I slam my cell phone down on my desktop with more force than I intended. Why isn’t Cameron returning my calls and texts? I flip through three pages of notes. How will I ever get all of this done in the next two weeks? I imagined by the third book I wouldn’t find the weeks leading up to a release as stressful as before. With all the changes since September, my life seems to be busier with each passing week. I open my digital calendar, scanning today and tomorrow. Fallon and Liberty plan to attend several classes and play groups. That will allow me to focus in my office. I need selfies to post; I detest posting videos and photos of myself, but I’ve got to promote myself to ensure sales.
The doorbell interrupts my pity-party. Glancing at the clock in the corner of my laptop, I see it’s 1:15. Who could be here?
“I’m here to save the day!” Cameron’s voice sings as she approaches my office door. “Who’s the best editor in the whole world?”
I shake my head as she prances into the room, her hands in the air.
“You’re interrupting my mini-freak out session,” I state. “Guess I know why you haven’t returned my calls and texts today.”
“Well, from our conversation yesterday, I felt you needed my help in Chicago, not via the phone and internet in Columbia.” She shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “Stand,” she orders.
I hesitantly rise from my desk chair. “Why am I standing?”
“Because we need to decompress a bit before we buckle back down,” she states as if I should already know this fact.
Cameron strides into the kitchen like it’s her house, passing right by Miss Alba. She opens the pantry then the refrigerator. She lays crackers, two types of cheese, and a bottle of wine on the island. She opens her mouth to speak, but her buzzing phone interrupts her.
I wait while she taps out a text reply.
After a large drink from her wine glass, Cameron turns on her barstool to face me. “What has you the most stressed?”
I stare as she swallows two big gulps of wine. “How was your flight?” I ask, wondering why she’s chugging her drink.
“Are you trying to change the subject?” She chuckles, holding a slice of cheese and cracker halfway to her mouth.
I tilt my head and point to her nearly empty wine glass. “It’s like you’re trying to break the record to down it.”
“I’m just glad to be here with you,” Cameron shrugs, picking at her cracker. “Now, answer my question.” She looks sternly in my direction.
“Um…” I release a loud huff. “I want to write. That’s it. Everything else pulls me away from my writing. I have so many ideas I want to put out there, and I can’t when I’m forced to post to social media.”
Mouth full of crackers, Cameron nods.
I continue, my fingers fiddling with the stem of the wine glass, Cameron poured for me. I really could use a glass of wine today. “This week, I’m supposed to post selfies teasing for release day and the cover reveal of the next book. I need to build the hype with hints or sneak peeks of the new release, but I’m not creative enough to take good photos. And, filters baffle me.”
Miss Alba refills Cameron’s glass and sneaks a nibble of cheese from the tray.
“I’ve tried to assist with the posts, and my assistant uploads some, too.” She thanks Miss Alba for the refill. “But, your fans want photos of you. They crave personal posts to learn more about you. That’s hard for us to do from Missouri.”
I sigh heavily. Guess I’m stuck taking selfies this week and next. “Can you at least help me? I don’t know what to wear or how to pose.”
“Maybe it’s time we look into adding a personal assistant and publicist to your team,” Cameron suggests and pops a slice of cheese in her mouth.
“Like what Berkeley does for Ham?” I ask, unsure I need all of that.
She washes down her last bite before speaking. “Perhaps only part-time for now. I don’t believe we need anyone full-time, yet. Let’s invite Berkeley over to get her input and see if she knows anyone to hire.”
Pursing my lips, I digest her words. Berkeley is an expert in this area. I slide my phone open to send a text.
Me: When you have time we need to discuss my need for a publicist
Berkeley: I’m free now
Me: now’s good
Berkeley: (thumbs up emoji)
“She’s on her way over,” I inform Cameron.
Two hours later, a huge weight has lifted from my shoulders. Berkeley plans to work with me as my part-time publicist. When my needs grow to be more than she has time for, she’ll help me hire a full-time assistant.
