Daydream (Maple Hills, #3)
Hannah Grace
“But a Book is only the Heart’s Portrait—every Page a Pulse.”
—Emily Dickinson
A Letter from Hannah
Dearest reader,
I know you’re eager to get started, but I just want to set the stage before you dive into Henry and Halle’s love story. I said this would be a “quick note,” but as I sit here and work out what I want to say, I can tell it isn’t going to be, so buckle up.
Since I first published Icebreaker, I’ve received so many messages asking if Henry will receive a diagnosis to explain the traits that I’ve always called “neurodivergent coded.” The short answer is no, he doesn’t.
Some of you might be thinking, okay? Cool? I could have read the book to find that out… but I know many of you feel represented by Henry, or might be on a journey of your own, and knowing this ahead of time might be important to you.
I’ve always said I wouldn’t write a diagnosis storyline, so this shouldn’t be a shock to the ones who have followed me for a while. There are so many reasons why, but aside from the real-life obstacles Henry might face in the health-care system, the main reason is people live fulfilled lives every day without an explanation for why they feel different.
It doesn’t make anyone, their wants, or their needs less valid to not have a medical diagnosis.
Henry and his actions have always been loosely based on my own and it’s taken thirty years to receive my AuDHD diagnosis, something I did not have when I started writing Henry. When I was twenty like Henry, frustrated and upset because it felt like my brain just would not work properly and I was suffocating, at no point did anybody think it could be something more than the anxiety and depression I was diagnosed with.
I’ve been very honest that this book was difficult for me to write. I wanted to get it right for you all, and more important, I wanted to get it right for Henry.
I put a bit of myself in every character I create: Anastasia’s anxiety, Nate’s self-sacrifice, Aurora’s need to be wanted, Halle’s loneliness, and the internal scars Russ has because of his father’s gambling addiction. I’ve spent a lot of time worrying about people understanding Henry for the parts of him—parts of me—that shut down or need to be alone. The part of me that exhausts herself mirroring those around her and soaking up their characteristics like a sponge. The part of me that tries so hard and still gets things so, so wrong.
Ironically, the pressure I put on myself to not let you all down was possibly the most Henry thing I could do.
I believe Henry is the character who has changed the most since I created him, but that’s because I’ve changed so much since I gave you all Nate and Stassie.
I hope you read this story and see a man who loves the people around him, and when it comes to conflict, you watch through a lens knowing not everyone thinks the same way.
I truly hope Daydream was worth waiting for.
Get comfortable, she’s a long one.
All my love,
xo, Hannah
Chapter One HALLE
“I THINK WE SHOULD BREAK up, Halle.”
Will’s somber expression looks ridiculous against the backdrop of my kitchen. The frills and florals once picked by my nana, always too sentimental and nostalgic for me to replace. Lemon-yellow cabinets, a DIY project undertaken after she learned to mix dry martinis at home with Mrs. Astor from next door. Joy, the Ragdoll cat Nana bought to celebrate me moving in, snoozing on the breakfast bar surrounded by crochet fish. The smell of the second batch of croissants, because I always ruin the first.
It’s all too domestic. Too unserious. Too normal to warrant his rigidness.
His eyes follow my every move as I remove the This Is Me Baking apron he bought for my birthday, like he’s waiting for me to have some kind of dramatic outburst. The tightness in his jaw accentuates the sharp angles of his face, and he looks nothing like the laid-back guy I’ve dated for the past year, and even less like my friend of ten years. No, this Will looks very much like a man on the edge.
After hanging my apron on the hook beside the stove, I pull a stool toward me so we can sit opposite each other at the breakfast bar. When I rest my face on my palm, I’m not sure if I’m intentionally mirroring him or if this is the result of knowing each other so long.
He reaches across the counter and takes my hand in his, giving it a tight squeeze, an encouragement. “Say something, Hals. I still want to be your friend.”
I need to say something. What I lack in experience, I make up for in common sense, so I’m fairly confident that breakups are a two-way conversation. I squeeze his hand back so I at least appear to be engaging with him. “Okay.”
This isn’t how I imagined my first breakup would go. I never expected to feel… nothing? I thought I’d physically feel my heart crack in my chest. That the birds would stop singing and the skies would turn gray, and while there is the emptiness I once imagined, it’s somehow not the same. I’m not necessarily sure it’s normal to imagine your first heartbreak, but I thought mine would be the tiniest bit interesting at least. But sadly, in line with my love life as a whole, this is bland. Nothing shatters and the sky is the same blue it always is here in Los Angeles.
“You don’t need to hold back, Hals. You can be honest about how you feel.”