#/ but he's spent his whole life in his golden bubble it's more of an abstract concept to him

[feyrevelry]

Sylverian, when someone tells him most people need to work for money / have no money at all:

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 15: A Home

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Mrs. Gold puts herself to bed

Read on AO3

Mrs. Gold rested her forehead against the passenger window of the squad car. The cold glass gave her something to focus on. Something real and solid in this swirling haze of booze and impossible facts.

Sheriff Swan was driving her home. Graham had done this, more times than she could remember. Whenever she was out making too much trouble to ignore, Graham would take her back to Mr. Gold. 

Emma Swan was taking her away from him.

Graham had always been quiet, but Emma kept trying to talk. Mrs. Gold kept her face to the window and let the words wash over her. 

“I know it’s hard to get out of a bad relationship. I can’t imagine what it’s like to get out of a bad marriage. But it’s really important that you learn to put yourself first. Put your own safety first. And if that means walking away--then you just gotta do the brave thing.”

Do the brave thing and bravery will follow. 

The words felt weird in her head, foreign and familiar at the same time. Like something she had known once, but forgotten. What was she remembering it from? A movie? Some hokey book she’d read as a kid?

Mrs. Gold had never cared much about being brave. It didn’t take courage to do what Mr. Gold ordered her to. If she was being honest with herself, she did tend to obey him out of fear--fear of disappointing him, fear of his disdain. Fear of losing everything he gave her, especially those scant, precious fragments of himself.

“And I will help you! I just need you to tell me you need help.” Emma Swan was still talking. “Just give me a reason. I’m not afraid to use excessive force.”

She looked up. “On Mr. Gold?”

Emma pulled into the driveway of Mr. Gold’s house and parked the car. “Why not give a wife beater a taste of his own medicine?”

“He’s is not--”

“Yeah, but he’s not a responsible dominant either,” Emma cut her off. “The kinky stuff is based around trust, so you gotta find someone who’s trustworthy. Good for you if you like pain play, but for the love of God, don’t give that kind of power to someone who isn’t going to care about you.”

“I told you in the station, the problem isn’t how Mr. Gold uses me. The problem is that he hasn’t done anything with me in months!” Fighting off tears, Mrs. Gold unbuckled her seat belt and tried to bolt out of the car.

She got two steps toward the house before everything got all spinny again and she had to slow down. Before she knew it, Sheriff Swan was beside her, holding her up by the elbow.

“Okay, lightweight, whatever you say.”

Mrs. Gold jerked her arm away. “I’m alright on my own.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She was still walking beside her. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna tuck you into bed. Unless you invite me in or I have reason to believe a crime in progress, my jurisdiction ends at the front door.”   

“Whatever,” Mrs. Gold muttered. She had Mr. Gold’s keys in her coat pocket. The weight of them was like ballast on a sailboat. They steadied her. 

Emma followed behind her as she went up the porch steps. She waited by the door while Mrs. Gold fumbled with the keys. There were so many of them. Months ago, Mr. Gold had sent her out to have copies of the house and shop keys made for herself. That was one of the first strange things he’d done. Those keys were in her purse in the front hall. She still wasn’t used to letting herself come and go. Mr. Gold’s key was original to the house, a brass skeleton key from the 1890s. It wasn’t any trouble to open the door and walk in. 

“You gonna get the lights?” Emma asked.

“No,” Mrs. Gold held her head high. “I like the dark.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Guess that’s your choice. But before I go, I gotta say it again: Call me, if you need help. Or if you have questions about how other people do BDSM. Or if you just wanna talk. Okay?”

Safe in the darkness, Mrs. Gold gave a condescending smile and a nod. “Sounds great.” 

“Take care of yourself.”

“Sure,” she said. And shut the door. 

****

She didn’t turn the lights on as she made her way to the kitchen. Mr. Gold’s house was big enough and clean enough that she never worried about bumping into things or stumbling over a pile of clutter. Nothing like the place where she’d grown up--cramped and filthy, piled high with junk. They never wanted to throw anything away. You never knew when you might need something that you hadn’t used in ten years, but you knew it was wrong to waste money on getting a new one when there was a perfectly good one around here somewhere. 

Mr. Gold’s house was a better home than her father’s house had ever been.

She didn’t stop moving until she got the refrigerator. Wincing against the blinding light, she searched for a bottle of sparkling water. She put the cool glass against her swollen eyes and sighed. She kicked away her heels and leaned against the refrigerator door. When she drank, the bubbles popped sharply against the inside of her mouth. It was a needle-sharp pain, soothing in its way.

She’d never drunk sparkling water before she met Mr. Gold. They always used the tap, and if it tasted like dirt or sand, well that was just extra minerals. Not like they could do anything about it. If it tasted like chlorine or carcinogenic runoff from some factory upstream, they couldn’t do anything about that either. People like them just had to keep drinking what life gave them because they couldn’t afford anything better.

She’d have to go back to that--if anything happened between her and Mr. Gold. If he decided he didn’t want to be married to her anymore. Their pre-nuptial contract was very clear: If the marriage ended for any reason, Mr. Gold kept everything. Even her clothes and jewelry. Even her wedding ring.

And her father would have to start paying rent again. She’d never hear the end of that. Of course, she never heard the end of it when Mr. Gold told him he didn’t have to pay rent anymore. Or, more specifically, that whether or not he had to pay rent was entirely up to Mrs. Gold.

The idiot florist had hated hearing that. Mr. Gold had given his daughter financial control of his shop and his house. She could waive the rent or charge him double or kick him on the curb and burn the buildings to the ground as she saw fit. Her father had sputtered and raged and sworn a blue streak when he’d found out. But marrying Mr. Gold meant she didn’t have to listen to his tantrums anymore.

Would he take her back? If Mr. Gold kicked her out, would she even have the option of living with her father again? 

He’d told her she could, on the day that she left. Her father had said that she could always come back. But she knew that he meant she could leave Mr. Gold and apologize for the unforgivable crime of liking sex. She could live with her father if she was willing to put herself on his idea of good behavior. If she never told him what she really thought about anything. If she was willing to cook and clean and slave away in the flower shop just so the two of them could have enough money to scrape by. Like she was a fucking teenager again.

Shitty as it would be to be back in that house, it was probably better than being homeless.

She finished the bottle and threw it in the trash. She still hadn’t turned on any of the lights. She could walk around Mr. Gold’s house blindfolded. In fact she had, many times. And on her hands and knees. And on a leash. And with a ten-inch dildo in every hole she had. That was how Mrs. Gold paid rent. 

Do you have somebody you can stay with tonight?   

Emma Swan’s words had been ringing through her head since she’d first heard them outside of Granny’s. She’d told the Sheriff that she didn’t have anyone. That was probably true. No one who would pick her up at the police station, at least. No one who would want to deal with her while she was drunk and emotional. No one wanted Mrs. Gold when she was at her worst.

