Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Yes. I said notecards. I discovered in college that when under pressure and facing something life-changing, such as a thesis in a room full of judgmental people, my mind doesn’t really work like others do. I spent half of that day teetering between being out of my mind and curling up in a ball in the corner of my room. Just thinking about it has my heart speeding toward panic. So, when something like this has to be done, I write the important things on notecards and use them. I know it makes me look weird and such, but I don’t care.
One by one, I run through them, closing my eyes and saying them out loud in a whisper, and then open them and make sure I was right. I am on the fifth round of reviewing them like an insecure teenager when my phone rings. I smile immediately because ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ blares in the plane, and even though I know my phone should be off, I answer it anyway. “My girls!” I say, looking at the beautiful faces of my six best friends.
“Hey girlie, how are you?” Hope asks, glowing into the phone. My eyes water seeing the love and support from all of them. They know everything there is to know about me, and when I told them about this trip over a group text last night, they must have all decided to call me. I love them.
“Exactly how you expected, which is why you all called. I am a nervous wreck.”
“I don’t know why. You are the best in your field. Have you forgotten all the offers from around the world, different preservation organizations asking you to bring your brilliant brain to their side? We haven’t,” Sassy says before dropping the phone. My face scrunches up because we all know what she is doing.
“That is the one part of my pregnancy I don’t miss,” Hope says, rubbing her burgeoning belly.
“I second that,” Jinny says.
“I third it,” Scarlett says, laughing, waving her hand. I can’t help giggling at how silly we all sound, but that is the thing about all of us; with one another, we can be who we are. All of my friends, Sassy included, are at varying stages of pregnancy. Hope is the furthest along at six months, followed by Jinny at five, Scarlett at four, and Cheryl at three; her morning sickness just stopped. Then we have Rose, who ironically is as far along as Cheryl but never got morning sickness, and Sassy is just six weeks along. It was always all of our dreams to be in our careers, find our husbands, and have babies raising them together as best friends. So far, I am the only holdout, and I don’t see that changing. I come with so much baggage a cargo plane wouldn’t be able to take off, let alone a man being able to carry it.
“Listen, we all have to get back to work, but we wanted to wish you luck and remind you that you are fabulous and can do anything. We love you,” Cheryl says, waving into the phone.
“I love all of you as well.” Once I hang up, I sit back more relaxed, close my eyes, and think of all I have accomplished and overcome. I attribute a lot of it to therapy. I started going when I was sixteen, and a boy at school humiliated me in front of the entire junior class. I tried to kill myself that night, but the vice-principal was locking up and found me in the girl's bathroom long after everyone should have gone home. I had slit my wrists and fainted from the blood loss. Can’t even do that right.
It didn't get better from there. The girls ridiculed me for being weak and unpretty. They would tease me and call me names in the locker room at the gym. Thankfully, It never got physical, but the mental torture was more than enough.
“Prepare to land ma’am.” The pilot shouts over the engine. Bracing myself, I close my eyes and hum under my breath. What feels like mere seconds later, he is opening the door to let me out.
“Thank you.” I tell him, taking the hand he has offered. The rest of the trip is uneventful and quick. Standing outside of the building, I look up, and even though it can’t be more than three stories tall, it looks intimidating, and my hands are starting to sweat. Get a grip, Summer. He is just a man behind a desk. I did look him up the other day, thinking it would help with my anxiety to know what to expect, and although I can tell he is younger than I expected, he looked average and non-threatening. He was handsome, I guess, but something about his eyes was sad. It made me feel a little better.