Page 57 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

“It’s not like that,” he says as his cheeks turn a shade of pink to indicate it is definitelylike that. He rushes to fill the space before I can tease him more.

“Listen. You needed help with your house. Josh desperately needed something to do so he wouldn’t be tempted back to work. I knew you would get along, and I thought maybe there was a small chance you’d really hit it off.”

Kendell is staring at him with the look of a wife who wants to screamBullshit!at her husband but ultimately decides watching him squirm is more fun.

“Are you serious right now?” Josh asks with fake incredulity.

I know Josh well enough at this point to know he is equal parts amused and annoyed. One more thing his big brother got right. As an only child, I can’t relate, but I’ve watched my own kids over the years and learned that your sibling being right about something is one of life’s great tragedies.

“You don’t get to be mad—even fake mad—at me,” James says ina paternal tone. “You might end the summer with lower blood pressure and a girlfriend, thanks to me.”

This makes us all chuckle, and when I turn to look at Josh a moment later, I see an expression on his face as he looks at James that makes me feel instantly warm. It’s a look of gratitude, and his eyes are almost glassy. Josh was not happy to be forced by James into his summer sabbatical, and yet it’s turning into something no one imagined was possible. Well, except maybe James, as it turns out.

“How’s your book coming along?” Kendell asks me.

“Really good,” I reply with a huge smile of relief. “I only have about a week of writing left, max, and then I’ll edit for a little bit before it’s turned in to my publisher.”

“Her agent is coming for a quick trip soon to read some of it,” Josh adds.

“Why is your agent coming all the way to Canopy? Why not just read it virtually?” James chimes in to ask.

“Most agents probably would do just that,” I begin, “but Felicity has a different style. She checks in on me, in person, every couple of months. It’s a very nontraditional arrangement that I have—a first-time writer with a book deal and big advance before I ever wrote a single word. She’s got a bit more hand-holding to do. Plus, it’s a chance to escape the city for a bit.”

“Are you feeling good about it?” Kendell follows up. James told me a while back via text that she’s a fan of my work, so I don’t interpret her questions as prying or pushy. Instead, I suspect she’s just hopeful I hit my deadlines so that she can read the book.

“I’m actually feeling really good, which is its own brand of scary,” I say. “Felicity will read some polished chapters when shegets here, and her reaction will say a lot about the direction of the next few months.”

At the mention of postsummer life, James and Kendell jump into a long dialogue about how busy their fall is set to be: five kids spread between three different schools, competitive sports teams, and a big trip over fall break to see Kendell’s family in Tennessee.

“Summer is the only time I get to feel even remotely like a real person,” she says. “I try to remember that Lucy is already in eleventh grade and I won’t have the kids around forever, but it’s still really hard. Fall is always mind-numbingly busy.”

“Is it strange not having the kids around this summer?” James interjects to ask. “I can’t remember the last time we had a completely quiet house. I can’t even imagine it.”

“It’s…differentthan I expected,” I say with a hint of hesitation. “They’ve been away at camp at the same time twice before, but I wasn’t alone, of course.”

Flashes of those two summers fly through my brain. I remember the movies, dinners, uninterrupted conversations, and long walks that Ben and I took—desperately trying to catch up on a year’s worth of romantic moments while we had the chance. In many ways, it felt like I was getting to know him all over again.

“To be fair, Josh has been here talking your ear off, just like I said he would,” James jokes, keeping the conversation upbeat. “So, I’m not sure how alone you’ve really been.”

“Still, though, spending hours at my writing desk or at The Drip or reading in bed in complete silence feels so strange,” I begin. “Sometimes I’m exhilarated by it, sometimes I’m really sad, sometimes I’ll think of the kids and my heart will ache, sometimes I feelcomplete relief about getting to shape my own day. And of course, I find a way to feel bad for whatever emotion is making itself known at the time.”

“Oh, a classic mom-guilt cocktail,” Kendell says, raising her glass. “We should share recipes sometime.”

James chimes in. “Last week, Little James said to Kendell, ‘Mom, remember when you missed my band concert a few years ago?’ ”

“No context, no explanation,” she adds. “Just the random thought of the one time I’ve ever missed a performance. And he just went about his day while I cried on the back deck.”

Josh sits quietly as we share about the seven kids that belong to three of us at the table. He seems just a bit sad not to be able to jump in with his own parenting war stories. He’s the cool uncle. His stories are pure fun—not the jumbled mix of exhaustion, joy, frustration, and pride that the three of us feel.

Instead, after a few more minutes, he jumps in to share my instant photo and letter tradition. It’s a hit with Kendell, who insists she’s going to steal the idea when Lucy goes to cheer camp the two weeks before school starts.

“In fact, we should take a photo before you two leave,” I add proudly. “My kids instructed me to be more social this summer, so they will be happy to see proof of life of new friends.”

We spend the next half hour talking in a hundred different directions about the house, our extended families, current events, town gossip, and everything in between. I liked James from the start and always hoped he would become a friend. Hosting him for dinner in the house he found for us—just with a different person by my side than I expected—is the definition of bittersweet.

While the guys clean up, I invite Kendell upstairs to see thechanges on the second floor, but mostly to show her my writing room, as I suspect it will feel extra special for her. She gasps when she sees the vintage wood desk, dark-green velvet curtains, and gold-accented desktop accessories.

“This room has such a vibe, Gracie,” she says. “It makes me want to sit down and write!”

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