Page 40 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction
“Well, I’m really close to wrapping up the complete first draft, which is totally surreal,” I begin. “Reading the early chapters now is so wild because it feels like a million years ago. My agent arrives in a few days to read through some of the first chapters.”
“Are you nervous?” Suzanne asks.
“A little bit, yes. Felicity is fantastic, but the truth is that no one else has read any of the book, so it’s overwhelming to think that she’s the first of hopefully many people to see the pages.”
“How do you promote a book like yours?” Jim asks. Just like Josh, he’s interested in the process.
“Talk about it constantly, which is hard for me,” I respond with a half smile.
“I’ll obviously do a book tour when it actually comes out.
In the meantime, we’re starting to see more interest from the press in writing about me, my column, and the book.
Recently, I found out that Maisy Miller wants me to be one of the first guests on a new podcast she’s launching.
I’m still trying to decide on that one.”
“How exciting is that!” Suzanne says, clasping her hands. “Why the hesitation?”
It’s easy to forget that Maisy’s daytime show makes her especially popular with the senior-citizen age bracket. She is a superstar to them but is trying to attract more of the demographic that follows me.
“Suzanne, would I be correct to assume that you saw my, um, last run-in with Maisy on her show?” I ask in a bashful voice.
“Of course, dear. It’s all my friends and I could talk about for days,” she says bluntly but not rudely.
“It was a bit of a crash and burn,” I delicately remind her, even though it doesn’t seem to be necessary. “I’m not convinced that I’m ready for another Maisy-level interview. Or Maisy herself, for that matter.”
“It most certainly was not a crash and burn!” she responds emphatically.
“Anyone who thinks that has never experienced a big loss. My usual Thursday brunch with friends turned into a sob fest that morning. You don’t reach your seventies without going through some serious stuff in life.
It was one of the most honest expressions of delayed grief that I’ve seen in my life—thinking that you’re getting better only for the dam to break at the worst possible time.
Unfortunately, many of us have been there before. ”
Where so many people saw weakness, the Anderson family has told me, without reservation, that they saw bravery and honesty.
First James, now Suzanne. Always Josh. I feel my throat tighten, but it’s not from anxiety or fear—it’s from the emotion of witnessing the pure goodness emanating from the people sitting here with me.
“Josh has been helpful getting me back into the swing of things,” I say, worried that I might burst into tears if I let the moment linger too long. “If I do say yes, he’s the reason why.”
This makes everyone at the table smile, and Suzanne reaches out to squeeze Josh’s hand.
“I’ve been watching that show for years,” she tells us. “And that was the first time in a long while that someone truly, deeply moved me.”
To be honest, while I don’t relish the idea of becoming the main character on the internet again, I know that I will end up doing the podcast. Josh thinks I can do it and so does Jenny, who told me that not everyone gets a “mulligan” on something like this.
Both of them think people will forget the first interview entirely if this one goes well.
After giving her a tentative yes a few days ago, I’ll text Lucia tomorrow with my final, affirmative decision.
It does, however, feel nice to pretend for just one more night that I’m considering not going to Maisy’s Nashville studio to record the episode.
It makes things feel just a bit more in my control.
We all chat for a few more minutes before Jim’s eyes get heavy and he almost falls asleep at the table.
Suzanne announces that it’s time to go, but I shoot Josh a look to telepathically signal to him that his almost-eighty-year-old dad can absolutely not drive home this late in the dark, this tired.
Asheville is only thirty minutes away, but that’s twenty-nine minutes too far.
“Mom, Dad, you guys need to stay here. No way are you driving tonight,” Josh says to immediate protests.
It doesn’t take much for them to relent, though. Jim also doesn’t keep much hidden, so after about thirty seconds, he’s out the door, grabbing their luggage from the car.
Josh and I insist that they go to bed while we clean up, and the two of us make quick work of the dishes, leftovers, and trash. His mom sneaks out for a good-night hug—including one from me—and retires for the night. Josh and I go upstairs.
“Is it weird if I spend the night with them here?” I ask as we enter his room and I grab my pajamas from my bag.
He shakes his head and lets out a chuckle. “I have no doubt that James has told my mom everything about the progression of things this summer. He’s got no filter, just like my dad. I don’t think you need to worry.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you sleep up here so that they have an easy place to crash?”
There’s a pause and then a long answer. “I really do like it up here in the loft, but the truth is, yes—that’s why I chose this room.
My parents are old, but so are my aunts and uncles.
I’ve always assumed at some point somebody would need to come stay with me for a short or long time.
My dad’s brother recovered here from a hip replacement two years ago because his house was nothing but stairs.
I don’t want people I love to feel like they are a hassle to me.
Learning to love it up here has made that easier. ”
“That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. Can you please stop being so perfect?”
We take turns in the bathroom getting ourselves ready to sleep and then climb into his cozy bed.
I turn to face him and he pulls me in for a PG make-out session before we quietly embrace.
I have a sudden impulse to tell him that I love him and it takes all of my willpower not to do so.
I settle for falling asleep with my head tucked on his chest.