Jax reaches down to squeeze my hand. “That might be an anecdote for your therapist, not for a party.” Her words have a teasing lilt to them, and I know if I actually needed to talk about the way pregnancy is twisting up feelings about my mom, she’ll listen. She already has, more times than she should need to, in the last few weeks. My therapist found a slot for me to bump up to weekly sessions starting this week, so I’ll have another outlet soon.
“A good note. This is why you’re the writer, and I read off a teleprompter.”
“I mean, you write those forecasts and then read them.”
“And have them approved ahead of time by an old white man,” I grumble. “Okay, see, there I go again. I’m going to the bathroom now and when I come out, I will be a less grumpy, more charming Michelle.”