Not even Mr. Gold. 

****

The door to the bedroom was open. The bedroom, where all this trouble had begun. She’d had a dream that her husband loved her, and when she’d woken up, she’d tried to make it real.

But he had been dreaming about Belle. 

Belle.

The name had a weird echo in her mind. The other woman. Her husband’s lover. The only other person she could blame for her unhappiness. Was Mr. Gold thinking about Belle now? Would he tell Belle that he had spent a night in jail?

Would he tell her he had done it so Mrs. Gold wouldn’t have to?

In the bathroom, she ran a washcloth under hot water and pressed it against her face. Most of her makeup had been cried off earlier, so the wash was more for warmth. When Mrs. Gold looked at herself in the mirror, all she saw was her own exhaustion. Red eyes, flushed cheeks, quivering lips. Even cleaned up, she was still a mess.

But Mr. Gold had put himself in jail for her.

She looked closer at her reflection, so close that she pressed her forehead to the glass. So close that she couldn’t see the whole of her face. She was just an abstraction, broken apart into pieces. What about her was worth that kind of sacrifice? What about her was worth anything? In the mirror, she was nothing but pink skin, dark lashes, sky blue eyes.

Mama’s eyes.

Mrs. Gold jerked away from the mirror like it had electrocuted her. Maybe it had. Something had to happen to make her hear a voice in her head.

It was her own voice. Only sadder, more gentle. That was how her thoughts had been in the squad car too. And she’d heard it before then. Off and on, in little flashes just like this. She’d been hearing it for weeks. 

If there was anything creepier than hearing a voice in your head, it had to be agreeing with that voice. It was right, she did have Mom’s eyes. Sky-blue, just like Uncle Peter and  Andrew used to have. Just like Janine and Chloe still did.

But she had never thought of her mother as mama. That sounded like something from some historical drama where everyone wore ball gowns and corsets. Maybe she was being possessed by the spirit of a Regency aristocrat. Maybe one of her past lives was trying to communicate with her from beyond the grave.

Or maybe she was very, very drunk.

She turned the light off in the bathroom and peeled off her dress, then looked around her armoire for something she could sleep in. Mr. Gold had never bought her any comfortable pajamas, only negligees and skimpy short sets. In the past--which Mrs. Gold was about two weeks away from thinking of as “the good old days”--she’d rarely worn anything to bed. Once they got home, the only reason she wore clothes was so Mr. Gold could take them off. Especially her lingerie. Mr. Gold liked nothing more than to rip her underwear off her body and leave her in tattered rags before he fucked her 

Mara Trudine probably couldn’t have kept Sugar ‘n’ Spice in business if Mrs. Gold hadn’t needed to restock on panties every week. Well, that was one way to help out an old friend. 

There was one long sleeved tee-shirt in her wardrobe. It was mostly see-through, with a pattern of red velvet roses dotting the thin red mesh. In the magazine, the model had worn this shirt with a camisole underneath. Mrs. Gold was lucky if Mr. Gold let her wear a bra when she went out in this shirt. 

But it was the closest thing to comfortable that she had. A pair of leggings would keep her legs warm. Mrs. Gold didn’t own any sweatpants or yoga pants--or any pants at all for that matter. Mr. Gold had always treasured the ability to grab her whenever he wanted her. Skirts and dresses provided the best access, so that was all he let her buy. 

She sighed. Of course, that was in the past. The way Mr. Gold was acting now, he might as well have bought her a space suit to wear around town, helmet and all.

This was the first night she’d ever spent alone in this house. This was the first time she’d ever gotten into this bed and not expected Mr. Gold to join her. As she pulled back the quilt, Mrs. Gold was struck with a memory from last night: Her husband, trembling with rage, throwing this same blanket over her body before he left. She had tried to make love to him. She had tried to pretend to be Belle, just to get him to touch her. And he had seen it as a betrayal, a violation.

He was right.                    

Mrs. Gold knew that she had done wrong. Her actions were not just immoral, but incorrect. In trying to force her husband to be near her, she had only made him want to be further away. He had run away from her to the guest bedroom. Run and hid, like she was a monster.

Emma Swan kept trying to protect Mrs. Gold, but she didn’t understand. Mrs. Gold hadn’t just done wrong, she was wrong. She was the wrong person. It felt like she always had been. Wrong as a daughter, wrong as a friend, wrong as a student, wrong as a girlfriend. 

Wrong as a wife. 

For as long as she’d been married, she had told herself that the feeling of wrongness didn’t matter. No one’s opinion of her mattered except for Mr. Gold’s. She didn’t have to be good at anything else, as long as she was the slutwife he wanted. But over the past several months, he had made it clear how little he wanted anything to do with her. Maybe he hated her as much as everyone else in Storybrooke did. 

She couldn’t sleep in this bed. This was their marriage bed. If their marriage was broken she’d be better off sleeping on the floor. At the very least, she would follow in Mr. Gold’s footsteps and run away to the guest room. There, she knew, she wouldn’t have the memory of Mr. Gold hating her. If he thought of Belle while he had waited for sleep last night, she didn’t know it for certain. She wouldn’t have to think about it. 

With the lights still out, Mrs. Gold went across the hall to the other bedroom. Mr. Gold’s dressing gown hung from a hook behind the door. She buried her face in the silk and breathed in his scent. Before she could think about what she was doing, Mrs. Gold had wrapped the dressing gown around her body. She pulled it tightly over her shoulders, hugging herself, pretending Mr. Gold was holding her. Pretending that Mr. Gold would ever hold her again.

This bed was smaller than the one in their room. It felt less empty with only one person in it. The pillow smelled like Mr. Gold’s hair.

I love you.

The voice in her head again, saying what she wanted to say. She had never told Mr. Gold that she loved him. Until recently, she didn’t know that she had. Now the knowledge was a burden. It was an ache in her heart, a hole that would never be filled. 

Everything was over.

****

He leaves her in a swirl of wine-red smoke, at exactly the stroke of midnight. He goes, to walk into a trap the two of them have all but set themselves. He goes, to keep her safe from his enemies. He goes, to lay down the final pieces of the plan that will--someday--lead to their complete happiness. 

As he leaves, he keeps his face turned away from her. She understands. When he gets to where he is going, he will have to wear the mask of a devious trickster. Tears would spoil the effect.  

Her eyes are moist as she watches him disappear. 

Candlelight reflects the golden sparkles in the skin of his hands, the glinting crinkles of his hair. His leather-clad back has a dark gleam to it. He keeps his shoulders straight, his arms poised--ready to put on a show.

She cannot look away from him. She would say that she is memorizing him, but she already knows him by heart.

They will be together again.

