Page 50 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

“For the first time since he died, I put myself in Ben’s shoes and wondered what he would want for me.

I had a moment in the studio today when it hit me that Ben wouldn’t want me holding on to him so tight that I lose my grasp on everything else that matters.

He wouldn’t want me losing my balance because of him.

I’m sure your mom would want the same for you. ”

A sweet, sad smile crosses Maisy’s face, and she asks if she can tell me about her mom. I nod. At first, she’s tentative, and then before either of us knows what’s happening, she’s overflowing with stories and anecdotes about the most important person in her life.

I’ve spent all summer talking, telling Josh and anyone who would listen about my life.

It’s a welcome relief just to fully listen for once.

I’m embarrassed I haven’t done more of this—simply taking in the stories of those around me.

In Maisy’s voice, I hear whispers of my own journey.

I hear the joy and twinges of sadness that come with remembering someone you love and sharing out loud the stories that capture the beauty of your life together.

Thirty minutes pass by quickly, punctuated by tears and laughter from us both.

“Gracie, I need you to know that I never intended for our limited time together in these two interviews to be so full of hurt and trauma,” Maisy tells me. “I’d take it all back if I could.”

“I wouldn’t let you take it back,” I assure her, gently resting my hand on her knee. “The last few months of my life have been extraordinary in every wonderful and terrible way possible. No matter what happens, I’m grateful, because without you, I’d still very much be stuck in a really dark place.”

“I’m really proud of you. Your personal growth is just brilliant to see,” she says, tears still welling in the corners of her eyes. She pulls me in for a generous, honest hug. “It makes me so very hopeful.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I say as we break away from our hug. “Because today’s interview might be one of the scariest things I’ve ever done. If it helps just one person— you— it was worth it.”

“Listen, Gracie,” she starts, now holding on to both of my hands. “Next year I’m launching Maisy’s Book Club on the show. We’re already preselecting, and I really want your memoir to be the selection the month it gets released. I just know it will be perfect for me and my audience.”

“I’d be honored,” I tell her, taking a deep, relieved breath as I begin to gather my things. “Now, let me go and figure out how to fix some things I’ve gotten really wrong.”

—

Lucia and I are sitting at the Starbucks in the public lobby of the north terminal of the airport.

Yesterday, after the intensity of the interview, she insisted on buying me a late-afternoon treat and taking me for a manicure, and then she ordered us room service for dinner before I slept for ten hours.

This morning, she canceled another engagement to accompany me to the airport. The ultimate act of friendship.

The interview cracked open my spirit in the best way.

During dinner, I shared the whole story of my summer in Canopy.

It all spilled out, even things I’ve never admitted to myself before.

Now this morning, I’m coming to terms with everything that I said to Josh and all the ways I messed things up two days ago.

“I think I ruined it all. I should’ve been ready by now, but I wasn’t, and I think it’s going to make me lose a really wonderful man,” I share, holding Lucia’s hand, before adding, “Again.”

“Gracie, my parents spent seven years in a long-distance relationship before they got married. My mom was in med school and my dad got a job in a different city. I’m the age now that they were in the final years of that arrangement.

I couldn’t fathom how they made it work, so a little while back I asked my mom what their secret was,” she says.

“Something poetic and beautiful, I’m sure,” I answer.

“Good people wait and are worth waiting for. He’ll be there when you get back. Just be ready to say you’re sorry.”

With that, she stands to give me a squeeze before I head through security. She reminds me to enjoy submitting my manuscript and the next two “free” weeks. She’s cleared the interview calendar.

—

Thirty minutes later, and I’m at my gate with just a few minutes to spare before boarding. I sit down and grab my phone to start finally working through my text messages.

“Excuse me, are you Gracie Harris?” the college-age girl across the seating area asks me.

I nod. Two other women nearby—one who looks to be in her thirties and the other much older—chime in to say, “Oh my goodness, it is you!” Before I know what’s happening I’m surrounded by a small group of women who have formed a little cocoon around me.

Somehow, I’m not overwhelmed with social anxiety.

They take turns telling me how much they loved the interview, even though it must’ve been hard for me.

The college student tells me that the podcast was the first time she ever heard of me—she only started listening to Maisy because she is trying to connect more with her mom, who is a huge Maisy fan.

She was googling me in the airport when I showed up.

“I had to look up and down from my phone a few times to convince myself it was you,” she tells me. “If you could’ve seen me yesterday listening to that podcast! Girl, I had mascara running down my face. I think we all did.”

When boarding starts, I bring each of them in for a generous hug before we go our separate ways. The interview was hard, but it mattered. It really did. It also might end up being the catalyst for my new life—if I haven’t broken it beyond recognition.