Nothing. I clicked through to Instagram and pulled up Emily Walker’s page.
She’d just posted a photo of herself with the twelve moms in Motherhood Better Bootcamp and their kids. They were standing in the lobby of her New York office, a gaggle of excited mothers, babies in strollers and a few older children. I’ve seen her office plenty of times on her Instagram; it’s baby pink and white, and has silver accents. She calls the lobby “the Pavilion” and has posted loads of photos of her two youngest children, Sage and Willow, eighteen months and three years, crawling around on the Shibori Jasmine wood floors next to celebrities, chefs and athletes. The moms all looked so happy in their pink shirts monogramed with Emily’s EW logo in white calligraphy.
I wasn’t jealous at all. No really, good for them.
Maybe I should make myself a T-shirt for Operation Perfect-ish Mom. No, that’s just pathetic. And it means more laundry.
I sat on the couch and pulled out Motherhood Better.
Too many moms depend on alcohol to relax and let off steam. I prefer yoga and sunbathing.
I took a long sip of wine. I was about to turn the page when the home phone rang.
“Dang!” I hissed, running toward the kitchen receiver. I’d forgotten to put it on silent for the night. What if it woke up Aubrey?
I skidded into the kitchen and breathlessly picked up the phone.
“Hello?” I said, annoyed.
“Is this Ashley Keller?” a woman’s voice asked.
Oh, no, was this about my credit card?
“Um, no... I’m...her nanny...may I take a message?”
“Yes, this is Rebecca Anderson, assistant to Emily Walker.”
I dropped the phone. Or threw it, rather. Rebecca Anderson? Emily Walker? I had to be dreaming. This was a dream.
I ran over to the sink where I’d thrown the phone and picked it up.
“I’m so sorry. Um, Ashley actually just walked through the door. Let me get her. One moment, please.” I put the phone down on the counter, and with my heart beating out of my chest, tiptoed over to the kitchen table. I then stomped over to the counter, pretending I was just entering the room.
“Hello? Ashley Keller speaking,” I said, trying to sound casual even though my voice cracked.
At this point, my heart was pounding so loudly I was afraid she could hear it.
“Hello, Ashley. This is Rebecca Anderson, assistant to Emily Walker of The Emily Walker Show. I’ll get right to the point. I’m calling you today because a spot in the Motherhood Better Bootcamp just opened up and you are next on the list.”
I think I passed out. She kept talking but I didn’t hear anything she said. At one point the line went quiet.
“Hello? Are you there? Can you do it?”
“YES, YES, I CAN DO IT. YES, PLEASE!” I scream-whispered into the receiver.
I still can’t believe any of this happened. Turns out, one of the moms was a “dog mommy” and didn’t have a human child, which got her disqualified.
I’m in. I’m actually in. I missed the kick-off party at Emily Walker’s studios, but the program officially starts tomorrow so I didn’t miss anything!
I slid down to the kitchen floor. It was happening. I was in.
“Hello? Are you there?” Rebecca’s voice spoke through the receiver.
“Yes, yes, I’m here,” I said, struggling to compose myself.
“As a member of the Motherhood Better Bootcamp, you’re required to attend weekly video chats with Emily Walker and the rest of the team. You missed the introductory one, but the first real chat is tomorrow morning at 10 a.m.”
“Uh-huh,” I responded, brilliantly. I felt like I was in a dream. Could I be dreaming? I looked around the kitchen at the empty takeout boxes. No, if I were dreaming my kitchen would be cleaner.
Rebecca kept talking. “In six weeks, you’ll be flown out to the gorgeous Napa Valley in northern California for the closing reception and a special taping of The Emily Walker Show. The $100,000 grand prize winner will be announced live. Is all of this something you can do?”
“Yes. I can do this,” I said, trying not to float away.
“Great. I’ll send the details to your email shortly.”
“Okay, thank you, Rebecca. Please hug Emily for me.” Did I just say that?
“I, um, okay. Goodbye.” The phone clicked off.
I sat there on the living room floor trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Tomorrow I would talk to Emily Walker face-to-face. Tomorrow was the first day of my new life.
Thank you, fairy godmother.
Monday, January 28, NOON
The first video conference was this morning at 10 a.m.
I showered, even though no one would be able to smell me, and even did my hair and makeup. What to wear was a harder decision. My daily hoodie didn’t seem right. It was my first time meeting Emily Walker, so looking like a slob wasn’t an option. I settled on a long-sleeved purple cotton T-shirt.
I was searching through the laundry pile on my bedroom floor for pants and clean underwear when I realized the call started in three minutes. I plopped Aubrey in her bouncy chair and grabbed the only remaining piece of clean underwear from my drawer, which just happened to be my wedding night white lace thong. It wasn’t like anyone was going to be seeing me from the waist down. Maybe I’d keep them on and surprise David tonight. Maybe.
All of the participants were already logged on to the Motherhood Better portal before I signed in. With a little beep my name and face popped up in a pink-outlined square on the screen next to eleven other faces. It was almost like the Brady Brunch opener.
The other moms were so lovely—they were all smiles and excited waving. It was like being part of an exclusive club. It was, in fact, an exclusive club. We were all better mothers. Or, at least, we would be.
The moment Emily Walker’s face illuminated the screen was pure magic. I couldn’t get over the fact that Emily Walker, blogger turned media darling, could see me. Sure, I was just one of twelve little faces at the bottom of the screen with the other moms, but she could see me. She was just as beautiful in video conference as she was on Instagram. Her makeup was that “natural” style that I can never get quite right—the kind that looks like you aren’t wearing any at all but are just blessed by the gods with a flawless, dewy complexion and soft, tinted lips.
In the V of her plush, white (moms can wear white?) cashmere V-neck sweater was a gold heart pendant held by a thin platinum chain. Emily’s jet-black hair was in an immaculate topknot and her face was framed by sparkly diamond earrings. She looked like a princess. There was something about her that almost looked like an oil painting come to life.