She must believe that, even when he is gone from their home. She trusts her husband. She trusts the plan they have made together. She trusts herself. She will ensure that they are together again. She can do the brave thing and know that bravery will follow. Though the power she has is small and meager, there is enough determination in her to move the world if she needs to.

If Rumple needs her to. 

She cannot stay staring at the place where he was. There is work to be done. Her husband is doing his part of the plan, now she must do hers. 

Since she is already in the dining room of their castle, her first task is to fetch the chipped cup. It sits in a place of honor on top of the magical cupboard that creates their meals. 

The sight of this cup never fails to make her smile. She had dropped it, on the first of many times one of her master’s orders had shocked her. For a time, it was a shameful thing for her, a sign of failure. Over time, she had decided that she liked his orders, and that she wanted him to give her more. She had offered him the imperfect cup, and he had understood what she had wanted--and he had given it to her.  

When she had left, her lover had destroyed this room. He had smashed all the plates and cups, except for this. Later, he told her that he had wanted to throw it against the wall, but instead he had broken down in tears. He had it clutched to his chest when she found him in the dungeons.

Since the wedding, the meaning of the cup changed again. Now they serve each other, whenever they wish to play. The cup is imperfect, but it is beautiful because of what it means to them. It was the first object they shared together, even before their wedding rings.

She holds it delicately, as she walks to the next room. The night is dark, but torches light at her approach. Even if they didn’t, she knows the way. The castle is her home, and she walks without fear through every hallway. 

The small room at the end of the corridor holds everything Rumple has of his son. There are clothes and toys and even a few battered schoolbooks. This is the boy that he lost a lifetime ago. This is the boy that he will destroy the world to get back. She has never met Baelfire, but she loves him. She will do anything she can to reunite her husband with his son.

If she could, she would take everything in this room. The memories are so precious. She would give them to the boy, once they find him. But her husband has given her specific instructions, and she trusts him enough to follow them. Magic can be fickle, especially when there are too many variables. If they ask it for too much, there is a greater chance that something might go wrong, and an even higher price to pay. They will only need one object of Bae’s to be able to find him in the new world. She can only take the shawl.

It is yellow wool, a little ragged and dirty from belonging to a young boy. Her husband knitted it himself. She feels the love that was woven into every fiber of it. 

She cushions the chipped cup against the shawl and holds both objects in one hand. With her other hand, she draws out a single glove from the pocket of her gown. It is a magic glove, made of black velvet and her husband’s golden thread. As soon as it is on her hand, she is transported to the next room.

This is a room with no door. It can only be entered by using her husband’s magic. This is where he keeps things safe, including his secrets. This is where he stores the remains of his life before he had magic. 

There is a wide bed, stuffed with straw. A rough-hewn farm table with a bench and pair of stools at either end. A spinning wheel wound with simple yarn instead of the gold her husband is famous for spinning. She looks over these furnishings with familiarity and with fondness. She has been in this room many times before.

Often enough to know where to find what she seeks. 

A small table serves the function of a desk. It is piled high with papers, mostly drawings. Rumple’s first wife drew pictures of their son when he was a baby. And when the boy had grown older, he had developed the same talent. 

Her mental image of Baelfire comes from a sketch he made of himself: Wavy dark hair and steady dark eyes, a boy who has already suffered and struggled more than he ought to have, a boy who smiles rarely, but is rarely afraid. She would rather take that drawing than handle what lies on top of it.

The dagger that controls her husband is an evil thing, but he has made her the mistress of it. When he proposed, he gave her the dagger, and submitted to her all the power of the Dark One. Together, they have studied its magic, tested its limits. While she does enjoy having some authority over her beloved, the thought of anyone else using the dagger on him--or hurting him with it--is enough to make her blood boil.

She cannot allow that to happen. She cannot allow the dagger to fall into any hands but her own or Rumple’s. This is the only weapon that can hurt him. She will never allow him to be hurt. She holds the dagger to her chest, just like the shawl and the cup.

She takes off the magic glove and finds herself in the tower room where her husband does most of his work. He knew that he was leaving, so he has put away most of his potions and equipment. 

He may never see these things again.

Tears burn in her eyes. Stumbling to his work table, she lets their things slip from her arms. Her satchel is up here, Rumple must have placed it in this room. He gave her this satchel, the last time they were separated. The last time she had to leave her home. It is brown leather, with a design of a red rose blooming among the thorns.

She sets the cup and the shawl inside the satchel. Then she takes the dagger and slashes the glove to shreds. Golden sparks and wine-red smoke emanate from the glove as magic destroys magic. Now she will never be able to enter the safest room again. But neither will anyone else.

Everything she needs to carry fits inside the satchel. She could probably fit the entire potions cabinet and her husband’s spinning wheel inside and never feel the weight of it on her shoulders. 

Her mission is done, but she has no will to rest. Their bedroom is at the bottom of the stairs below this tower, but she cannot bring herself to go there now. She has never slept a full night in this castle without her husband, without at least expecting him to join her. Their marriage bed is large and luxurious. It will feel so empty without him. She cannot sleep there.

 She wanders over to the window. A waning moon and hundreds of stars cast a soft glow over her husband’s spinning wheel. When he needs to think, he will spin straw into gold, working continuously from dawn until darkness. A day’s work fills up a bobbin of thread, and he has more bobbins than she could ever count. They mark centuries of pensive isolation. He starts every spinning day with one empty, and the work isn’t over until it’s full. 

 But when she looks at the flyer, a bobbin is already waiting there, half-filled up with gold thread. 

For a moment, she is perplexed. It is unlike Rumple to leave a loose end. But then she smiles. She understands. Her husband has left her with a message. An unfilled bobbin means the day is not done. There is still more work to do.

They are not finished yet. 

[aniray]

Where You Least Expect It...

Here's the first part of my 5 part story.

It's Tommy x Lizzie. A Modern Surrogacy AU

~*~

“I’m so nervous, Thomas.”

Tommy looked over a Grace. Her golden hair was falling a bit out of the neat ponytail she had put it in that morning. She was fidgeting with the brochure from the clinic. If she twisted it anymore, Tommy was sure the thing would tear apart. But he didn’t say anything. He simply reached over and pulled the brochure out of her hand.

“Thanks,” she sighed. But two seconds later she was running her fingers along her brow. “God, Thomas, we tried so hard. And we’ve spent so much on all of this. Should we have gone with adoption?” They had had this same conversation the night before, and last week, and two months ago. But the answer was always the same. Grace sat up straighter, her head lifting a bit in determination. “No, this is what I want for us. A baby that’s at least part you, even if it can’t be part me as well.”

It had taken Grace a long time to accept the doctors’ verdict that she wouldn’t have children. After months and months of hormone treatments and strict dieting and far too many nights of his wife crying herself to sleep, Grace had let go of the idea of carrying her own child. And then there were even more months of trying to harvest her eggs. But when none of them were viable, Tommy had to step in before depression stole Grace away from him.

