letter fourteen.

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GENEVIEVE CHEN.
NEW YORK CITY.

My dearest Peter,

You were studying to be a doctor. I remember you'd make flashcards and you'd have me quiz you before an exam, and you'd always ace the quiz and you'd pass the exam with flying colors. I'm trying to remember now if you ever had me quiz you on things related to pregnancy, and I don't think you did. Otherwise I might've known about false labor contractions before I started having them.

My mother says they're called Braxton Hicks contractions. I asked why and she said the phenomenon is named after the doctor who discovered them. Yes, this is one of those things she failed to tell me about beforehand. I was so concerned when I had the first one the other day because there's still a month left to go. I was worried something was wrong and I was hysterical. Everything's all right, though. We're both perfectly healthy, dear.

I'll tell you, though, these false labor contractions are awfully inconvenient. They're a bit painful and if these hurt that badly I'm frightened of the real thing. I hardly slept last night, came down with a sudden anxiety over the pain of childbirth. The day grows closer and closer.

Susan and Briar stopped by this morning, right in the middle of another false contraction. The two women quickly got to work making sure I was comfortable and Briar cooked breakfast while Susan calmed me with a funny story from your childhood. I'd heard it before, it was one you told me at the party where we met again. A war between you and your brother over alphabet blocks that ended when Susan got caught in the middle. She claims she still can't breathe through her nose properly because of you and Edmund.

It's quite a funny story. I remember you telling me it that first night and wondering what it must be like to have a family so large. I got to know what that was like when I'd met your entire family and it's a wonderful feeling. Very loud, but very comforting. I liked how the future looked.

Yours truly,
Genevieve Chen


Yours truly,Genevieve Chen

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PETER PEVENSIE.
ASLAN'S COUNTRY.

My dearest Genevieve,

Obstetrics wasn't my course of study. Of course I learned the basics, but it wasn't the type of medicine I wanted to go into, so you'd be correct that I never had you quiz me on things related to pregnancy. Although I've been familiar with false labour contractions for a while; I was only four when Lucy was born but I distinctly remember my mother going to the hospital, and my father saying to us we'd have a new sister soon, but Mum came home the next day still heavily pregnant, with no new sister. I was quite relieved when Lucy came home two weeks later.

I imagine contractions of any kind are awfully inconvenient, but if they're that painful, then I suppose those must be the worst. If I could be there to hold your hand during all this, I would. You'll be fine, my love.

Ah — I'd nearly forgotten about the alphabet block story. I'll have to remind Edmund about what happened. Now that I think about it, I wonder if Lucy knows it. I'm sure we've told it to her before but she was so young when it happened. I'll tell it to her again. She's sure to get a laugh out of it. And Susan's most certainly exaggerating her inability to breathe through her nose properly. She must still be upset with Edmund and me for that incident.

(Mostly Edmund, of course, because I was merely an innocent bystander.)

I'm glad Susan is there for you. She was always mother to us when Mum couldn't be. I suppose you're learning that now. Though beware — she can go overboard when need be. Don't let her have a dictionary, or else she'll start making you guess the origins and definitions of words you don't use in everyday conversation.

I love you.

Sincerely yours,
Peter Pevensie

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