Big thank you to the author for an advance copy of this delightful book.
Chef Devon Paige fears her career and life are over when an ill-fated affair becomes public in a very big way. After losing all but one of her high-end clients, all she wants to do is retreat to her beloved studio apartment in Boston while she tries to figure out what to do to salvage her reputation, but fate- it seems- has other plans. Following her spectacular downfall, her best friend refers her to a job at the prestigious boarding school Rockwood in New Hampshire. With no other options in sight, and despite "the one who got away" working at the school, Devon accepts. Thus begins the first of many second chances for Devon Paige.
I'm a big fan of redemption stories and second chances. Especially after major public embarrassments. I'm always rooting for people to be better and have a better life. Most people. Devon is no different. After working for upscale clients, she gets sucked into a romance with an unhappily married man and gets ruined (because the woman always gets ruined, right?), and she has to figure out how to keep her life going while dealing with the very public backlash of her affair.
Being tucked away at Rockwood might have been just what she needed, if there wasn't someone on the school's underground newspaper with some sort of vendetta against her. Adding to that, the undeniable chemistry she still has with the man she had a one night stand with 15 years before, and she fears scandal will just follow her wherever she goes.
I found Bouchard's writing to be very accessible and the story to be a fast, light read. There's a hunky paramedic, a lovelorn coach, and even a professional basketball player with crippling imposter syndrome and a bad case of introversion. Not to mention loads of little historical facts that made this former historian-in-training smile more than once, and pop culture references you'll only get if you're 40+ (or Gen X at heart).
There is plenty of food talk, but not so much as to overwhelm the reader. Bouchard also (thankfully) manages to avoid too many food metaphors or puns.
Considering Us is chock-full of second chances, so if you love the second chance trope, you're going to absolutely love this story.
Things to love:
- Second chances
- Foodie references
- Historical fun facts
- '80s & early '90s pop culture references.
If you're looking for a light read that will make you smile (and maybe a little hungry), this is the book for you.
Updated: Jan 14
Last week I released a short story on my website about loss and mourning (The Other Side of Mourning) and coming out on the other side of it. This year, I experienced the other side of mourning in a different way. My very good friend of sixteen years died suddenly in February. She was diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer for the second time in fall 2021. Her first battle came in 2019 after a year of health problems, first with open-heart surgery due to a massive build-up of fluid around her heart, then a hysterectomy, a wound that didn’t heal properly, and then a cancer diagnosis. I was there for her through it all as her companion, nurse, and taxi. Though it was a difficult year for both of us (her much more than me), I was glad we had that time together. Late 2019 through early 2020, she stayed with her sister in New Hampshire to get her cancer treatments. She had chemo and came home. Clean bill of health for more than a year. Then, her CA125 was elevated at one of her last follow-up appointments in 2021 and she was once again diagnosed. In January 2022, she was back in New Hampshire to get her remaining cancer treatment.
I spoke with her via text and messaging more often than we spoke on the phone, but on her last day, she called me. We laughed and talked about her new grandbaby, we talked about her cancer treatments, how they were making her sicker this time and how she worried the blood clot filter they put in her leg in 2016 had shifted. She promised to talk to her doctor about it on her next visit and also to talk to them about how the treatment was making her feel.
Then she died. It was that sudden. In the early afternoon, she was there and before midnight, she was gone.
I found out the next morning via a Facebook message from her wife, “Sayword Loretta passed away last night.”
I’ve never had a close friend die before. I’ve had people I know pass away, but never someone unrelated who I loved like family. That’s what happens when a friend becomes a best friend, isn’t it? They become family. She was one of my best friends and she was gone.
I stayed quiet for a few days. Having experienced the nuances of dealing with the death of a loved one not too long ago, I understood the family needed time to get things in order. I didn’t need to be part of that. Then, I sent a message that was read and unanswered. I waited, lamenting to my husband how I was stuck between two minds, one that knew her family was mourning and needed space, and one that was also mourning and needed answers. I was there for my friend, without question, whenever she needed me, yet I couldn’t find out a single piece of information about the celebration of life mentioned to me.
Still, as someone who isn’t family, I am not entitled, am I?
Eighteen days after her sudden passing, I received a message saying they were still planning a memorial for her. Upon asking if there was anything I could do to help, I was told simply they were still planning and trying to keep the family on the same page.
The single word “family” told me my place. I can mourn her but I have no right to any further information. That was my interpretation. When I received a message later that day from another friend of my friend with detailed information about the upcoming memorials, I was further reminded of my place, a place I’d never stood in before.
I was suddenly the woman standing outside looking in, but the scene was incomplete and blurry. All that was certain from the exchanges I’d had, and those I hadn’t, was that I was unwelcome in this setting. I didn’t have the right to be there.
Even as I type this, I wonder if I should. The interpretation of me as selfish has played a constant loop in my mind since I grew weary of waiting for someone to just do the right thing. Not just where I’m concerned, but also where my other dear friend is concerned. She spoke to our lost friend every day. Every single day, and she didn’t get a call until today, more than a month after our friend passed to let her know what is planned.