So they had turned to surrogacy. It wasn’t quite what Grace had wanted- having to use another woman’s egg as well as her body. But it was the closest to what Grace wanted and could actually get. So Tommy had gone to information seminars. He had read up on the different agencies. And when Grace had picked a place and a girl, Tommy didn’t voice his own worries. This was what Grace needed and he needed her, so this was what they would do.

The GPS told Tommy to take the next turn. But he’d already memorized how to reach the facility. Planning was what he did when he was unsure about things. Take control wherever he could had always been his way, but even more so since this whole fertility process had started. Polly was annoyed about it. Arthur was pulling at the leash. And John had gone and fucked his way into early fatherhood.

Something Grace wouldn’t admit she was hurt and bitter about.

Another turn and the facility came into view. It was nothing special, just a plain brick building. But it was clean and highly recommended. And mostly it was discreet- something Tommy had insisted on even if Grace hadn’t been concerned. Business was doing well and that always brought people who would rather Tommy or his loved ones not be breathing.

Pulling into a parking spot, Tommy turned the car off and turned to face Grace. “You ready?” He watched the emotions flit across her face. It was something not many people got to see. Grace had been raised to keep her emotions to herself. And then she had worked as a financial security investigator. Succeeding in that world meant not letting CEOs and their like see you anything other than calm and in control.  So for her to show her fear and her anxiousness with him was just another thing to prove that they were supposed to be together.

“I don’t know. I just- I shouldn’t be nervous. It’s all been arranged. The papers have been signed.” She turned to look at him and Tommy felt a twinge in his chest at the tears in her eyes. “Its not even me who has to do anything. You’re the one about to…you know.” Tommy smiled. Always so proper.  “But what if we do it and she changes her mind? Or you change your mind? What if-“

“I’m not changing my mind. She won’t change hers, either. And even if she does, this baby will be a Shelby. That’s why we got a lawyer for all of this, remember?” Tommy tucked a few strands of her hair back up into her ponytail. “Now, come on. It would look a bit bad if we were late because we took too long in the parking lot.”

Grace gave him a smile- the one that always seemed to make his world a bit brighter. “You’re right. I’m ready.” With a quick nod, Tommy got out of the car and went around to open the passenger door. Grace didn’t hesitate. She got out and took his hand as he closed the door. She was calm and strong and beautiful walking beside him.

And he’d be damned if this all went to shit.

~*~

The clinic was cold.

It always was, but today it bothered Lizzie a little bit more than the other times she’d come. They had her sitting in a small conference room, waiting for the couple she’d agreed to carry for- the Shelbys. Grace and Thomas Shelby. Wealthy, and from what Lizzie had heard from a staff member, trying this before settling for adoption. She didn’t like that word- settling. It reminded her of too many decisions she’d made in her life. 

But that wasn’t really the point, was it? No, the point was, she was sitting in a cold room about to meet the people she’d be dealing with for the next ten months more or less. And she still wasn’t sure this was what she wanted. You already signed the damn papers, Lizzie. The thought didn’t make her feel any more ready for this. But she was a bit desperate.

Ryan, the asshole, had harassed her for years before she finally quit working for him. She had dealt with enough men putting their hands on her in her life. That’s why she had left her home town, club work and waitressing all behind her. And now she was leaving Ryan and his too small office and his too rough hands behind her, too.

“Don’t think about him. He doesn’t deserve it.” Standing up from the seat she was in, Lizzie paced the room. Everything was so…bright. The walls were white with framed pieces of abstract art to break up the monotony. The windows were frosted to let light in while keeping everything inside private. But stuck in the room alone Lizzie just felt like she had stepped into some Sci-fi horror movie. “Get a grip. It’s not that bad.”

She had just made her way to the far side of the room for the thirteenth time when she heard voices. Quickly, Lizzie went back to the seat she’d started in. Her heart was pounding suddenly. Her palms were sweating. This was it- there was no going back after those doors opened. A knock came half a second before the door opened. Dr. Stone came in with one of the office assistants right behind her.

And then she saw her- a well-dressed woman with her blond hair up in a high ponytail. This was the woman who would be raising the baby Lizzie was going to have. She looked so elegant. It made Lizzie a little self-conscious, honestly. But then a man stepped into the room and shut the door. He wore a very nice suit- obviously tailored for him. His expression was neutral, but Lizzie had a feeling it was an intimidation tactic more than lack of interest. She eyed the way he stood and realized that behind his respectable appearance, this man was dangerous.

Suddenly self-consciousness was replaced by trepidation. But Lizzie forced herself to smile. Dr. Stone motioned for the Shelby’s to take a seat and Lizzie watched as Thomas pulled out Grace’s chair for her. The two shared a quick smile and Lizzie looked away. It was barely anything, but it had felt intimate. She turned her attention to Dr. Stone. The woman stood at the head of the table as the assistant passed out three folders.

“Alright, let’s get started. First off, Ms. Stark,” she said turning to face Lizzie, “This is Thomas and Grace Shelby. They are the couple that we felt would be best for you.” Then she turned to the Shelbys. “Mr. and Mrs. Shelby, this is Elizabeth Stark. She will be your surrogate. We have done an extensive background check on both parties, the results of which are in your folders. The contract you signed is included as well, for your records.”

Lizzie shifted a bit in her seat at the mention of background checks. She’d told them about her past, she had agreed to the check, but it still made her nervous knowing these fancy people would see her entire life laid out on paper.  Mr. Shelby lifted his head and caught Lizzie’s eye. She forced herself to be still and focus back in on what Dr. Stone was saying. “We have already collected Lizzie’s ovum and it is ready for fertilization. That process will happen today after we collect Mr. Shelby’s sperm. At the end of this I’ll have the three of you sign a document stating that we went over all of this. And then in about three to five days Ms. Stark will come back in to have the embryos implanted.”

It all sounded so clinical. She’d known that, of course. She’d done the homework and all the reading. She’d even gone to see a lawyer about what rights she did and didn’t have during the pregnancy. But sitting there in that white room with the frosted windows, Lizzie couldn’t help feeling… Honestly she didn’t know what she was feeling. She heard Dr. Stone ask if there were any questions and she shook her head. She knew what happened next.

“Alright then. Mr. Shelby you can follow Erin and she’ll take you to a private room. A nurse will give you instructions.” Lizzie felt an absurd bubble of laughter rising. The idea of a nurse having to tell a man how to handle himself seemed a bit hilarious for some reason. But she bit her tongue and kept her head down until the man was out of the room. “Now that it’s just us ladies,” Dr. Stone continued, “I think it would be good for you ladies to discuss things. I’ve found that the women have the hardest time figuring out their roles in each other’s lives during this process. So I’ll leave you two to chat.”

