“A private jet, huh?” I ask, looking up at the beautiful, shining plane.

“It’s ridiculous, I know,” Ollie says. “Terrible for the environment. Very, very extravagant.” He gives me a wink. “But I told you I’d do it.”

It’s true. He did tell me. I feel a strange rush of pride on his behalf. He really has accomplished exactly what he hoped to accomplish. But with that pride, there’s some jealousy too. I swallow it down.

“I’m happy for you,” I say.

He wraps an arm around me and squeezes.

“Let’s get you two crazy kids to Montana.”

THE JAM—NEWSLETTER

THE ZEN OF PUZZLING

I’VE BEEN PUZZLING FOR A long time.

It allows me a distraction from my own brain. To help me deal with occasional bouts of depression, of loneliness, isolation.

It gives me something to do that doesn’t require my full attention.

My perfect puzzling situation is this: Put on a movie after dinner, pop an edible, and puzzle until it kicks in. That usually happens when I can’t figure out what’s happening in the movie anymore and I’m staring at the puzzle board with my empty hand hovering above the pieces.

I like to start with the edges.

I want to create boundaries—context—for whatever I’m making. I want to know where it will end. This is not the most fun way to start a puzzle—or a project—and sometimes the edges can be a nightmare, but it’s the only way I know.

You never know if a puzzle is going to be good until you get into it.

The fun part starts when I know my limits. When I know what I’m working with. That’s when I begin sorting through my pieces, grouping them in order of color or pattern. I don’t put them down on the board—not yet—but I build piles of them outside the edges. Not quite ready to piece them together.

Until I am.

There’s no logic to it. There’s no reasoning. It’s instinct.

And there’s something deeply satisfying about finishing a puzzle. About placing that last piece, that satisfyingly soft snap of it fitting together perfectly.

That’s not my favorite part, though.

My favorite part is after I spread my hands over the smooth, assembled surface, marveling in the work I’ve completed, I then undo it all.

xoChani

Chapter 16

Chapter
16

“YOU KNOW”—OLLIE LEANS BACK IN his seat, one finger against his chin—“divorce suits you.”

“Jesus,” Gabe says.

“What?” Ollie elbows him before turning back to me. “It does. Your skin is glowing, your hair is luxurious. Everything about you is lighter, almost as if you got a five-foot-nine growth removed from your side.”

“Ollie,” Gabe says.

“He wasn’t five foot nine,” I say.

Ollie glances over at Gabe, and mouths, Yes, he was.

Gabe rolls his eyes.