About the Book:
Meet Grace, who is actually excited about turning 40 in a few months, that is, until her job, marriage, and personal life take a dizzying downhill spiral. Can she recover from the most devastating time in her life, right before it's supposed to be one of the best? Fans of Emily Giffin will love Susie Orman Schnall's debut, which is all about rediscovering yourself--with grace--well after you think it's even possible anymore. On Grace deals with themes such as divorce, infidelity, re-entering the workforce after children, breast cancer, and of course, turning 40. This novel is sure to hit a chord with many women readers.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
I
am not planning on waking up tomorrow and feeling completely different.
But I’m certainly not planning to feel the same as I do today and every other
day. Tomorrow when I wake up, brilliant sunlight streaming through my windows,
I’ll feel as if nothing can go wrong. It will be a momentous day. Sure,
momentous is a big word, usually saved for things like fiftieth wedding
anniversaries and retirements that come with gold watches, but I’ve decided
that I’m going to use that word and own it. Momentous. I like the way it
sounds.
Today
is the last day before I start the rest of my life, because tomorrow is the
first day that both of my boys will be in school all day, every day. It’s been
eight years since I’ve had my days to myself all day, every day. Eight years
since I’ve taken my own wants and needs and put them first. I’m not one of
those coddling, helicopter moms, but even us good-enough moms can’t really put
our own wants and needs first. At least not all day, every day.
So
as I prepare for momentous, I’m getting all the last-day-of-summer stuff out of
the way. Today is haircuts, prepping backpacks, and the last day of collecting
colorful summer bugs in glass jars. We’ll take one last carefree bike ride in
flip-flops and celebrate with a final late-afternoon trip to Longford’s for ice
cream where we’ll probably see lots of other moms who can’t wait for tomorrow
and lots of other kids who can.
But
for now, the boys are out back playing baseball with some neighborhood friends,
and I’m standing in front of the open fridge, trying to figure out what the
hell to make for dinner. When my phone rings, I check the caller ID and answer
excitedly.
“Hey, Cam!” I practically sing into the
phone.
“Hey, Grace! How’s it going?”
“Going great. I really can’t wait for
tomorrow. I know I’m going to feel so free, and joyful, and in control of my
own life,” I say.
“Wow, that sounds promising! Good girl,”
Cameron says enthusiastically.
“One more day and then I can start getting my
life back in gear.”
“What exactly is out of gear?” Cameron asks.
“Well, my marriage, my stalled career, my
lack of any sort of fitness, and other miscellaneous things,” I tell her. “Not
necessarily, but possibly, in order of importance. I kind of have a little plan
formulating in the back of my mind.”
“How much of this is because you’re freaked
out about turning forty in a few months?” Cameron asks.
“I’ve told you, I’m not that freaked out
about forty.”
“You know, Grace, you’re allowed to not be
excited about it.”
“But I am excited. I see forty as more
of an opportunity to regain control of my life. Sort of like New Year’s Eve.
But with much less champagne.”
“Well, I’ll toast to that,” Cameron says.
“And while we’re toasting . . . ,” she adds with an unmistakable lilt.
“What? No! What?”
“Yes!”
“Yes?”
“Seven and a half weeks officially today.”
“Oh, Cameron. Congratulations! And here I was
rambling on and on about me, and you had such good news.”
“Grace, it’s fine. Really. I called as much
to tell you about me as I did to find out how your day before the big day is
going.”
“Well, I’m so happy for you.”
“I know. Sorry I didn’t tell you right away.
But you know with my history and all, I just really wanted to make sure. And
today is a day longer than I’ve ever been pregnant before. Not that I wouldn’t
have told you if I had miscarried again. I just had some sort of weird
superstition thing going on.”
“No need to apologize. I completely
understand. But to make amends, will you meet me for dinner tonight for a
proper celebration? Tengda at 7:30?” I ask.
“Don’t you have to be home with the boys
tonight? Last day of summer and all?”
