Page 69 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

“I definitely can’t identify anymore with the dynamic she and I had,” he continues. “That’s the thing about relationships. We’re all different people from one to the next. Katrina’s idea of who Iamis stuck at who Iwasnearly five years ago—before I figured my shit out. The last few years changed so much for me. I’m definitely a different guy than the one she knew. I adapted so much of my personality to her. She’s got enough personality for ten people.”

“I caught on to that. And, still being honest, it’s weird for me because I think of you as the guy who fills the room with personality,” I say, and I run my fingers up and down his arm. “It’s wild to think you were the shrinking violet in the relationship.”

“In retrospect, it’s obvious to me that she and I had this really unsustainable energy. It comes down to this: you don’t know the same Josh that she did,” he says, before nonchalantly adding, “Just like I don’t know the same Gracie that Ben did.”

For reasons I can’t explain, that last part sends a sharp pain through my gut. Suddenly, I can’t feel the breeze, I can’t see the lightning bugs, and time seems to have stopped. My head starts tothrob as he continues in the background. I’m having a physical reaction to this conversation, and I don’t know why.

“The one piece of your writing that I have read is the first essay. I told you that James sent it to me before we met. I’ve spent all summer trying to reconcile the person you described in that essay with the person I’ve gotten to know. You’re not this antisocial person who hates physical touch. You are a kind and open person who loves talking to people. You’ve made friends in every place you’ve gone this summer in town. I’ve watched you hug pretty much everyone. You’re different now, Gracie. The version of you that exists now is different.”

He says all of this to me like I’m supposed to take it as a compliment—like he’s figured out some previously hidden Gracie that no one else was smart enough to uncover.

A new version of me? No. I’m me.The same me. I’m the same person. I have to be. Because if I’m not the same person that Ben knew, that means a piece of him is gone, too. Ben and Gracie. That’s the me that my friends know. My family knows. My kids know. I have to be the old me. People can claim I’m new or different, but that doesn’t make it true. My eyes are welling up, and I don’t know what to say or do.

“You’re wrong,” I finally blurt out without really thinking. “I’m not like you.”

“What?” he says, completely confused by my change in tone and posture.

“I’m still the same person as before. The same me that Ben knew. Maybe you change all the time, but I’m still me,” I say with breath as thick as molasses. Every word is a struggle.

“Gracie, I don’t know what I said that made you so upset—”

“You insinuate that somehow I’m this magical new person. Like, if Ben walked up these steps right now, he wouldn’t recognize me.”

I see a look of recognition come over his face, but all it tells me is that he knows why I’m mad and not that he’s in any way sorry for what he said.

“Can we just pretend that the last minute never happened?” he asks. “All I was trying to say is that I really like you and that we’re both the best versions of ourselves around one another. I like the Gracie that I’ve gotten to know and learned to—”

“There is no special version of me, Josh. I’m just me. You could never understand why even the idea of this conversation is hard for me,” I interrupt, using a tone that I instantly regret.

“I just told you in, like, five different ways that I like everything about you, and this is your reaction? You think you’re the only one who’s ever had something shitty happen to them, Gracie?”

“You’ve never experienced anything like this.”

“Gracie, I was practically left at the altar by the woman you met tonight. I’m over it now, but I was a train wreck foryears. I took all of that anger and frustration out by working to the point that I almost killed myself from exhaustion. Death isn’t the only sad thing that happens to people. You know that. There are lots of ways to lose people.”

“Yeah, well, death happened to me, and I survived it. But it didn’t change me. I’m not some entirely new person now,” I say, knowing how petulant and ridiculous I sound, but I’m fully committed to these feelings that are trying to overwhelm me.

“You need to stop pretending, Gracie. You aren’t the same person. You’re not. Jesus, every time someone sees you on a videocall or visits, they freaking tell you that. They straight up tell you that you’re different since you’ve beenhere.Why am I the bad guy?”

“Because you want to believe thatyouchanged me, Josh,” I say, looking him square in the eyes. “Like, you rescued me or some stupid shit like that.”

“That’s not what I think,” he says in a quiet tone, shaking his head and attempting to somehow right the situation.

“Well, that’s what you’re acting like,” I say, standing up. “I think you should go home.”

“Gracie, please let’s just go inside and figure this out,” he suggests, presenting the option that I know is right and reasonable.

“This isn’t real life, Josh,” I yell, raising my voice and surprising us both. Despite all of Felicity’s guidance and all of the thought that I’ve put into how to merge myself into something new, I’ve decided to take the path of least resistance. The easy off-ramp. I’m making summer the excuse.

“Can we please go inside?” he asks again, and I agree because the last thing I want is a reputation as a yeller in a small town.

As soon as the door closes, he hits me with a question.

“What do you mean this isn’t real life?” he asks, hurt spread across his face. “This isn’t real for you?”

“The things I feel for you are real,” I say, rambling. “But this summer isn’t real life, because my life doesn’t look like this. I don’t spend the morning in bed or write for hours in coffee shops or jump around antique stores looking for a perfect new desk. This is all make-believe. My real life is a fucking grind, Josh. This new version of me that you think you know…she’s a fantasy.”

“This isn’t my normal life, either, Gracie,” he responds, his ownvoice annoyed and rising. “I don’t work twenty hours a week or take lunch breaks or get to build shit anymore. My normal life is a grind, too. Are you suggesting that maybe that’s the only reason why this works?”

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