Then she was gone, and Lizzie was alone with Grace.

~*~

She’s pretty.

It was the first thing that had entered into Grace’s head as she walked into the conference room. The second was that this baby wouldn’t have any features that could be ‘from’ Grace. She hadn’t really thought about it before, but perhaps subconsciously she had assumed the clinic would find a blond woman. Or at least someone with the same eye color that Grace had. But no, instead here was this green eyed, raven-haired, beauty.

A sliver of insecurity had threatened to rise when she saw Elizabeth Stark. Thomas had always preferred dark-haired women. It was something that his family never seemed to let her forget. And every woman who had ever impressed Thomas, especially in business, had dark hair. Most times it didn’t bother her- this obvious inclination her husband had. Most of the time she simply reminded his family that she, and not these others, had been the one Thomas married. But today- the day she felt so lacking as a wife and a woman- all she could see was dark hair.

Of course, Thomas barely glanced at Ms. Stark. Grace knew that he had no interest in the woman. And to be fair, the woman kept her focus on Dr. Stone.  But insecurity was not logical. So when Dr. Stone had left them alone to ‘chat’ Grace found herself trying desperately to keep all of the anxiety she felt from showing.

“So,” the other woman started. “Is there anything you want to ask me?” Grace fixed her eyes on the woman across from her. Her voice was soft, but her speech was more like Thomas’ when he was tired. Opening the folder, Grace skimmed the neatly printed words until she found what she was looking for. ‘Place of Birth: Small Heath, Birmingham.’  She preferred to be called Lizzie, the paper said. “I have a few for you, if that’s alright?”

Again Grace met Lizzie’s eyes. “Of course. What don’t you understand?” She could hear it- the ice that had crept into her voice. It was the tone she used in boardrooms and closed-door meetings with men who had too much power. And Lizzie didn’t like it. But for some reason Grace couldn’t bring herself to regret her tone.

“It says in the contract that I’ll be living in your guest house during the pregnancy.” Lizzie paused for a moment and Grace wondered if it was to collect her thoughts or to keep from running out of the room. “But it also said that if, once we met properly, either party wanted to renegotiate that…”

Grace arched a brow. “Are you suggesting that we let you live somewhere separate from us?” And she hated that she could hear her mother in her own voice. But it was a ridiculous idea. Surely Ms. Stark could see that. An incredulous smile came to Grace’s lips. “How would we know if something happened? This is not your child, Ms. Stark. This is mine and my husband’s child. Why would we allow a stranger to just go off with our baby?”

A flash of defiance showed in Lizzie’s eyes. She had sat up straighter in her chair, leaning forward a bit. “I understand your concern. But what exactly do you think I’m going to be doing at my place? Snorting blow and having orgies?” Grace’s nose crinkled at the mental image. “Listen, Mrs. Shelby, I’ll come by and visit every day. You’ll be at every appointment. But I don’t think it would be good to live so close together. I don’t want to get attached.”

She was trying to manipulate her. Grace could hear it. She could see it. But it didn’t make Lizzie’s point any less valid. And the last thing Grace needed was for Lizzie to decide that she wanted to fight for custody of this baby. Still, the idea of her not being just a walk across the lawn from her child… “No. I’m sorry, but no. Not this early. Maybe toward the third trimester-“

“I’ll be huge and tired and it’ll be too much trouble to move by then.”

But Grace didn’t back down. She couldn’t- not with this. She stared the other woman down, neither willing to give up their positions. But Grace had years of experience getting her way. And Lizzie Stark was not going to change that. “We’ll hire movers. You’ll never lift a finger except to get into the car when everything is finished.”

Lizzie lifted her chin and Grace prepared herself to fight whatever argument came next. Only one never came. Lizzie nodded slowly and leaned back in her seat. “Alright. No later than the start of the third trimester.” Then she stood up and walked out of the room.  Grace sat at the table, heart pounding. She gave up too easily. She had put Grace on the backfoot, as Thomas would say, and she didn’t like it.

Mostly she wondered if she’d just ruined a chance at getting through this in peace.

~*~

Grace was alone when Tommy got back. And she was upset. He could tell by the stiffness of her shoulders and the tilt of her head as she stood at one of the windows. He had seen the doctor on his way back to the little conference room. She told him that Grace and the woman- Ms. Stark- were having a chat. It had sounded friendly enough, but still he’d picked up his pace. And now he was glad he had.

“What happened?”

Grace turned from the window to face him and Tommy could see the fear she’d pushed away was back. “I just-“ Grace took a deep breath. “I think I’ve started something. Between me and the surrogate.” Tommy tilted his head in confusion. Grace’s shoulders slumped and Tommy watched her blink back tears. “She wanted to stay at her own place. Simple enough, right? And I said no. No, Tommy, don’t look like that. I told her ‘no’ the way my mother told you she wouldn’t be able to come to the wedding.”

Tommy winced at that. Mrs. Burgess has made no effort to hide how much she hated Tommy and his family and the fact that he had married her daughter. She hadn’t come to the wedding. And when she announced as much, she had been cold and disdainful and the most well-spoken bitch that Tommy had ever dealt with. And now Grace was telling him she’d treated the surrogate that way?

“Alright. So you were a bit cold to her. Why? We said it would be fine if she didn’t live with us. It’s in the contract that living arrangements were negotiable.” He hadn’t wanted to have any new people on their property- not even in the guest house. And Grace hadn’t seemed so set on it either. “I read the file, there’s nothing in there that says she shouldn’t be on her own.”

Grace rolled her eyes in exasperation. It was something she didn’t do often. “I know, Thomas. But I just hate the idea of her having our baby so far from us. I mean, we don’t know her. What if she smokes? What if she drinks and the baby is born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.” Tommy held in a sigh. He knew Grace- she didn’t think any of those things would happen. She was just nervous and trying to keep as much control as possible. It was something he’d done far too often to not see the signs.

Coming around the table, Tommy set his hands on Grace’s shoulders. “Stop. I didn’t want her at the house to begin with. But you agreed, if she wanted to stay at her own place she could.” His arms went around his wife and Tommy held her tight. “We’ve got her number. We’ll call, invite her to lunch one day. You can apologize-“ Grace scoffed and Tommy shook his head with a smile. “You can apologize and then the three of us can figure out the living situation. No big deal. Alright?”

He pulled back to see Grace’s face. Her lips were set in a pout and her eyes were red-rimmed, but she was still beautiful. “Yes, that’s fine.” She lifted up and gave him a quick kiss. “Thank you for calming me down. Thank you for all of this. I love you, you know?”

“I know. Now come on. We’ve got reservations for dinner.”