Mourning is difficult enough when you’re family and you’ve lost this person you’ve loved for decades, but imagine if you lost them and no one spoke to you, or when you messaged them they ignored you. It’s a complicated and uncomfortable place to occupy.
For me, I don’t look to receive any communications anymore. I don’t want them. I will take my memories and create my own memorial for my lost friend, my lost family. I wish everyone who loves my beloved friend peace and healing. She wouldn’t want them to become stuck in the pain of losing her. She was a religious woman, and she was sure she would see everyone she loved on the other side someday, even though we all hoped that someday was decades from when she actually departed.
What I hope to convey here in this post is not anger or disdain toward my friend’s family. They love her and want to protect her, and that’s all anyone can hope for. The message I hope to send to those who are in the same place I’ve been since February 3, 2022, is, I know it’s awkward and frustrating, and I know it hurts, but give those who don’t understand your position the benefit of time. Do your thing to remember your loved one. You don’t have to stay in place with your grief. Donate to their favorite cause in their name, plant something in their memory, walk or run a marathon in their memory, or just light a candle and tell them how much you love and miss them. You don’t need permission to remember their life.
And remember, found family is just as important as blood. Your sadness is not insignificant.
I feel like I need to preface this by saying that I am not a social media guru. I haven’t quite developed the skills to build my social media accounts into something wonderful, places where hundreds or thousands of people are waiting to see what I will post next just so they have the opportunity to engage with me. I haven’t developed those skills, admittedly, because I have no desire to. Social media seems a very shallow and insincere space, another version of high school where the prettiest people get the most stage time. I couldn’t compete in high school and I damn sure can’t compete now.
Because of this, I try to keep my social media circle or network, whatever you want to call it, small. I have 659 brilliant followers on Instagram where I put in the most effort, and 2,035 followers on Twitter, where I am still largely ignored thanks to the algorithm. Okay, so it isn’t entirely the algorithm’s fault. The people who post more will be seen more frequently. Days and sometimes a full week will pass between my visits to Twitter.
What then, you may ask, is the point of this post? Well, I suppose it’s more of a conversation starter. A topic that I am interested in seeing multiple perspectives of.
In 2020 I had a writing “friend” who I spoke with every day. I’m always resistant to new friendships, especially those that begin virtually, but this person grew on me. We developed, what I thought at the time was, a wonderful friendship. She even went as far as to tell me that I was her best writer friend. At that time, I felt the same about her. But, as is apt to happen, toward the end of our friendship, I began to notice little things about her personality, and she became more comfortable saying things that struck me as harsh or untoward. I didn’t make a production out of them because everyone communicates differently, and many people don’t realize when they’re being an ass. I know I certainly don’t.
Anyway, on Instagram, the land of pictures, I like to share photos of my life; what I’m reading, what I’m eating, where I visit, and, as you can imagine, my family. One day my friend and I were talking over text, and she said to me, “You share too many pictures of your family.”
Now, to be fair, she only shares things to do with writing or whatever other “writerly” endeavor she’s doing at the time on her Instagram. She’s very brand-focused, which is great. For her. I am also brand-focused, but part of my brand is transparency. What you see on my social media sites is who I am. I don’t fake positivity on days when I don’t feel positive, and I have a family, so they appear on my profile. A lot.
Let me be clear here, I didn’t take her words negatively. I took them as her trying to help me in her way. The thing is, as I told her, I don’t want a social media profile that’s only filled with promos of what I’m working on or the sporadic selfie with a big smile where I talk about being fabulous and going out on errands. I want people who come by my profile, whether they’re writers or readers, to feel like they’re looking at a friend’s account. I want them to know that my family is just as important to me as writing, that I despise exercise, and that I love vintage everything. I want them to see my little part of the world through my eyes and know that what they’re seeing is an accurate portrayal and not some staged version of life. I want them to know that I’m insecure and somedays I can’t find the strength to be positive. I want them to see these sides of me because those are the sides I want to see of the people I follow.
If I’m interested in you, I’ll be far more interested in your work.
Now, to the uber-serious, brand-focused individual, this may seem like a bad idea. After all, you’re selling things to people, whether it’s your stories, merch, or the idea that publishing is fun, you are a salesperson, so bringing too much of your personal life into the mix is dangerous. I disagree. As I said above, I want to know what my favorite writers are really like and I want my eventual readers to know what I’m really like. A great example to use here is Sally Hepworth (author of The Good Sister and The Secrets of Midwives). On her Instagram, she does frequent videos with her family. It isn’t strange at all to see her husband or children in her stories. I love this because it shows a side of her you don’t get to see in her writing. It makes her more relatable. It makes her a real person. A profile full of nothing but promos and merch doesn’t feel genuine to me. It doesn’t feel real. If I can’t put a face or a story to a name, what good is the name?
So, what say you? Do you think we can get too personal on social media profiles where we’re also showing our brand? Or do you think being personal is the first step to gaining genuine followers?
