Happy Place

by Emily Henry

For Noosha, who made it safe to be me, and who regularly answers the question “Why not?” with “Because I don’t want to.” I love you, always.

feeling like a woman in a tampon commercial: overjoyed, gorgeous, and impossibly comfortable—ready for any highly physical activity,

nothing could have stopped me.” “By which you mean, you ran out of there mid–brain surgery,” Sabrina says. “Of course not,” I say. “I skipped out of there mid–brain surgery. Still have the scalpel in my pocket.”

“God, I’m so sorry—ever since Ray got sober, I swear he flies like a dying bumblebee.” I ask, “How did he fly back when he was still drinking?” “Oh, the same.” She hops in behind the steering wheel, and I drop into the passenger seat beside her. “But his intercom banter was a fucking delight.”

He’s a golden boy. I’m a girl whose life has been drawn in shades of gray. I try not to love him. I really try.

“This started with you, Kimberly Carmichael,” Sabrina reminds her. “Lots of things start with me. That doesn’t make them good ideas.”

Our love is a place we can always come back to,

“Oh, Harriet. Sabrina can’t help it that she’s most comfortable in Gucci.” Sabrina scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is Chanel.”

“Love means constantly saying you’re sorry, and then doing better.”

“What if all I really want is you?” “Right now,” he murmurs.

“Are you saying I can come home?” “I’m saying,” he murmurs softly, “it’s not home unless you’re there.”

“I love you,” I tell him. “In every universe.”