Our lives are in an uproar since Monday. So I’m especially susceptible to freaking-out sequences.

Yesterday, I checked my Gmail and had a few emails that at first looked like sophisticated spam. One was from Rachel Sherman, the author of the last book I finished, a collection of short stories called The First Hurt. The latest email in this surprising series was from a very nice woman who explained that our addresses were super-close and she’d mistakenly put mine in as an RSVP for a party she was throwing.

I told her that I’d enjoyed Rachel Sherman’s book, and she replied that she was especially happy to hear that as she’d published it. And would I like one of Open City’s books as a thank-you for the “trouble” of the email mixup?

I’m a major fan of Open City — they’ve published work by some of my utmost favorite authors like David Gates, Mary Gaitskill, Vestal McIntyre, and so many others.

This weird, random electronic contact has been a small bright light in a week that has been all kinds of horrific.

Here’s to the unintentional comfort Open City provided during one of the worst weeks of my life.