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Gloria coughed. “But do you know how I got through it?”
I took a sip of wine. “You pulled yourself up by your bootstraps?”
Gloria scoffed. “No. Vodka. One shot every day at 5 p.m. on the dot.”
We dissolved into laughter. I couldn’t believe I was actually bonding with my mother-in-law, who only an hour earlier I thought didn’t much care for me.
Gloria picked up a stringy piece of chicken with her fingers and placed it in Aubrey’s waiting mouth. “Ashley, there’s no way around it. Motherhood is hard. And you young moms put more pressure on yourselves than we ever did, with your crafts and your activities. Do you know what we called crafts when David was young? Chores. We didn’t play with our kids, we sent them outside. All day. They’d only come back in when the streetlights came on. You moms have it different. You’re expected to be on 24/7 and look good doing it. My advice is this. Stop being so hard on yourself. And drink more vodka.”
I giggled again, this time with a mouthful of noodles.
Gloria and I watched as Aubrey gummed the chicken.
“When are you going to get some teeth, baby girl?” Gloria teased.
I shrugged.
Aubrey began to fuss and I realized it was almost her bath time.
I stood up. “I should get her ready for bed. Feel free to keep eating. I’ll bring her out after her bath.”
Gloria stood and held Aubrey close. “Absolutely not. This is your time. Put your feet up and eat your dinner. I’ll put her down to bed tonight.”
I was speechless. I blinked back the wetness that was rapidly rising behind my eyes.
“Thank you, Gloria. For everything. Thank you for coming tonight.”
Gloria smiled and squeezed my shoulder. “You’re welcome. I know I’m not your mom, and I know you wish she lived closer, but I’m here for you. Remember what I said. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself, and don’t forget...”
“The vodka,” we said together.
Gloria kept her word and didn’t leave until Aubrey was breathing heavily, her chest rising steadily. We stood together, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law in the darkened doorway, and just watched her, splayed out in her pink bunny sleeper.
I peeked over at Gloria, and for the first time wondered if I’d gotten her all wrong. She had come through for me.
As we walked down the stairs I felt the need to say something. I needed to cement this moment in history as the turning point in our relationship.
She was putting on her coat when I cleared my throat.
“Gloria, I just wanted to say thank you...thank you for coming tonight. It means a lot.”
“Think nothing of it,” she said, slipping her arm into her enormous fur coat. “I’m actually glad you called. From now on, whenever David is working late, I’ll be right here with you.”
What?
She continued. “Don’t worry, I’ll get David’s schedule directly from him so you don’t even need to call next time. I’ll pop right over.”
I tried to keep my mouth affixed in smile formation. “That’s...great, Gloria. Okay. Thank you.”
What had I gotten myself into?
When Gloria left, I sank onto the couch and opened up my phone, hoping to see a text from David. It was already 8 p.m.
Nothing. I clicked through to Instagram and pulled up Emily Walker’s page.
She’d just posted a photo of herself with the twelve moms in Motherhood Better Bootcamp and their kids. They were standing in the lobby of her New York office, a gaggle of excited mothers, babies in strollers and a few older children. I’ve seen her office plenty of times on her Instagram; it’s baby pink and white, and has silver accents. She calls the lobby “the Pavilion” and has posted loads of photos of her two youngest children, Sage and Willow, eighteen months and three years, crawling around on the Shibori Jasmine wood floors next to celebrities, chefs and athletes. The moms all looked so happy in their pink shirts monogramed with Emily’s EW logo in white calligraphy.
I wasn’t jealous at all. No really, good for them.
Maybe I should make myself a T-shirt for Operation Perfect-ish Mom. No, that’s just pathetic. And it means more laundry.
I sat on the couch and pulled out Motherhood Better.
Too many moms depend on alcohol to relax and let off steam. I prefer yoga and sunbathing.
I took a long sip of wine. I was about to turn the page when the home phone rang.
“Dang!” I hissed, running toward the kitchen receiver. I’d forgotten to put it on silent for the night. What if it woke up Aubrey?
I skidded into the kitchen and breathlessly picked up the phone.
“Hello?” I said, annoyed.
“Is this Ashley Keller?” a woman’s voice asked.
Oh, no, was this about my credit card?
“Um, no... I’m...her nanny...may I take a message?”
“Yes, this is Rebecca Anderson, assistant to Emily Walker.”
I dropped the phone. Or threw it, rather. Rebecca Anderson? Emily Walker? I had to be dreaming. This was a dream.
I ran over to the sink where I’d thrown the phone and picked it up.
“I’m so sorry. Um, Ashley actually just walked through the door. Let me get her. One moment, please.” I put the phone down on the counter, and with my heart beating out of my chest, tiptoed over to the kitchen table. I then stomped over to the counter, pretending I was just entering the room.
“Hello? Ashley Keller speaking,” I said, trying to sound casual even though my voice cracked.
At this point, my heart was pounding so loudly I was afraid she could hear it.
“Hello, Ashley. This is Rebecca Anderson, assistant to Emily Walker of The Emily Walker Show. I’ll get right to the point. I’m calling you today because a spot in the Motherhood Better Bootcamp just opened up and you are next on the list.”
I think I passed out. She kept talking but I didn’t hear anything she said. At one point the line went quiet.
“Hello? Are you there? Can you do it?”
“YES, YES, I CAN DO IT. YES, PLEASE!” I scream-whispered into the receiver.
I still can’t believe any of this happened. Turns out, one of the moms was a “dog mommy” and didn’t have a human child, which got her disqualified.
I’m in. I’m actually in. I missed the kick-off party at Emily Walker’s studios, but the program officially starts tomorrow so I didn’t miss anything!
I slid down to the kitchen floor. It was happening. I was in.
“Hello? Are you there?” Rebecca’s voice spoke through the receiver.
“Yes, yes, I’m here,” I said, struggling to compose myself.
“As a member of the Motherhood Better Bootcamp, you’re required to attend weekly video chats with Emily Walker and the rest of the team. You missed the introductory one, but the first real chat is tomorrow morning at 10 a.m.”
“Uh-huh,” I responded, brilliantly. I felt like I was in a dream. Could I be dreaming? I looked around the kitchen at the empty takeout boxes. No, if I were dreaming my kitchen would be cleaner.
Rebecca kept talking. “In six weeks, you’ll be flown out to the gorgeous Napa Valley in northern California for the closing reception and a special taping of The Emily Walker Show. The $100,000 grand prize winner will be announced live. Is all of this something you can do?”
“Yes. I can do this,” I said, trying not to float away.
“Great. I’ll send the details to your email shortly.”
“Okay, thank you, Rebecca. Please hug Emily for me.” Did I just say that?
“I, um, okay. Goodbye.” The phone clicked off.
I sat there on the living room floor trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Tomorrow I would talk to Emily Walker face-to-face. Tomorrow was the first day of my new life.
Thank you, fairy godmother.
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