Page 54 of Not My Finest Hour

I head to the bathroom first, making a point not to stare at my reflection too long because I’m not going to like what I see. In the mirror, I see the face of a person who didn’t sleep a wink. There’s the telltale bags under my eyes, the red-rimmed eyelids, and sallow skin. I also see the face of someone who should’ve kept her mouth shut last night.

Why did I have to bring up Justin’s schedule? Why did I have to add fuel to his fire? I have no explanation other than I was being a brat and felt the need to defend myself. I shouldn’t have said what I did.

Justin was right. I should’ve been upfront with my friends because there’s nothing to be ashamed of. His career choice is a noble one, and I should be proud of him—which I am. I just hope that with enough time, we can talk about what was said and move on from here. No matter what, we’re connected now, forever intertwined. Whether or not we continue our romantic involvement, I’ll leave that up to him. Maybe he thinks our differences can’t be overcome.

From my closet, I grab the nearest sweatshirt and sweatpants and head to the kitchen for something to eat. Since I only ate half my meal last night, my stomach is already grumbling. Fern is in the kitchen at this early hour, and the scent of whatever she’s making elicits a roar from my stomach, loud enough for her to hear.

“I take it you’re hungry?” she says with a laugh.

“A little bit. I didn’t eat much last night,” I say, sitting down in one of the kitchen chairs.

“Is something wrong?” she asks while stirring a pot on the stove. “You didn’t say anything when you came home last night, and you didn’t seem like your usual self.” A line forms between Fern’s brows, and I know she’s trying to figure out what happened.

“I really put my foot in it with Justin. And Chelsea and Lorelei didn’t help things either.”

“You’re going to have to explain,” Fern says.

So she has a better understanding of the situation, I give her the breakdown of everything that happened last night, starting from when we entered the restaurant. I don’t miss a single detail because they’re all permanently etched on my brain. But I don’t like the look on her face when I tell her what I said in the car last night. She doesn’t say it, but I know she’s thinking that I screwed up royally.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” I say, inwardly cringing while I await her response.

“It’s bad. But it’s not this-can’t-be-saved bad. What you said wasn’t fair, but it just brought to light your frustration with his hectic schedule. And while I know his schedule can’t be helped, maybe he needed to hear that what you’re really wanting is to be able to spend more time with him. It was worded very poorly, but that’s all you’re asking for.”

“Do you think we can salvage things?”

“Of course. I don’t think this is the end for you two. I mean, it can’t be, right?” she says with a laugh. She’s making light of me being pregnant, and I should be mad that she’s doing so, but her joke makes me chuckle.

“You’re hilarious,” I say with an eye roll.

“But as for your friends…I think they should apologize to him. It wasn’t right of them to make him feel awkward, especially since that was the first time they met him. From what you said, they acted like Justin was a trained assassin, or something like that. Being an ob-gyn is far from the weirdest profession for someone to have.”

“I know,” I say, nodding along. “You’re right. They acted like total idiots last night, and their behavior was uncalled for. They need to make it right.”

“Well, now that we got that out of the way, do you have any plans for today?”

“You mean other than moping around the house and feeling sorry for myself?”

“Yeah, you’re not going to do that. You’re going to have breakfast with me this morning, then you’re going to take a shower and make yourself presentable because right now, you look like a train wreck. Then you and I are going to go shopping,” Fern says, propping a hand on her hip.

“Do I get a say in this?” I’m pretending like I’m irritated at her planning my whole day for me, but really, I’m grateful for some direction. I definitely need something to occupy my time, and it seems as though Fern understands this and that’s why she’s being so bossy.

She shakes her head. “No, you don’t get a say. That’s what’s happening and that’s final.” She gets two bowls from the cupboard and spoons hot cereal into them. Then she tosses some blueberries on top and places one in front of me, setting the other bowl across the table for herself.

I dip my spoon into the bowl. “Did you make this oatmeal like Mom?”

“With tons of brown sugar and butter?” she asks, flashing me a smile. “Of course. Anything else would just feel wrong.”

I love that Fern knows just what to do to cheer me up. “Thank you for this. It means a lot to me.”

Later that morning,Fern and I are browsing the shelves of a local book store. I already went through the mystery and thrillers section and found a few gems to take home. But now, Fern and I are looking through the parenting books.

“What do you think? Are you more of aTaming Your Spirited Childor aFirm Hand, Obedient Childkind of a parent?” she asks, holding up two books.

I let out a giggle. “Neither. They both sound terrifying.”

“Okay. What aboutHands Off: Letting Your Child Lead the Way? Apparently, it’s a book on how to parent by not actually parenting. Your child makes the decisions.”

“And how does a baby make decisions?” I ask, because I’m genuinely curious.

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