Page 74 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

“I imagine it takes a strong man,” Maisy answered without a hint of humor. “So, can you imagine how wonderful he will end up being when you find him?”

I smiled, thinking,Yes, in fact—I can imagine that.

A few minutes after Darrell leaves, there’s another knock at the door. Maisy’s shiny red locks bounce into the room before the restof her. She sits on the stool Darrell just left, gently pulling it closer to me without a word. Our proximity feels too intimate. It reminds me of the greenroom with Jenny the last time my life felt on the verge of collapse.

“You’re different,” she says, looking me square in the eyes. “You’re not the same person I interviewed a few months ago.”

“No, I’m not,” I finally and freely admit when she takes a long pause to study me.

“I never had any doubts that you were a strong woman after all that you’d been through, but there is a fortitude here now…a resolve…that simply wasn’t there before. How’d that happen?”

She could’ve asked me this while there was a microphone in my face, but she didn’t. This is an act of kindness. Now my own curiosity is piqued, and I take time to studyher.An extended silence grows between us while I look into those green eyes that once scared me. There is a quiet but obvious hunger for information staring back at me.

“Why do you want to know?” I ask bluntly, not fully returning her kindness with my own.

“I really did lose my mom a few months before you lost your husband,” she tells me with a slight grimace in response to my brash question. “And the truth is that I can’t seem to find my way back to anything close to normal. You seem to have found some measure of equilibrium recently that has completely eluded me. I’m flailing.”

Maisy was never trying to be cruel or mean in her questioning. All along she’s been trying to find answers.For herself.Grief loves to trick us into hiding, give us a false sense of security, and often it makes us wait far too long to ask for help or admit when we feel beyond it completely.

“I stumbled into something very special this summer,” I tell her. “Someone, actually. The process of falling in love again has thrown me on and off balance so many times it makes my head spin—and I have struggled.”

Here, in this tiny little room, I have just admitted that I love Josh. That I told Maisy before any of my closest friends feels like a joke from the universe—a reminder for me of how quickly we can learn to trust and let go. I continue.

“For the first time since he died, I put myself in Ben’s shoes and wondered whathewould 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 Iare 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.

—

---