Funny Story

by Emily Henry

I’m not sure what parts of me are him and which parts are genuinely my own. And I want to know.

want to know myself, to test my edges and see where I stop and the rest of the world begins.

“everything worth doing comes with some risk.”

“I know it’s a cliché,” he says after a minute, “but being on the water always does feel like what I imagine church is for some people.”

“And it’s not a day to celebrate progress, anyway,” I insist. “It’s a day to celebrate existence. We have to do something.”

“But if I’ve learned anything from parenting, it’s that it matters way more that you’re present than that you’re perfect. Just be here, really be here, and the kids will love it.”

spent so much time accustoming myself to one kind of surprise—the kind hinging on disappointments, hurts, small abandonments, and emotional bartering—that I’d stopped considering there might be any other.

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