I loved being a school psychologist. It wasn’t a job I’d fallen into or settled for. It was something I’d wanted to do ever since my own high school psychologist had helped me after my parents died. I had, however, been fortunate to find a job at a great independent school filled with amazing people.

When I moved, I hadn’t wanted to resign. Not after everything. It was too much stress and change. I wasn’t willing to give up anything more. I’d gone to Alice with my idea to work from home—my new one. Lucky for me, she’d been receptive.

And even luckier, it seemed to be working.

A week of success wasn’t everything, of course. It could go downhill and do it fast.

But it was something.

Another new start.

I’d take it.

I typed out a quick email to Alice, giving my perspective of the first week and asking for her feedback. Even though it was much different than back in my day—thanks a lot, Everly—I knew we were on to something that could make a massive difference. If it turned out that I was wrong and the virtual approach didn’t work long-term, I’d do the right thing and resign.

Grudgingly.

After hitting send, I checked my inbox and messenger, responded to a few non-student items, and then closed everything up.

I was off the clock for the weekend. One packed full of excitement.

Otherwise known as binge-watching TV while I researched baby items and added a million tiny socks to my online wish list.

But first, as the fluttery baby in my stomach reminded me, I needed to order groceries.

When Ward had said the cookout had a lot of food, he hadn’t been exaggerating. At all. Even after everyone had eaten to the point of food coma, there’d been a ton of leftovers.

Leftovers he’d sent home with me.

Leftovers I’d been living off of all week.

Sadly, all good things had to come to an end, including ribs and mac and cheese. My ugly green fridge was left a barren wasteland of cucumber water and pickles.

Because some pregnancy stereotypes were based in fact.

Once I meal-planned and ordered the necessary ingredients, some organizational zone in my brain was itched. I wanted more. The illogical desire to flip every aspect of the house suddenly overpowered my relaxation plans.

Or maybe I’d just burn it to the ground and start from scratch.

Either way.

I just needed to do something.

I walked around the house, leaving a multitude of sticky notes in my wake.

Paint ideas.

Furniture ideas.

Blowtorch ideas—the lace paired with teddy bear everything really deserved a fiery death.

With the exception of my workspace, I’d originally planned to leave the house untouched—minus removing the multitude of figurines. But maybe Alice had been right about making it my own.