Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Brianne and I were sitting in the middle of her living room floor on a cheap plastic tablecloth we'd spread over the carpet after pushing her coffee table out of the way. Several ceramic planters designed to look like teapots were arranged around us, and we had little pots of paints in a wide range of colors set out between us.
We'd been working on the decorations for a Mother's Day event I was helping organize at the community center where I taught adult classes, and these adorable teapots were Brianne's idea. They were also my favorite thing about the entire event so far, which would have been a major bummer if I'd been as wrapped up in the preparations as I usually was.
As it was, my mind had been drifting for the entire time we were together. I was looking forward to putting on the event for the families at the center, and I knew it would be amazing, but I couldn't stay focused.
"She was shaming you?" I asked.
I knew I sounded like I wasn't paying attention, and it made me feel terrible. Brianne and I hadn't hung out as much recently, and now that we were finally getting an evening together, I was distracted. I didn't want her to feel like I was ignoring her or didn't want to be spending time with her.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
I nodded. "Absolutely. Go on. Tell me about the shaming. What did she do?"
She eyed me for a second like she was seeing through me. It was the look women seem to inherit when they become best friends. It was somehow judgmental, suspicious, supportive, loving, and scathing all at once. Brianne had mastered it.
We kept painting the planters as her story gave me a glimpse into married life and the delicate politics of having a mother-in-law. I thought I was keeping up until she said my name again, and I looked up at her.
"What's going on with you?" she asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you've been painting that same pansy petal for the last ten minutes. And I just told you my mother-in-law wants us to promise to name the future child she insists arrive within the next year the traditional family name of Bergamot Montrose Merlot, and you didn't even flinch," Brianne said.
I didn't even know how to respond to that. My mouth opened, but when nothing came out after a few seconds, I closed it again. I thought, trying to come up with the right response.
"Bergamot like the soap fragrance?" I finally asked.
"That would be the one," Brianne said. "You didn't miss the second middle name, did you?" she asked.
"Oh, no, I got it. All that sank right in. I have a lot of questions." I sighed and put down my paintbrush. "I'm sorry. My mind is a million miles away. Well, three hundred miles away."
"That seems oddly specific," Brianne said.
I nodded. "Van Hope University. Three hundred and twelve miles from here."
"You heard back?" she asked excitedly.
I nodded. "Yeah."
"Congratulations! That's so amazing. We should be celebrating. Why aren't we celebrating?"
"I'm conflicted," I said.
"Conflicted? What do you have to be conflicted about? This is everything you've been wanting since you started your career, isn't it? I mean, you talked about that interview for weeks. Shouldn't you be thrilled?"
"I guess I should be. It's just that now that I have it, I'm not really sure it's everything I thought it would be. Not to mention how much it's settling in that I would have to move five hours away from everything I know," I said. "Things have been going so great with Camden, but it's only been a couple of months. Would it be even feasible to think about something long-distance?" I asked.
"Kristen, this is your life. Yours. It doesn't belong to anyone else and shouldn't be modified to suit anyone else. Look at me. I'm over here anticipating the apparently imminent arrival of little baby Bergie Champagne, but I'm not going to ask you to rethink the possibility of taking that position so you can be my doula," she said.
That helped me manage to crack a smile. "I'll still be your doula. Labor will probably last a long time, so you can call me, and I'll head on over."
"Don't you curse me with that," she said. "I want a movie-style labor. My water breaks, four screams and a long push later, and I look perfect if slightly damp with a clean baby in my arms."
"Do you also want the baby to be about two months old?" I asked.
"I'll leave that up to chance," she said. "But seriously, Kristen. You need to think about this. I know how much you care about Camden. He's a great guy, and the two of you are awesome together. But you've worked so hard. At least talk to him about it. See what he has to say."