~*~

Four Days Later

Lizzie had just walked in the front door when her phone rang. Fishing it out of her pocket, her brows scrunched together as she looked at the unfamiliar number. It had been a long day. She had taken the day to go to the library and read up on what to expect during the first three months of pregnancy. It had been information overload. And then she had gone to the clinic for them to implant the embryos. It had been fairly easy, but now she couldn’t’ stop thinking about the fact that this was all real now. More real than it had been when it was just talk and paperwork.

So she wasn’t really in the mood for a bill collector or one of those scam calls telling her she’d won a free vacation to Aruba. So she tossed her phone on the sofa and made her way to the kitchen. There wasn’t much in it- rent came first these days. But that would change soon. The clinic had given her a check as she left from the Shelbys. It was to cover her food, rent, and utilities for the month- until it was confirmed that a baby would be showing up in approximately nine months.  

Standing at her mostly empty refrigerator, Lizzie pulled out the milk and a carton of strawberries. Turning to grab a glass from the cupboard, the sound of her ringtone came again. Setting the milk and berries on the counter she rushed back to the living room and snatched up her phone and answered. “Hello?”

“Is this Elizabeth Stark?” Lizzie tensed at the deep voice on the other end. It was the last voice she expected to hear. She pulled the phone from her ear and looked at the screen. The same number from a minute ago was on the display. Quickly she put the phone back to her ear. “Yes, this is she.”

There was a pause on the other end and she thought she heard someone else speaking in the background. “Good. This is Tommy Shelby. My wife and I were wondering if you’d like to join us for dinner one day this week.” Lizzie blinked, then blinked again. She hadn’t expected that. And she really couldn’t understand why Mrs. Shelby would want to see her. “Ms. Stark, are you there?” Mr. Shelby asked, a hint of impatience in his tone.

“Yes, sorry. I’m here. Um..” God, Lizzie, just fucking say no. Because she really didn’t want to see them before she’d gone back to the clinic. She wanted as much of her freedom as she could get before their lives became enmeshed. “Sure. I mean, that would be fine. Do you have a day in mind?” She hadn’t needed to read the file Dr. Stone had given her to know that the Shelbys had very busy lives. They might try to make it sound like this was all spur of the moment, but Lizzie knew better.

Another pause, then the click of someone typing. “Wednesday at six?” Lizzie got the feeling that she was not the one that question was being directed to. Not that it really mattered. She didn’t feel like she had much of a say in all of this anyway. Especially after how things had gone at the clinic with Grace. “So does six o’clock Wednesday work for you, Ms. Stark?”

“You can just call me Lizzie. And yes, that works fine. Where should I meet you?” She hoped it wasn’t anywhere too pricey. She didn’t want them to pay for her, but she also hated pretending she wasn’t hungry at places simply because she couldn’t afford more than water. So of course the place Mr. Shelby named was a fancy restaurant downtown. “Sounds good. See you then,” she replied, stomach twisting itself into knots.

“And Lizzie? Call me Tommy.”

Lizzie mumbled her assent and quickly got off the phone. She looked back at the screen, brain still processing the last…three minutes and twenty-six seconds. ‘Call me Tommy’ he’d said. Tommy- such an innocent sounding name. A name that made you think of little boys running after a ball or the shy kid in high-school who was always really sweet. But somehow when Mr. Shelby said it, all those thoughts disappeared. Instead you were left with that old school Mafia vibe. Darkness and danger wrapped up in every syllable.

“Great, Liz, just great. You’ve really stuck yourself with quite the pair, haven’t you?”

~*~

Tommy motioned for the waiter to bring him another whiskey.

So far dinner had been awful. Lizzie had arrived on time, dressed appropriately, if not quite up to the usual price standards for the place. She had been nervous, but tried to hide it. And Tommy had been sure that once they got settled at their table things would begin to smooth over.

He did not expect Grace to insult Lizzie’s dress. He didn’t expect to hear his wife- who had been completely apologetic before getting to the restaurant- turn into her mother the minute Lizzie arrived. And he didn’t expect to have to make small talk to cover the tension. He wasn’t good at small talk. It was always Grace who handled things like that when business required playing nice with people.

He’d given up two whiskeys ago. Instead he sat and watched as Grace ate her meal and Lizzie sipped at the lemonade she’d ordered. He’d told her he was paying- to order what she wanted. She’d refused. It’d been a while since Tommy had been broke. But not long enough that he forgot how fucking annoying it was to take handouts. So he didn’t push the issue.

But it had been almost an hour and the tension was starting to aggravate him. So, Tommy reached over and took Grace’s hand, ignoring his wife’s questioning look, before turning to Lizzie. “So, Lizzie, we asked you here because we wanted to get some things settled.” He felt Grace tense beside him while he watched Lizzie stiffen in her seat. Tommy didn’t miss the way her eyes slid to Grace for a moment. “I believe things may have gotten off to a bad start.”

“Yes,” Grace said, “I think there were misunderstandings on both sides.” There hadn’t been- not from what Grace had told Tommy. But he kept his thoughts to himself. “Ms. Stark, Lizzie, I hope you know that I wasn’t trying to force you into anything. I just feel so protective of my baby already.” Lizzie didn’t respond. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Lizzie reached for her glass and took a sip of her lemonade. Tommy could see her thinking. He knew she was trying to decide if Grace had meant what she said. Not that it really mattered. The papers were signed, she had gone to the clinic to have the embryos implanted. This was happening. But he didn’t want Grace upset. And he didn’t want to have to fight for custody of this baby. So he wanted the two women to play nicely.

Setting her glass back down Lizzie looked at Grace. “I’m glad you feel so protective. It’s nice, knowing that this baby will be taken care of. And I hope that we can get through this whole thing without any problems. So I will stay until the end of the second trimester.” She turned to Tommy. “But I still think it would be better if I stayed at my own place from the beginning. Like I told Mrs. Shelby, I’ll visit every day and you are going to be at the doctor’s appointments anyway. So I don’t see why I need to live on your property.”

“But,” Tommy turned to Grace. “As I explained to you, it’s a matter of safety and knowing what is happening with our child,” Grace said. “You obviously have financial issues. And in your background check it said that you’ve been in trouble a few times. I just need to know that you aren’t going to do anything that could harm my baby.”

Tommy stared at Grace. They had talked about this. They had gone over how things would go at the dinner. And she’d gone off course from the minute Lizzie arrived. He tossed back the rest of his whiskey and tried to think of a way to salvage this. But he could see it in his wife’s eyes- she’d dug in her heels. “Grace.” She turned to face him, eyes bright with defiance. “We agreed, yeah? We wouldn’t force anything.”