Cameron explained the calendar and necessary posts leading up to the book’s release. Berkeley promptly arranged a photo shoot with several clothing changes here in my home and office for use in future posts. We ordered a small desk for the corner of my office. Berkeley will use it half the day Tuesday and Friday when she’s here. Cameron will sit at it when she’s in town. It warms my heart that Liberty can use it to read and color as I write in the office. While I often need silence as I work from time to time, I’d love to share the space with Liberty. I can’t stop smiling. With Berkeley’s help, I can focus on writing, and that makes me happy.
“Why am I so nervous to ask him?” I say, fiddling with the fringe of the throw pillow in my lap. I mean he’s my husband, I’m not asking for his permission. I just want his input before I commit to it.
“Should we ask Berkeley to be here?” Cameron asks.
“No, we’ve got this,” I state, trying to believe my own words.
At the sound of the keypad on the front door, goosebumps develop from head to toe. I take in a steadying breath then turn in my seat to face the door. I rest my arm upon the back of the sofa, leaning towards him.
“Hey,” I greet when he enters.
“Hello, ladies,” Hamilton smiles with a small wave before Liberty runs into his arms.
While Hamilton talks with his daughter about her day, Cameron and I pull out table service and the meal Miss Alba prepared. My nerves skyrocket while I busy myself.
“Dinner’s ready,” Cameron announces.
Hamilton places Liberty in her highchair then takes a stool at the island beside her. Cameron smirks at my nervousness to discuss my job with him. I know he’s a nervous, expecting father––I’m not sure how he’ll react to our plan.
I sit by my husband while Cameron opts to stand across from us. We eat as easy conversation flows.
“Let’s talk book tour,” Cameron announces. “We’ve tentatively planned appearances for May and June.”
Hamilton gives her his attention as he continues to consume his grilled chicken stir fry.
“We’ve planned morning show and book store appearances to coincide with the Cubs schedule during both months,” Cameron informs us, glancing from Hamilton to me.
“She’ll be five months pregnant,” Hamilton reminds us. “She’ll get tired easily and will need to rest.”
Cameron nods. “We propose that Fallon travel with us. She’ll have nights with Slater, so I’m sure she’ll be interested.”
She slides an itinerary toward Hamilton. “Items in bold are Madison’s book tour. The rest is optional.”
“I wouldn’t have to attend the Cubs games that you aren’t pitching,” I jump in. “When I’m tired, I’d stay at the hotel.”
“I appreciate that the tour was planned to coincide with my schedule.” Hamilton points as he counts silently. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but in May and June, you’ll travel to seven cities plus Chicago for seventeen appearances.”
Cameron nods.
He turns on his stool to face me. “Your number one priority is taking care of yourself for the baby. I know press for the new release is important. I’m worried that the schedule is too aggressive, though. You’ll spend a lot of time in the air, and I worry how that will affect you and the baby.”
Cameron’s eyes lock on mine. I interpret that to mean it’s my turn to convince him.
“Would you feel better if I discussed it with Dr. Humphreys?” I offer. “If she had no reservations for the travel and the schedule, would you be okay with this plan?”
My husband plays with my hands between us. Cameron talks with Liberty in between bites, giving us some time.
“I know I tend to overreact,” he explains. “This pregnancy is overwhelming, and I feel like I can’t control so much. I worry about everything. Things that used to be common, everyday activities are now dangers in my mind. Slipping in the shower, wrecking your vehicle on your way to Delta’s, and even carrying Liberty worries me. It’s all out of my hands and scares the crap out of me.” He laces his fingers with mine and his eyes bore into me. “I’d feel better if Dr. Humphreys was aware of the plan and weighs in.”
I love that he opened up about his fears. I am aware he feels out of control and hates it. I do my best to ease his worries but refuse to remain at home on bed rest. Things can happen anywhere, at any time, to anyone.
“I’ll call the doctor tomorrow,” I promise.
“We’ll table it until I hear back from the two of you,” Cameron states, placing her empty plate in the dishwasher.
Hamilton kisses my hand, before returning to his meal.