Funny Story

by Emily Henry

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.

“Do you lie there and stare at the ceiling in silence?” he asks. “Excuse you,” I say. “This is none of your business.”

“I just make utterly unblinking eye contact like any respectable woman.”

“Yes,” I finally manage. “A shared cuckolding is the most fertile ground from which love could ever spring.”

“Things go smoother if you don’t let people get a rise out of you,” he says. “If you give them control over how you feel, they’ll always use it.” “Finally, I see your cynical side,” I say. He smiles, but his jaw is tight, and the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not cynical. If you don’t give other people responsibility for your feelings, you can have a decent relationship with most of them.”

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

“Let me guess: I’m a clueless fool,” I say. He starts the car. “No, just a sweet, naive, beautiful little innocent, raised in captivity by a man who loves wheatgrass.”

“They all thought I was hot,” he says. “Women of a certain age love me.” “You must remind them of when they were young,” I say, “and Abraham Lincoln was People’s Sexiest Man Alive.”

“You are either the friendliest man on the planet,” I say, “or a world-class serial killer.” “Why not both?”

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.

Caught up. There will always be a Petra. Someone more interesting, someone more fun, someone who needs less, or offers more.

The softness in his eyes and voice makes me feel like something inside my rib cage is tearing. I don’t want to hurt him. I just don’t want him to hurt me either. I can’t let myself be absorbed into this.

“You deserve a better dad. I wish I could give that to you.”

“Honey.” She laughs. “I’m a cynic. And a cynic is a romantic who’s too scared to hope.”

Life’s short enough without us talking ourselves out of hope and trying to dodge every bad feeling. Sometimes you have to push through the discomfort, instead of running.”

A surprise, it turns out, is different when it comes from someone who knows and loves you.

I honestly can’t totally figure out why someone as good as you would love me, when I can be kind of a pessimistic asshole. But I do feel like the luckiest person in the world, to be who you want. Because I want you too. I love you too. I love you in a way that feels brand-new. You make every single thing that went wrong feel like it was just a step in the right direction, and it—it makes me excited. For life to keep surprising me.

“Funny story . . .” he says, but he doesn’t go on, just watches me and waits. He knows how much I love to tell it.