chapter 1 - part 2 of 2

A lot apparently. I’m pretty round from the get go, so there’s no easy way to do this. And there’s a phone right there. On my desk, with a chair that I can only HOPE will hold me.

So, furrowing my brow again, I begin to push forward. First, I slowly ease and basically shove my massive belly through the door, ignoring the scratches it causes to my poor skin. Then, shuffling inch by inch, I start to turn and try to side-step in. Keyword being that I try, as my ass naturally decided it didn’t want to squeeze in with me.

“ Come on, dammit,” I curse aloud as I brace my pillowy arms against the door frame and try and push and pull myself in. It works. Kind of.

Unfortunately another 10 minutes pass when I start to tire out… and I’m only halfway through the door. AND NO ONE IS STILL AROUND. Is there a party or something I’m just not privy to?

Thankfully, though, it’s enough to juuuuuust – there! I hooked a finer on one of the cords of the phone, carefully pulling it closer. Wheezing and out of breath, I pray the number I dial is right, pulling the receiver to my ear.

“Hello?” John’s familiar voice answers, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“John, babe, I--”

“Trisha? Honey, what happened? I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour now, did something happen to your phone??” John’s worried voice tells me that he’s been in a panic, and a pang of guilt hits me for leaving my cell at home.

“I left my phone at home by accident. Listen, babe, I’m stuck and I… wait, why were you trying to call me?” I ask him, the realization of what he said only just now hitting me.

“The dean called, she realized she gave you the wrong starting date! You’re not supposed to come in until Tuesday, because they need to widen your office door--” That explains a lot, I think to myself. “--and the crew couldn’t do it until Monday.”

“Monday? What do you mean, I… wait. Babe, what day is today?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Son of a bitch. Okay, babe, I need you to come pick up the scooter, and bring a hammer with you.” I try to sound calm, despite feeling incredibly pissed off now.

“A hammer?” my husband repeats back.

“Yeah, John. I’m uh… stuck.”