Page 23 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

“Life sure can be unpredictable,” he says in a soulful way that conveys there is no need for me to respond.

He’s about to wrap up when I decide small-talk practice should really end with me asking Brian a perfectly simple question.

“What’s your favorite thing about Canopy, Brian? If I told you I was leaving tomorrow and had just one day to do something or eat something while I was here, what would it be?”

He doesn’t even stop to think, just dives right into an answer after glancing at his watch.

“When you leave the shop, turn right instead of going left back to your house. Walk to Lenny’s Diner on Main Street and order the BLT. The ripest, thickest tomatoes and homemade garlic mayo. It’s pure heaven. Nothing makes it feel like summer quite like a Lenny’s BLT.”

As if on cue, my stomach growls and I tell Brian that my best friend’s mom used to make BLTs for us as kids, so this will be a hard barrier to clear, but challenge accepted nonetheless. He walks me to the door and just as I’m about to leave, he says, “Josh loves those BLTs. Why don’t you grab one for him?”

—

It’s 12:45 bythe time I walk back through the front door. Josh is at the sink, rinsing out a paintbrush for what must be the fifth time in the short period he’s been at the house. Apparently, my approach of just buying new brushes isn’t the only option. Ben used to tease me relentlessly about this.

“I have good news to share,” I say triumphantly. “Not only did I write a full chapter this morning, but I kicked some small-talk ass.”

I walk to the kitchen island and put down the Lenny’s take-out bag, which catches Josh’s attention, and I watch his eyes dart between jealousy and hopefulness thinking about the contents of the bag. I would’ve been home sooner, but Lenny and I spent a half hour talking about our college basketball fandoms. We talked for so long that he had the kitchen remake the sandwiches so they would be fresh.

“You’ve been quite the social butterfly,” he says in a knowing tone. “Brian, Sunny, and Lenny all texted me to say what a nice woman I’m working for this summer.”

“I am a benevolent and kind employer, Josh,” I say in the most faux charming voice possible as I reach into the bag and pull out two huge BLT sandwiches. “One for me and one for you. The giant fries are to share.”

A look that can only be described as pure childlike joy crosses his face.

“Occasional deliveries of my favorite food in the entire universe definitely make up for the terrible working conditions,” he says playfully.

I toss a fry at him, and he ducks with alarming reflexes, but it still hits him in the shoulder.

“Just so you know,” he adds, picking the weaponized fry off the counter and eating it, “there is absolutely no way to eat this sandwich gracefully. Just embrace the mess.”

“I was about to grab a fork and knife,” I say.

He shakes his head in mock disgust and tells me in no uncertain terms that this behavior simply won’t be tolerated. Before I dig in, I grab my instant camera from my bag on the other stool. I carry it everywhere with me, despite the fact that it’s bright pink with stickers all over it, courtesy of the kids.

“Listen, I think the BLT is a thing of beauty, but are you really taking a photo of it?” he asks with a puzzled look on his face.

“Ava and I started this tradition her first summer at camp, and now I do it for both kids,” I explain, lowering the camera to the sandwich’s level so each layer will be clearly visible. “Any time I write them a letter, I take a photo that captures exactly what I was doing at that moment. Ava said it kept her connected to us without making her homesick.”

“Well, now I feel bad for teasing you, because that’s about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” he says.

“This one is for Benji,” I say, gently fanning the developing photo. “He is a sandwich connoisseur. I’d put a hundred dollars on the table that his letter back insists we go to Lenny’s the same day they get out of camp. I’ll write him a quick note when we’re done.”

The last thing I do before I take a bite is grab my little notebook, flip to a page in the middle, and make a quick mark under Benji’s name.

“They are siblings,” I say with a sigh. “They are definitely comparing the number of letters that I send them.”

“You are a very smart mom,” he says as he realizes what the tally marks are for. “So, what did you learn about the art of small talk today?”

“There is an alarming tendency deep inside of me to overcomplicate every conversation—to try to explain everything or find the right words. Today, I tried to take your advice and keep it light. It worked great,” I declare.

“Any surprises? Were all the conversations the same?” he asks.

“No, they weren’t the same. Sunny and I had a short, friendly conversation, but I imagine we’ll chat a million times over the summer. She and I will get to know one another bit by bit. Brian asked me lots of questions, and I let him guide the conversation. Lenny and I were just all over the place, which was fun but also chaotic. I just kind of went with the flow.”

“Are you usually a go-with-the-flow sort of person?” he asks, the side of his mouth going up in a knowing grin.

I pretend to launch another fry in his direction. Of course I’m not a go-with-the-flow sort of person.

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