Floored - Karla Sorensen Page 0,81

the independent female is wonderfully subversive, a concept that only thrived in secret, printed on words claimed by male monikers. But when that concept is viewed in light of the present, with a clear-eyed glance at the future, we find Brontë's words equally applicable. Not only that, but their intelligence, her own discontent, provides the reader with a timeless benchmark for how to apply change in their own life, even when choices seem few."

My face felt warm at her smile when she set the paper back down.

"I'm quite proud of you, you know," she said.

"Thank you." I laughed. "I swear, I'll say something else at some point."

"It will be incredibly easy to email your advisor at the University of Washington with a rave review and to heartily sign off your credit for this semester."

My eyes welled up. "I'm so appreciative of everything I learned from you."

Atwood waved that off. "That's the beauty of teaching upper-level students. You don't need as much teaching; you need guidance to see the information you already know at a deeper level. Flesh out the layers of what's already up there," she said as she tapped her temple. "I don't know if you've given much thought to what you'll do when you finish, but I think you'd make a marvelous teacher, Lia."

"Really?"

"Really." She took a sip of tea, carefully set the cup back down. "You have the energy students would respond to. Give it some thought as you do your last couple of classes. Whenever you get back to them." She looked pointedly at my stomach.

"I should be able to finish the last two classes during the spring semester," I told her. "I'm not due until early June."

"I'm happy to hear that." She stood. "Is it inappropriate to ask for a hug before you go?"

I shook my head, getting up and walking easily into her embrace. She patted me on the back, brisk and firm. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright, but her smile shaky.

"Off you go. If I get weepy over every student that came through this office, I believe they'd revoke my tenure."

"Thank you for everything." I held my hands out, then let them drop by my sides. "This whole experience ... I'll never forget it. I could never repay you for the chance you gave me."

"Catherine is a lovely name for a girl," she said with a raised eyebrow.

I laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

With a small wave as I left her office, I walked back to my flat from her office for the last time.

I'd never gotten a strong sense one way or the other whether I was pregnant with a boy or a girl, and as I took my time studying the buildings I'd gotten used to seeing, I started thinking about names.

Fourteen weeks in, and I found myself smiling at the thought of a little girl named after an English professor, despite how hard it was to acknowledge that I'd be doing things like that without Jude once I was home.

My phone had been quiet since I left his hotel room in London, which I expected, especially knowing he was playing regular matches, plus additional midweek games for various European cups that I still didn't really understand.

The distance between us was something I'd have to get used to. He said we'd talk once a week, and that was smart, but it might take me a while not to think about him as often in all those quiet days in the middle.

I found myself, as I did the final sweep of my flat and left the key with the building manager, making peace with the fact that it simply would've been too easy of a story if we'd ridden off into the sunset.

"Think about it," I told Isabel the next day as we settled into our seats on the first leg of travel. "This is the connection I needed to make."

She stretched her arms over her head and groaned. "I'm thinking ..."

"I avoided all this stuff, right? I avoided discussions and questions and worries because it felt easier, and I didn't want to face all the things that freaked me the hell out about becoming a mom. But what I needed was the discontent, right? It's like I put in my paper, and it's what Atwood was trying to get me to understand, about fixating on the past as a way to avoid facing the future. I needed the fuel to change. Getting pregnant wasn't a choice I made,