Do I, don’t I, do I, don’t I, I made all the nano-second calculations we mothers do. “Yes. Sure”
The women’s eyes brightened when they saw the book. Just wait till they heard it! The past few times I’d spoken there’d been a rock in my stomach, chest, and throat. This time I felt excited. I wanted to do this.
“The Gift of Nothing,” I started dramatically. I held the book up, like it was story time in kindergarten, and warmed my voice, “It was a special day…” I continued to read the story of the cat Mooch who was looking for the perfect gift for his dog friend Earl.
The women leaned forward, some smiling, others looking a bit more skeptical. Mooch couldn’t find anything anywhere, I read, and ultimately decided to gift Earl with the gift of nothing — “nothing, but me and you.” I paused here to let it sink in, then finished the book. “So Mooch and Earl just stayed still and enjoyed nothing and everything.”
I lingered on the last page, letting the women take in the last picture and message. Gently, I closed the book, laid it down on the lectern, and stepped in front of it. It was supposed to be a normal speech, but I’m already breaking the rules, might as well really do it my way, and remove the space between us.
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