He felt Lizzie’s eyes on him. It made him uncomfortable- having someone see him and Grace like this. He didn’t like people seeing the inner workings of his marriage. But it couldn’t be helped. Not this time. “It’s fine. Alright? It’s fine. But I’m still going to need rent money. I’ll need to still have a place after this is all over with.” Tommy reluctantly looked away from Grace. The woman facing him had just as much defiance in her eyes as his wife, but her shoulders were slumped in defeat. It was an odd sight.

“Can you be ready to move by Wednesday after next?” It was two weeks, and Tommy didn’t think Grace would wait much longer. And he just wanted this whole thing to be over. He had business that needed his attention and he couldn’t referee between his wife and the surrogate. Lizzie tensed, but nodded. For the first time Tommy wondered just how bad off she was to be going through with all of this. “Movers will be at your apartment on the day, then.”

He saw the waiter and motioned for the bill.

~*~

“What the fuck was that?”

Grace winced. “I know. Thomas, I know. She just-“

“Just what? Showed up on time? Ordered a drink? Agreed to what you fucking wanted?” She bit her lip. She hated fighting with Tommy. It didn’t happen often. They understood each other too well for that, usually. But this whole thing was increasing Grace’s anxiety. “You were meant to apologize. The whole point was to smooth things over so we don’t have problems later.”

Grace felt a spike of fear at those words. It would be so easy for Ms. Stark to sue for custody. It would be so easy for her to terminate the contract- abort the baby. And Grace knew she wasn’t helping matters. If anything she was making things worse. But she couldn’t seem to help it. “I’m just scared, Thomas.”

Her husband looked over at her from the driver’s seat. But instead of the usual softness and love, Grace found Tommy’s face tight with annoyance and his eyes cooler than they’d been with her in a long time. “You can’t let that matter. You can’t let the fear get into your head and muck it up. We had a plan. You broke from the plan, Grace. And that- that shit that happened back there? That’ll be what fucks this whole thing up in the end.”

The rest of the drive was silent. It was excruciating, mainly because Grace knew Tommy was right. But that insecure part of her couldn’t let herself care. She couldn’t admit it, not to him. Not when he was defending that woman. It shouldn’t feel like this. None of this should feel the way it did. Grace should be happy. Tommy should be happy. They should be planning for a baby to arrive, not fighting over the woman who was carrying said baby.

But…She saw the way Lizzie had watched Thomas. Grace had seen something in her eyes that made her wonder. Something that made her want to hold him tighter, closer. And she’d seen the way Thomas had looked at Lizzie- there had been an understanding there. When Lizzie had only ordered lemonade, when she had politely declined to let Tommy pay for her meal- he’d looked at her like he recognized something in her. It was something Grace didn’t recognize and she hated it- that small thing that Thomas and this woman shared.

The car pulling to a stop brought Grace out of her troubling thoughts. They were home. The sun was just setting behind the house and it cast a golden glow over everything. It was beautiful- perfect. Thomas had picked it for her as a surprise and she had fallen in love with it immediately. And every time she returned, no matter how upset or scared or hurt she might be, seeing it always made Grace smile. But not this time.  This time her eyes went to the guest house to the left of the property- almost out of sight.

“She’s going to live there, Thomas. She’d going to be right there.” She felt her husband’s eyes on her. It wasn’t comforting like she had grown accustomed to. This time his gaze was too heavy. “It feels too close. But I can’t stand the idea of her being a step farther away. God, I wish…” But it didn’t matter what she wished. Her wishes hadn’t come true even after all the money and the medicine and the tears.

Thomas got out and walked around to the passenger’s side. He opened her door like always, and gave her his hand to help her out of the car. But the warmth of his hand was gone as soon as she was securely on her feet. He closed the door and went into the house- without her. The only other time he’d done that was the night Ada had gone missing. He’d run in to make calls- to find his baby sister.

This time he just didn’t want to be near his wife.

[lucianb]

California and Alaska

Friday June 23rd

Today is day 7 of our trip, and it is the first time I have worked up enough energy to write. I have been physically and mentally exhausted up until this point, but I feel like I need to play whirlwind catchup to record our adventure so far before I can get to my current thoughts. I am writing this from the deck of Denali Brewing Company in Talkeetna Alaska. Everyone around us has a southern accent and we have a view onto the one road that leads through town (there is a lot of “one road” in Alaska). This place is packed with people from off the train on their way up from one cruise or another, an industry which keeps this town alive. After miles of nothing, being surrounded by people is a little jarring.

Saturday June 24th

I am writing this the next morning on the porch of our cabin, after being greeted enthusiastically by a brace of golden retrievers. The sun is at the same level it has been at practically our whole time here, which hasn’t been as much of an issue as I was expecting. I guess my new habit of taking naps has conditioned me for sleeping in the sunlight.

I feel like my brain is running processes that are eating up all of my RAM, and despite not doing a ton of strenuous stuff, the system updates are slowing me down. At the conscious level, I feel like nothing has changed. I talk about my plans, leaving my job, my new program, but it feels abstract, like it is happening to someone else. I suspect my brain is protecting me from too much at once, but I would appreciate it letting a bit more slip through so I could more quickly come to terms with how much my life will be changing.

Let me back up a bit. My final few weeks at work I was counting down the days until I was done. Time seemed to crawl. I would go sit at my desk, with work the last thing on my mind. Both at work and at home, anything mildly mentally strenuous seemed like more than I was equipped to handle. I was incapable of planning of any kind. Stuck looking towards the future but unwilling to do anything about it. I took solace in the cat, bad tv, and time with friends. Time alone seemed to yawn ahead of me endlessly. Then, abruptly, we left. I said my goodbyes at work and shuffled off into the sunset with my hiking bag.

When we landed, we headed to Alameda, going through familiar territory on our way to Chris and Maria’s. I have been back to California since we left in 2013, and returning felt like I was just jumping back into my old life. Laura on the other hand, experienced the same shock that I did my first time back; descending into that uncanny valley of the same but slightly different.

Sonoma was a blast. Mallory joined us for a day of Lagunitas and catching up in the hot sun, and Emily stayed with us in a tiny, hot KOA cabin for two nights, canoeing down the Russian River in 105 degree weather. We passed an endless stream of families cooling off during our paddle, and we navigated as best we could through the bodies and the whirlpools. After, we went to Russian River brewing and partook in style, drinking sours and bringing enough bottles back to last us the rest of the trip.

In Santa Cruz, we visited all of our old haunts. The bookshop, the sock shop, verve coffee, Henry Cowell and the redwoods… I even climbed in my old climbing gym, which feels smaller every time I go back. I struck up a few conversations with climbers there, climbed worse than I expected, and met Laura back on the beach. Our bodies sporting weird sunburns after falling asleep on the beach, we would have low key nights in our airbnbs.

