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Authors: Leah Marie Brown
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clicks and I will be winging my way to Sitka for a little QT with my best girl.”
“Thanks, but I think I need to do this alone.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I am not sure. Not one bit. But asking Vivian to join me in Alaska would be admitting a vulnerability, and vulnerability is not my default mode. “Besides, I don’t want you wasting your frequent flier miles on a trip to boring old Sitka.”
“Are you kidding?” Vivian protests. “I would gladly sacrifice my miles if it meant embarking on another adventure with my best friend.”
I laugh. “Scotland was adventure enough for a lifetime.”
“Pfft. That was nothing.”
“Nothing?” I laugh again, but this time it is an incredulous laugh. “You fell off a mountain. You had to be rescued by a Coast Guard helicopter. That is hardly nothing.”
“A mere trifling thing.”
“You were hospitalized for days.”
“True,” Vivian sniffs. “But it made for one helluva vacay story, didn’t it?”
“It did.”
“The thing is, Fanny, you can try to organize and manage your life, but it’s the unpredictable, messy bits that bring you the most growth and joy. If I hadn’t fallen off that mountain, I wouldn’t have had my epiphany about marrying Luc.”
“So what are you saying? That I should fall off a mountain?”
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Vivian says, uncharacteristically serious. “I am saying you should let go, Miss Type A. Stop trying to force your life to follow an unnaturally controlled path. You’re going through an unpredictable, messy bit right now. I know it’s frightening, but have courage. This time next year, you just might find yourself traveling in a new, happier direction.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Trust me, a lot can happen in a year.”
Chapter 12
Bottoms Up
Text from Vivia Perpetua Grant:
When Vera Wang failed to make the U.S. Olympic figure-skating team, she made alterations to her dream (See what I did there?) by becoming an editor at Vogue. Then, after being passed over for promotions, she became a designer. Alter your dream and make it work, girl!
“Anchorage has changed.”
“Too many damned Californians. Too built up.”
“We should call it Los Anchorage.”
“Bahaha!” Sardonic laughter explodes from my lips, and the chatty passengers behind me finally fall silent. I have been listening to their less-than-scintillating conversation—about hunting for caribou, the salmon run, the best home-brewed beer, the unusually cold spring—for the last two hours. I really don’t know how much more I can take.
“Did you hear we are getting a Target?”
I groan and press my fingers to my temples, rubbing in vigorous circles. The flight attendant comes over.
“Headache?”
I nod.
He pats my shoulder. “Would two aspirin help?”
“Only if you bring a very large glass of wine to chase them with.”
“Be right back,” he says, winking.
The loquacious Alaskans aren’t the sole cause of my foul mood. When I picked up my itinerary and travel orders from Each One, Teach One yesterday, Rachel told me I would be meeting another outreacher at the hotel in Anchorage. Apparently, we are traveling from Anchorage to Sitka together. Her name is Delaney Brooks, and she is going to be my suite mate.
I hate meeting new people. I hate sharing my space with anyone—let alone some crunchy-granola environmental educator from Boulder, Colorado.
I stretch my legs, looking down at my high-heeled leather Burberry Finway boots.
Vivian would laugh if she could see me in these boots. She would tell me how impractical they were and insist I buy a pair of those hideous sheepskin boots she always wears with her jeans and band T-shirts. Uggs. They are truly the ugliest boots ever mass produced.
The flight attendant returns with my aspirin and wine. I pop the pills in my mouth and nearly drain my glass in one swallow. The lady sitting across the aisle looks at me, one eyebrow raised in silent
“Thanks, but I think I need to do this alone.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I am not sure. Not one bit. But asking Vivian to join me in Alaska would be admitting a vulnerability, and vulnerability is not my default mode. “Besides, I don’t want you wasting your frequent flier miles on a trip to boring old Sitka.”
“Are you kidding?” Vivian protests. “I would gladly sacrifice my miles if it meant embarking on another adventure with my best friend.”
I laugh. “Scotland was adventure enough for a lifetime.”
“Pfft. That was nothing.”
“Nothing?” I laugh again, but this time it is an incredulous laugh. “You fell off a mountain. You had to be rescued by a Coast Guard helicopter. That is hardly nothing.”
“A mere trifling thing.”
“You were hospitalized for days.”
“True,” Vivian sniffs. “But it made for one helluva vacay story, didn’t it?”
“It did.”
“The thing is, Fanny, you can try to organize and manage your life, but it’s the unpredictable, messy bits that bring you the most growth and joy. If I hadn’t fallen off that mountain, I wouldn’t have had my epiphany about marrying Luc.”
“So what are you saying? That I should fall off a mountain?”
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Vivian says, uncharacteristically serious. “I am saying you should let go, Miss Type A. Stop trying to force your life to follow an unnaturally controlled path. You’re going through an unpredictable, messy bit right now. I know it’s frightening, but have courage. This time next year, you just might find yourself traveling in a new, happier direction.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Trust me, a lot can happen in a year.”
Chapter 12
Bottoms Up
Text from Vivia Perpetua Grant:
When Vera Wang failed to make the U.S. Olympic figure-skating team, she made alterations to her dream (See what I did there?) by becoming an editor at Vogue. Then, after being passed over for promotions, she became a designer. Alter your dream and make it work, girl!
“Anchorage has changed.”
“Too many damned Californians. Too built up.”
“We should call it Los Anchorage.”
“Bahaha!” Sardonic laughter explodes from my lips, and the chatty passengers behind me finally fall silent. I have been listening to their less-than-scintillating conversation—about hunting for caribou, the salmon run, the best home-brewed beer, the unusually cold spring—for the last two hours. I really don’t know how much more I can take.
“Did you hear we are getting a Target?”
I groan and press my fingers to my temples, rubbing in vigorous circles. The flight attendant comes over.
“Headache?”
I nod.
He pats my shoulder. “Would two aspirin help?”
“Only if you bring a very large glass of wine to chase them with.”
“Be right back,” he says, winking.
The loquacious Alaskans aren’t the sole cause of my foul mood. When I picked up my itinerary and travel orders from Each One, Teach One yesterday, Rachel told me I would be meeting another outreacher at the hotel in Anchorage. Apparently, we are traveling from Anchorage to Sitka together. Her name is Delaney Brooks, and she is going to be my suite mate.
I hate meeting new people. I hate sharing my space with anyone—let alone some crunchy-granola environmental educator from Boulder, Colorado.
I stretch my legs, looking down at my high-heeled leather Burberry Finway boots.
Vivian would laugh if she could see me in these boots. She would tell me how impractical they were and insist I buy a pair of those hideous sheepskin boots she always wears with her jeans and band T-shirts. Uggs. They are truly the ugliest boots ever mass produced.
The flight attendant returns with my aspirin and wine. I pop the pills in my mouth and nearly drain my glass in one swallow. The lady sitting across the aisle looks at me, one eyebrow raised in silent
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