“I’m taking them on a long bike ride this
afternoon so they’ll be tired. And they’ll think it’s more special anyway if
Darren is in charge of bedtime. So Tengda?”
“Raw fish.”
“Right, raw fish. Méli-Mélo then?”
“It’s a date. And you can tell me more about
your so-called plan,” Cameron says.
“I will. See you later. And Cam, I’m really
so happy for you. Give my love to Jack.”
And
with that, I do a little jig for my best friend who has been trying to get
pregnant for five years. I boot up my laptop to email Darren the good news and
the heads-up that I’ll be going out tonight.
As
I wash the lunch dishes, I think about the part-time job I’m starting on
Monday. I’m going to be the new “Family Life” columnist for the Westchester
Weekly, our county’s glossy and hip-enough attempt at New York magazine.
Each week, I’ll file a 500-word article on something new and noteworthy in the
county that’s perfect for families, and I can’t wait to start. It’s nowhere
near my old salary, but it’s something. Plus, this job is more about the
opportunity to rediscover the woman who’s been deeply buried under the labels
of “wife” and “mother” for the past eight years.
I
met the Weekly’s owner/publisher, Matthew O’Donnell, in June at a
friend’s beach club. He and his wife, Monique, had just moved to our
neighborhood in Rye (a leafy suburb of New York City where you would be
confident no one would steal your car while you leave it running to dart into
the post office, but you never would leave it running because people
would be all over you about the toxic fumes released from idling). When I told
him I had been an editor at two different fitness magazines before I had my
kids (when I was still, well, fit), he asked about my writing and why I wasn’t
still working.
I
wasn’t sure what was the more pleasant surprise: the fact that I was actually
having a meaningful conversation with a man other than my husband (something
that doesn’t usually happen at these beach club gatherings where the men all
gather around the bar to discuss the double S’s—sports and stocks—and the women
hover nearby in their strappy summer wedges to discuss the double N’s—nannies
and nips and tucks) or that I might have a connection at a publication I’d love
to write for. And he was right, why wasn’t I still working? Well, I had two
really adorable answers, but they were starting school in a couple months.
So,
I told him, “I put my career on hold, because I wanted to be home with my kids.
But they’ll both be in school full time this fall, and I’ll be ready to focus
on my work again.”
“Grace
has done an amazing job with the boys,” Darren said to Matthew. “They’re lucky
she chose them over her career, but she’s not one of those women who is going
to be happy playing tennis every day while they’re in school. She needs more
than that.”
I
looked at Darren and smiled, feeling so fortunate that he was so supportive. We
had talked that afternoon about how I was feeling apprehensive about getting a
job. How I worried I would feel overwhelmed managing both a job and my family.
I knew I would be no good at all that Superwoman stuff. But I also knew that I
ached to be creative again. To use my brain for more than just organizing
soccer practice carpool schedules and finding innovative ways to sneak green
leafy vegetables into mini meat loaves.
Matthew
and I talked for a while, and I told him I thought the magazine could use a
section dedicated to things families could do together, besides just the events
listings in the back. When he agreed with me and said that was something his
editorial department had been considering, I boldly—with a little help from my
Riesling—suggested that maybe I could be the one to write it. A few
phone calls, emailed clips, meetings with the editor, and trial columns later,
and I was hired as the “Family Life” columnist for the Westchester Weekly.
I
hear my cell phone ring so I wipe my hands on a dish towel and rush to find my
phone in my disorganized purse. I find it just as the call is about to go to
voicemail, notice it’s an unknown caller, and quickly touch the screen to
answer.
“Hello?” I
say, completely unprepared for what’s about to come.
About
the Author:
Originally from Los Angeles, Susie Orman Schnall graduated
from the University of Pennsylvania. Schnall has written for national and local
publications about parenting and health. She lives in New York with her husband
and their three young boys. ON GRACE is her debut novel.
Connect with the author at:
Susie and Booksparks are giving 2 lucky winners (US ONLY) a signed copy of On Grace!
