THIRTEEN
I’m Just Tessa From the Block
Tessa - 16 Weeks
It’s been a week sincemy parents moved in, and I have to say, it’s been anything but ‘wonderful.’ The phrase ‘cringe-worthy’ would be more accurate. Irritating. That’s another word I could use. God awful. That fits, too. Yesterday, my mum burst into my office when I was meeting with Lady Yvette Champlain, the sixty-year-old blue-blood who heads up the Avonian Literacy Foundation.
When Mum found out what type of charity we were discussing, she told us a rather long, rambling story about her cousin Rose’s best friend who had trouble learning to read but has now gone on to be an English teacher, of all things. Or was it maths? She wasn’t sure, ‘but the point being a child can learn to read, even if they have some trouble, and my, what a lovely scarf you’re wearing. Tessa you could never get away with such a dark yellow close to your face. You’d look positively green. Speaking of green, did Tessa tell you how bad her morning sickness has been? Just terrible. I’ve never seen someone puke as much as her...’
By the time she was done talking, I was running late for my next meeting and we had to reschedule for another date because we hadn’t gotten past item one on the agenda, so that was terrific.
Breathe, Tessa, breathe. Try to remember all the things for which to feel grateful...such as the fact that I’m no longer a human barf generator. I honestly am really frigging happy to be able to smell and/or eat again. (Oh, and I just used the word ‘frigging’, so things are really looking up in the ‘be the best princess you can be/preparing to be a mum who doesn’t swear like a trucker’ thing. Hmm, do truckers swear all that much? I don’t know any personally, but it seems like they get a bad rap about the whole potty mouth thing. There must be some really religious truck drivers out there who are hurt by the assumption, no?).
Anyway, I’ve been ‘stress’ eating like crazy, but this morning I decided it has to stop. I’m not even five months along, but at my last appointment with Dr. Dropp, she said I’m measuring more like I’m at thirty-two weeks. That’s, like,a lotof weeks ahead of schedule. She said at this rate, I’ll gain close to one hundred pounds, which will take over a year to take off. So, that terrified me enough to give up the sweets. Maybe even permanently. I don’t want to jinx it by saying anything out loud, but I think this could be a total lifestyle change for me. Xavier’s going to be so proud.
Oooh, are those scones I smell? My new secretary, Gillian—who is a real gem by the way–must have ordered some for me. I hear a knock at the door, and in she walks with a tray of my favourite morning treat. Along with my growing appetite, I’ve developed an incredibly keen sense of smell—almost like a superpower, really. If this keeps up, I could become ‘Amazing Olfactory Savant Girl!’, flying over neighbourhoods sniffing out gas leaks and calling out things like, “That chicken is done. Take it off the barbecue!”
Of course, with any superpower comes a downside, which I discovered yesterdayen routeto Arthur’s office. I could smell Vincent before I rounded the corner and walked into the outer office, where his desk is. It was kind of awful, actually. I had to stop myself from gagging when he came over to greet me.
But seriously, why does he smell of blue cheese? I Googled it, hoping to find some medical explanation, but there was nothing to find. I did discover, however, that people who have typhoid smell of baked bread. How lovely wouldthatbe? Not having typhoid, obviously, that doesn’t sound very nice, but walking around smelling that delicious all the time. You’d be like Snow White to forest animals, except it would be every person everywhere you go, rushing to sit near you.
“Hello, Your Highness. Brought you a snack to get you through until lunch.” Gillian is like the mother I never had—a supportive one who believes in me. She has short, strawberry blonde hair and wears very sophisticated, if not slightly matronly, suits (turns out she has the same pair of kitten heels I do). She also has a warm voice with an Irish lilt I find very pleasing. Sometimes I’m tempted to ask her to singWhiskey in the Jarto me, but I have a feeling that might be beyond her job description.
“Now eat up. You need to make up for lost time. For the baby’s sake.”
“You don’t think I’m getting a little...big? I was just thinking that maybe I should slow down on the scones.”
Gillian laughs like that’s the most absurd thing she’s ever heard. “Oh now, don’t be fussing about your weight. You need to eat and rest. That’s how you grow a proper healthy baby.”
When she puts it that way...
She sets the tray down, and I see not one, but three scones, still steaming, and a stack of butter in a tiny cup next to the plate. “You’re a real life saver, Gillian. Thank you.”
“I’ll hold your calls so you can rest a bit and eat. You’ll need to leave at one-thirty for your hair appointment, but first you’ve got a conference call with the people from the Society for the Ethical Treatment of Lawyers.”
“Yuck. Is that today?”
“Afraid so.”
“I mean, honestly, do they really need a charity? If they wanted to be treated better, maybe they shouldn’t go around suing everyone all the time.” I take a deep breath, inhaling the heavenly scent of cinnamon and apples.
“Ridiculous, really,” she says, shaking her head. “But at least you and Prince Arthur will have a lovely evening out as a reward.”
“That’s true. Oh, was the seamstress able to take out the dress?”
“Not enough, I’m afraid, but she’s whipped up another one to suit you better. Same lovely design, just new proportions to fit the baby.”
“Isn’t that nice of her?” I definitely should not eat these scones.
Gillian waves a hand at my plate. “Go on, then. You’ll need a lot of energy to get you through the day.”
“I never thought of that. Itwillbe a long evening,” I say, tearing a piece of the scone, then swiping some butter across it with a knife.
Three scones and one conference call later, I hurry to the limo so I can make it to my appointment on time. As soon as I’m settled in the back, I text Nikki to tell her I’m on the way. I’m far too excited about getting my hair done, but honestly, I’m badly in need of an ego boost. On Sunday, I had breakfast, then ordered another plate of crepes an hour later, followed by a bag of crisps shortly after. Arthur made a crack about me having the same eating schedule as a Hobbit.
I glared for a long time while he said, “You know, Hobbits? They eat breakfast, then second breakfast, then elevenses...”
I don’t think he’ll make that comparison again.
