Funny Story

by Emily Henry

Life, I’d learned, is a revolving door. Most things that come into it only stay awhile.

she once told me she “doesn’t mind confrontation” in a tone that made me wonder if maybe we were already in one.

don’t know,” I say. “I thought you were a delivery guy.” “Why?” He shakes his head. “Based on what?” “I don’t know!” I say. “Can I just have some wine?”

For someone with the innate social charm of a mounted fish (me), watching Miles befriend this stranger felt like seeing Michelangelo paint the Sistine Chapel: impressive, but also dizzying. Like any second, he might fall off his ladder and splatter on the marble below.

“You think I’m some kind of con artist?” “I think you’re a very charming guy,” I say. “As far as insults go,” he says, pausing halfway up the stairs, “that’s a new one for me.”

“This is the 2020 Chardonnay, by the way. People think they hate Chardonnay because they’ve mostly had shitty Chardonnay. It’s a misunderstood wine.” “Aw,” Ashleigh coos, clutching her heart. “Misunderstood little wine.”

“I’m vetting my friend’s new boyfriend,” she tells him. “Aren’t they cute?” “If anything,” I say to Miles, “we’re still vetting her.” He looks over, smile deepening. “I say we keep her.” “Who’s going to feed and walk her?” I say. “I will,” he insists. “Every day. I promise.”

If a person lets you down, it’s time to reconsider what you’re asking of them.

“Want to go egg his car?” I mumble into his chest. “Seems like a waste of good eggs,” he says. “I agree,” I say. “I just wish my gynecologist told me that sooner.”

“Are you calling me old,” I ask. “I’m calling you thirty-three,” he says. “Rude,”

You can’t force a person to show up, but you can learn a lesson when they don’t. Trust people’s actions, not their words. Don’t love anyone who isn’t ready to love you back. Let go of the people who don’t hold on to you. Don’t wait on anyone who’s in no rush to get to you.

I can feel my leg hair growing and wonder why I bothered shaving last night. Because you have a crush on your roommate, my inner dialogue provides helpfully, and you want him to look at and touch and probably even lick your legs.

Life isn’t a competition, and neither is love, but I’m still the loser.

I think it might break my heart to be someone you don’t like.”

“You’re Daphne Fucking Vincent.” “Aww.” I touch my chest. “You know my last name and my middle name.”

The same universe that dispassionately takes things away can bring you things you weren’t imaginative enough to dream up.