Page 40 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

“I guess I just expected that after twenty years together, you’d need more time before getting back out there…that it might feel overwhelming or too hard or even wrong.”

“It was all of those things,” I say, nodding to affirm her theory. “It turns out everyone you know has a single friend they want to set you up with, but I had no illusions that I would find another Ben on a first date. To be honest, there are some days I’m convinced that I won’t find that ever again. As a result, dating this time around is casual and low stakes to me. Not easy by any stretch of the imagination, but casual.”

“I walk into every first date wondering if this will be the one where the sparks fly,” she admits, seeming to surprise even herself.

“I get that. It’s not that I don’t take things seriously or have a small fleck of hope deep in here,” I say, putting my hand to my heart. “Writing about Ben for the last year has made me realize that I’m much more of a romantic than I care to admit. I want to feel those sparks, too.”

“I hope this question doesn’t come off as insensitive,” she begins. “How have men handled the fact that you’re both a widow and have two kids?”

“Everyone I’ve been out with knows my story—there are no dating-app surprises here since I’ve mostly been set up,” I share. “God bless the friends who sent their cousins and brothers on those early dates with me. They were romantic sacrificial lambs. I cried into my salad and dessert courses more than once. So embarrassing.”

This makes Tonya giggle lightly. Humility aside, I’ve mastered the art of making grief funny.

“What about sex?” she asks, bluntly getting back onto the topic of her column.

“I’m getting back into the swing of things,” I respond.

She loses the poker face she’s maintained since we started talking about sex and a smile crosses her face.

“At first, I took dates too seriously. My best friend convinced me to lighten up and be more open about the possibilities.”

“Good for you,” she says. “Have you learned anything revelatory from those experiences?”

“Well, I forgot what it’s like to discover a person for the first time,” I begin. “Everything with Ben was so familiar. We talkedearlier about how I slept with two people before him, but that was a long time ago. I was a literal teenager. It’s been fun as a grown woman to see how different men approach intimacy, what they think they’re good at versus what they are actually good at, and I do like the newness of it, but…” I trail off.

She’s looking at me expectantly, and I realize that she’s throwing my approach back across the table—no clarifying questions, no filling the silence.

“I haven’t done any second dates yet,” I say. “That level of intimacy still feels like a hurdle and something to figure out.”

“Would you like to get back to that?” she follows up.

“Absolutely,” I answer. “I know that I went viral after writing an essay about how I hate physical touch, but the truth is I miss it all. Maybe one day I’ll find it again, but getting my hopes up doesn’t feel productive.”

We chat for a few more minutes about how I create comfortable boundaries and why I’m avoiding dating apps at this stage of life. With a minute left to go we have time for one final deep dive. “Gracie, what about more than the physical stuff? Do you truly want to have another great love story?”

This question gives me pause. Words are swimming in my brain, trying to find a safe (for me) way to explain how I feel. In the end, I’m just honest.

“Love for me is scary. You need to understand: I wake up every day loving someone I will never see again. I will get wrinkles—well, more wrinkles—and my hair will turn gray, and I will grow old, and Ben will always be this forty-two-year-old man who I want so badly to be right next to me but who I move further away from every day. The pain is a reminder of what I had, but it hurts sodeeply right now. Tonya, the world doesn’t dole out tragedy fairly. Being ready for the real thing means being willing to accept that this could all happen to me again—to love so deeply and then lose it. That’s a lot to ask of one heart.”

With that, the interview is over. Tonya stops recording and then tells me this has been one of her favorite interviews so far. I smile and tell her it’s the same for me, which is the surprising truth of the matter.

We end the call and I wonder how to transition back into reality after pouring my heart out like that. How do I even look at Josh the next time he turns around after everything he’s just heard, that I just shared? He’s learned a lot about me over these weeks of our interviews, but that? That was something else.

“Wow,” I say out loud to put some movement into the air. “That was certainly something different.”

Josh turns and smiles at me, but it’s a new look I’ve never seen before—if I didn’t know better, I’d call it a longing expression. Just as I’m about to ask him what he thought as the only audience member to that wild ride, the doorbell rings. His buddy quietly opens the door and his footsteps approach the kitchen. When he sees I’m not on the phone and spots Josh, he says loudly, “For Christ’s sake, Anderson, put on a damn shirt.”

Then he turns toward me, holds out his hand, and says, “You must be Gracie.”

Josh takes the opportunity to walk outside and make small talk with Billy, while I throw back the rest of my drink and mentally debrief on what just happened. Was I too open? Am I going to regret telling her all of that? Is she going to pull out one juicy detailthat has strangers obsessing over my dating life again? What on earth does Josh think of all of that?

Before I can fall too deep into the spiral, I hear a guttural noise from outside as the AC kicks back on. The register at my feet begins to blow cool air—finally. As the temperature in the house slowly starts to drop, I sneak upstairs to the safety of the writing room and allow Josh to escape before we unwillingly tip over our awkward interaction quota for the day.

Chapter 17

People can claim they aren’tlaughing at you, but let’s be honest—you always know the truth. At this moment, for example, I know for sure that Sunny and Jenny are both laughingatme as they gasp for air through the biggest laughs I’ve ever heard.

“That did not happen!” Jenny shrieks over the speakerphone. Sunny is convulsing with laughter next to me at our small round bistro table.

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