed a perfect fit. But just as quickly as I let the thought in, I then let it fly away—leaving the future as something to worry about on another day.