We have now spent three nights in Alaska, but it barely feels like we have done anything. Our first night we got in after 11 PM, and Joey took us in his converted taxi to Cook Inlet to see the midnight sun. The next day, we explored Anchorage, met Greg and Moira at the Bubbly Mermaid for champagne and oysters, and then went with Joey to a bar and back to his place for games. Yesterday we explored Talkeetna and went for a 4 mile walk around the Talkeetna lakes. We are going rafting today, which I will write about soon.

 Sunday June 25th

I am writing this from our campsite in Denali. On our way up from Talkeetna we picked up supplies, and we are enjoying our homemade pita pizzas just like we made when we were campers…

Monday June 26th

Funny how I start an entry and then get too tired to continue. I could write about our writing trip like I promised, or about our hike around horseshoe lake (easy but stunning), but right now I am buzzing after our discovery hike today. This is what I have been looking forward to more than anything in the whole trip, and it didn’t disappoint. So the way this works is, up to 11 lucky people sign up for a hike with a ranger who has done some scouting. They don’t know the exact route or terrain, but generally have some idea. You hop off the bus somewhere along the one road that runs through Denali (only buses and bikes allowed), and just walk into the wilderness. No trails, no nothing.

Because the spots are so limited, when we got to Denali we jetted for the visitor center worried we wouldn’t get on the trips over the next two days. When we got there, we found out that only 4 people had signed up. It seems that most people who visit Denali stay on the bus, and those that don’t go much deeper into the wilderness, backpacking without a ranger.

After a very chilly night in our tent, we woke up, left the comfort of our tent, and made sandwiches while we tried to get our bodies to stop shivering. An hour and a half bus ride down the one road in the park, and our small group got off and left all trails behind. We climbed up areas no people have been this season, our only company a trio of curious sheep. It was gorgeous when we reached our first windy vista, with untouched landscape in all directions. Denali is vast, about the same size as the state of Massachusetts, and it is hard to get a sense of the scale of the place without actually visiting.

After lunch, we made it down a steep scree slope, up another ridge, and were slapped in the face with an amazing view of Denali’s peaks. The day ended with some bushwacking and creek crossings, and a nice nap on the way back. Last night, I got anxious about my impending trip to Norway. 14 days hiking, 17 days traveling alone… Why was I doing this? Back on the trail, I remembered how much I love being out in the wild. I reach this state of being I can’t find anywhere else. There may be discomfort, but that discomfort is the reason I have the trail to myself or with a small group of like-minded people, instead of spotting animals from the bus.

In our time in Denali, we have seen moose of all sizes, birds, sheep, and tons of ground squirrels. It would be nice to see bears or wolves, but not during our hike tomorrow please! Sitting here, drinking a beer, I am so thankful that I have this time in Alaska with Laura. I had grown skeptical in Anchorage and Talkeetna, but I am well and truly sold. Now I am wishing we had more time up here!

June 30th

I am writing this in Girdwood five days after I last wrote. I really need to step up my game. The second discovery hike was deeper into the park, but was much mellower. Our ranger was an old-timer from Tennessee who encouraged us young folks to just go wandering into the park by ourselves. He had had many run-ins with bears during his time working in Denali, and was much less worried about running into one than our first ranger. Our walk was shorter, less pretty, but we saw a ton of wildlife. We saw a massive herd of caribou, grizzly bears, and an alpha wolf, running across the tundra at an alarming speed. It was a reminder of just how wild Denali is, and how much more there is to see there. The mountain itself calls to me, and the park is the best reason I can think of to come back to Alaska.

We left Denali wanting more, and did the long drive down to Seward. It rained our whole time there, but it wasn’t a total wash. We ate fantastic seafood chowder, and did the Harding Icefield Trail that I had been looking forward to. It was 9 miles with 3,000 feet of elevation gain. We passed through forest, above the treeline, through the snow, and eventually above the glacier itself. I was a little sore at the end, but I feel even more confident about my trip to Norway. The hike was covered with curious marmots, running across the snow, or chomping on flowers. Hiking through the Alps, seeing a marmot was a big deal, and they kept their distance. These marmots seemed pretty used to humans, and went about their adorable business.

We then headed for Girdwood for the beginning of wedding stuff, which was surprisingly stressful I have been away from the real world for a while, and it was a reminder that life is still going on outside of our vacation and I still have responsibilities that I will have to reckon with. Greg is doing really well, and I am super happy for him. This will be my first Catholic wedding that I am in the wedding party, so I am going to do my best not to mess anything up. It is great to have the gang back together again, probably for the last time until the next wedding. I am loving the mini-reunion, but after recovering over the past few weeks and feeling more like myself, these late nights are tiring me out again.

July 5th

10:15 PM our last full day in Alaska and I am feeling really antsy. I am tired, but sleep seems like the worst idea. Transitions have always been hard for me, as I have said over and over again in these pages.

So. The wedding. The whole thing just felt so surreal. The whole catholic wedding with a wedding coordinator thing means much less responsibility for the bridal party. We walked in, stood where we needed to, sat where we needed to, and took some pictures. There were also 8 of us on each side which changed the feel significantly. Being in the church, large parts felt so different from what I have come to think of as a wedding. The catholic rites and rules are just so intense, with call and response, pomp and circumstance, and the flesh and blood of Christ.

The reception was fun, and we drank more after the wedding when we were asked to take a keg back with us after the reception. The next day, we took a train to a nearby glacier, got lost on an adventure, and then hung out with the bride and groom later that night.

 July 11th

It is Tuesday, we left Alaska on Friday. My sleep schedule is still all out of whack, staying up late and waking up late like I haven’t since I was a teen. It is about 2 PM and I just left the house. I still haven’t eaten.

I could write about Homer and kayaking, otters, puffins, eagles, and beautiful bays, but let’s leave it at saying check out the pictures we took and add Homer to the list of places people should go when they go to Alaska. What has been on my mind is the return of my drive, and my desire to keep moving forward. Being in Alaska was a great break from all of the stress that I put myself through. I was able to live in the moment for most of the trip, despite what I have written here, and I really enjoyed where I was. I wasn’t making lists, asking myself what I should be doing instead of whatever I was doing at the moment, unlike now. Even writing this entry is me scratching something off of my to-do list. I am energized by doing. I get a feeling from completing tasks that I can’t get from anything else, but the PhD is this monolithic thing looming over me that I can’t start working on. This will be the longest and most difficult endeavor I have ever undertaken, and I have no idea what I am getting myself into.

That said, I have seen some of the bios of the people that will be in my doctoral cohort. They are an intimidating group, but Laura reminded me how lucky I am to have these people as my peers. I will of course be worried about keeping up, but that is the kind of environment I do best in. Give me more than I can handle. Trust me to grow, to fill the role. I sure ain’t perfect, but I work until I literally can’t any more. I may be nervous about the future, but I got this. Well, I’ve got this after I grab some lunch.