Addison and Hollis are wealthy, successful, surrounded by people who want something from them. They are also deeply in love. “You are the best thing that ever has happened to me / You are,” says Addison. Then he adds, “Okay then, one of the best things that’s happened to me.” His self-correction is gratitude learning its own boundaries. Not hyperbole, not fantasy, but negotiated precision, with a twinkle in its eye.
Hollis matches him: “You might just be the best thing that has happened to me / So far.” Those hedges, that honesty… These men have lived enough to know that claiming certainty about best or forever is a category error. What they can thank each other for is what they can name: the boat, the beach, the moon, the decision to stay home. Theirs is a gratitude that knows its own scale, neither inflating the gift nor refusing it.