Page 80 of Lessons in Forgiving
“Then maybe,” Henry began, sat up and kissed my shoulder, neck, cheek along his way. “There’s nothing wrong with him. Hm?”
My eyes finally trailed away from Mark’s Facebook page on the screen. The sight of Henry’s smile was much more welcoming, warm and encouraging andbeggingme to go to sleep. “You’ve been checking for the past three hours, charm. Do you really think you’re still going to find something now?” His gaze flicked to the time on my laptop. “At one in the morning?”
Probably not, I thought. “But if I just—”
“You’re being paranoid.” And his tone wasn’t judgmental or cruel. It was the opposite, and I could tell it pained him deeply to be so blatantly honest about it. I appreciated it, though.
Perhaps it was time to sleep. Perhaps I should just let it go—be happy about the answers he’d given me instead of trying to find a catch in them.
Henry’s head tilted, and it almost seemed like he could read my internal struggle from my face. The way my eyes closed, the way my nose twitched. Then, the way I threw my head back with a frustrated groan, which probably wasn’t as subtle.
“I’m sorry this is worrying you so much,” he sighed, slipping his hand in mine and bringing it up to his lips. He kissed it once. “Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested him. I don’t know much about the guy, but he seemed fine whenever—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” My head shook at the suggestion. “Thank you. For getting me anyone to talk to at all,” I pressed. “My overthinking isn’t your fault.”
And the fact that he thought it might be, was what finally made me close my laptop and place it on the bedside table. When I turned back to Henry, I could only make out his general shape in the dark, and that he was holding his arms wide open for me to fall into.
Which I did. Without hesitation.
We scooted lower, heads accidentally landing on the same pillow. “You’ll do great with this article,” he muttered into my hair. Kissed the top of my head. “I can already tell it’ll change things. They’ll love it.”
“You haven’t even read it,” I reminded him in the dark, a laugh on my lips I was too tired to let go of fully. I huffed.
“I don’t need to,” he said before his warm body and sweet nothings whispered me to sleep.
CHAPTER 32
NOW
6:17 PM
Paula,
Thanks for coming in the other day. Looks okay for a first draft! Think something is missing, though? Can’t quite put my finger on what. What do you think? Left some comments in the margins for you. Get back with the revised version next week?
Eddie
Looks okay.
I read the email twice. Then once more just to make sure I’d gotten it right.
Not good, perfect, exciting. Not even boring or awful.Okay.
What was a piece of writing if it didn’t evoke…somethingin its reader?
Nothing was ever just okay.
Then: something was missing?
How could a fifteen-page deep dive be missing anything? And what was an editor for, if not to be precise on what exactly was missing—how one might take a mediocre (“Okay”) draft and make it shine?
I’d replied with an extremely vague email that conveyed next week would be no problem, then thought about all the ways it would be.
I’d read that draft and Eddie’s comments another four times before Maeve found me cross-legged on my bed, blanket burrito-wrapped around me; the room completely dark and the only light coming from my screen.
I’d surpassed breakdown number two by then. And one or two texts to Henry.
Okay, ten messages to Henry. Maybe more. I’d lost count.
