“You know the worst thing that’s happened to me in the last year or so. What about you?”
“My dog died. He was only eight. Cancer.”
“You struck me as a dog guy, and I couldn’t figure out why there wasn’t one always two steps behind you. Lab or golden retriever?”
“Wow, I’m that predictable. Hammy was indeed a black Lab, and he was gorgeous. Hammy is short for Ham Sandwich, by the way. James’s oldest daughter Lucy won the naming rights in a game of Uno when she was seven.”
“Did you let her win?”
“Absolutely, but I wouldn’t have if I knew what the outcome was going to be!”
“Not to add on to the sad dog stories, but our dog died a few months after Ben. He was super old—a pet we got way too early—but was seriously like a child to us. Buddy was, like, ninety in dogyears, and the kids became convinced that he held on so long to personally take care of us after Ben died.”
“Jesus. How is that the sweetest and most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever heard?”
“Welcome to my life,” I say, raising my glass.
“Be honest with me, Gracie. Was my dinner better than Lenny’s takeout?”
“SO MUCH BETTER. If you tell him that, though, I will deny it.”
The intensity of my tipsy margarita voice makes Josh laugh. He glances down at his watch and starts to apologize.
“How is it seven already?” he says. “I’ve stayed too long, and you’ve had too many margaritas. I hope you didn’t plan to write tonight.”
“My current plan is to clean up—you are not allowed to—and then read a single page of my book before falling peacefully asleep entirely too early. I need a good night’s sleep more than anything right now.”
He tries to insist that he stay and help clean, but I tell him he’s already done too much. As we walk toward the door, I realize how much I like having him here. How much I don’t want him to leave. Is this romantic? Maybe it’s loneliness. Maybe it’s because he’s the first regular companion I’ve had in over a year. Maybe I’ve simply had too much tequila.
I’m lost in these thoughts and my senses are dulled just enough from the drinks that I take a second too long to stop when he opens the front door. When he turns and pauses to say goodbye, we are alarmingly close. He puts his arm up on the door frame in an attempt to make things more casual, but it fails. Miserably.
“We’re friends now,” I say, reaching out my arms while leaning in for a hug in my own attempt to make things more casual. This also fails.
The moment I tuck my arms around him—feel the warmth of his chest, the firmness of his back, and the comfort of the embrace—I know this is a bad idea. I look up at him before pulling the proper distance away and a subtle flutter hits my heart. Knowing that he’ll blame the tequila, I linger a second longer than I should—just to remember the quiet magic of being hugged by a man who knows me.
Throughout it all, he keeps an uncharacteristic poker face. I’ve spent weeks on the receiving end of his animated expressions. I know the way his eyes get sad when I tell him a story about Ben. I know the way his cheeks lift up when I share a funny anecdote. I know the way he scrunches his nose when I’m heading down a bad train of thought in interview practice and need to pivot. But tonight, there is nothing to read. He has somehow stripped away all expression and left me standing here with my arms wrapped around him, secretly hoping for something more.
“Seriously, thanks for dinner,” I say, officially stepping back from the embrace. “It’s been a long time since someone has done something like that for me.”
He takes a deep inhale once we’re separated, and it hits me that for however long we were in that hug, I didn’t feel him breathe—not once.
“You are very welcome, fancy writer Gracie. I’ll be back here bright and early tomorrow.”
Chapter 18
“Are you ever lonely?” Joshasks, kicking off our lunchtime interview session. At the moment, I can’t tell if he’s asking out of curiosity or true interview prep.
“This is a hard question, but I’m glad you asked it,” I say, taking the question at face value. “Because it definitely feels like something a journalist will eventually ask.”
I sit quietly for a minute. It’s an obvious yes, but there are so many layers to what I want to say that I’m not sure it will make sense. Josh hasn’t taken his dark-brown eyes off me, but it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. It’s not probing; in fact, it’s comforting. When Josh talks to me, I know that I have his full attention.
“The short answer is yes, and the long answer is yes,” I begin. “I’m lonely in every way a person can be lonely, I think. I’m lonely because I wake upliterally alone in my bed every morning, and I’m still not used to it. I’m lonely because my kids are at camp and this house is too quiet. I’m lonely because I’m in a new town. I’m physically lonely.”
That last one is my futile attempt to convey the lack of sexualintimacy in my life at the moment. Of course, I’m not sharing that directly with Josh, even after theCosmointerview. It’s much better to let him deduce the situation on that one.
“I guess I’m also surprised when the loneliness feels the hardest,” I say, diving deeper into my thoughts. “There are things I assumed I grew out of—being scared of the dark or a really bad thunderstorm that shakes the house—but it turns out it just wasn’t scary with someone else there. Being here alone in this house at night has made me realize some of that. Honestly, the only time I don’t feel lonely is when you’re here.”
That last part I add on a whim. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but it’s the truth. Dr. Lisa and I are working on being more direct with my true feelings. This, of course, is a reaction to losing someone on short notice and not getting the chance to say everything I wish I had.
