Chapter 2
“Are you awake yet, Mommy?” Mason whispered loudly. However, I wasn’t sure how that combination was even possible.
“Mmm, yeah. I am now. What time is it?” I pulled Mason closer to me, inhaling the clean scent of his hair.
Mason shrugged.
“Daddy told me to let you sleep, but I needed to tell you I picked my thing for show and tell on Friday.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stretched. “Oh yeah? What did you pick?”
“You know Daddy’s jersey from college with the hole in it?” Mason bounced on the mattress, making the sheets rustle underneath him.
That jersey was sacred to Mateo. A memento from when the scouts called his future golden. Now, it was like a shrine of what could have been. I pushed the thought away and focused on Mason.
“That’s a great choice, but you need to take good care of it.”
Mason nodded in agreement.
Our condo was quiet, except for the distant traffic.
Our place wasn’t massive—four bedrooms in one of Columbus’s newer luxury communities.
Mateo had insisted we move here from Baltimore.
Two years later, he was riding a bench for a semi-pro team that barely made the local news. Still, we kept up appearances.
I grabbed my phone off the charger and scanned the notifications—two emails from clients, local businesses who hired me to manage their social media, and two texts from Mateo.
Mateo:
Made you coffee. Gone to practice.
Twenty minutes later…
Mateo:
Might be late… Coach wants to talk.
The information was delivered as if I was his personal assistant instead of his wife. No “I love you” or “kiss Mason for me.”
Me:
Good Luck.
I typed back, adding a heart emoji. I set the phone aside.
“Time to get ready for school,” I told Mason, who was making snow angels in my bed.
I retreated to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.
I looked in the mirror, and at thirty-two years old, my skin was clear.
Thank God for good genes. Still, there were lines around my eyes that no expensive creams seemed to fix.
Big Mama called them worry lines, evidence of not enough talking and too much thinking.
Some days, I felt like I was in someone else’s life, playing dress up.
I brushed my teeth and mentally planned out the day ahead.
I would work on a crisis with a restaurant where the client, a chef, went on a rant on the Z app about vegans as well as a strategy session for a fashion boutique that would like to expand their online presence.
Then I would do my regular maintenance—post for Mateo’s professional IG account with images to project the image of an athlete on the cusp of his big break.
I would do all this from my home office between taking and picking Mason up from school.
It wasn’t the plan to work from home when I had a corner office at a PR firm in Downtown Columbus.
My name was being mentioned in the industry newsletters.
However, Mateo’s knee gave out during a game, and overnight, the scouts disappeared.
I had to step back to freelance consulting to help him rehab and be there for Mason and manage our lives while my husband chased his redemption story.
I didn’t exactly regret it, but some mornings, I wondered who I’d be if I hadn’t had to fold my ambitions into a nice little package and tuck them away.
One of the luxuries in this condo was the water pressure. It was magnificent. I stepped in and stood under the spray longer than intended, allowing it to pound against my shoulders and wash away lingering fatigue. I stepped out and wrapped myself in a plush towel.
“Mason, don’t touch the stove!” I yelled, knowing he’s curious.
“I’m getting juice!” he shouted back. His voice echoed through our open-concept home.
I quickly dressed in an oversized gray sweater that slipped off one shoulder, black leggings, and gold hoops Mateo gave me for our anniversary two years ago.
I looked good enough for a school run and professional enough for video calls.
My hair was another story. I twisted it into a high bun, making a mental note to call my stylist and book an appointment.
It had been too long since my last visit, which was pushing it with my schedule.
In the kitchen, Mason had made a mess.
“You know the deal.” I eyed him.
“I’m about to clean up my mess,” he replied.
“That’s my boy.”
I grabbed a yogurt from the fridge and leaned against the counter while I scrolled through emails on my phone. I saw a message from the restaurant client wanting to talk ASAP. I replied quickly, promising to call after 9:00 a.m. when I dropped Mason off at school.
“Mommy, can I wear my new tennis shoes today?” Mason asked with a mouth full of juice.
“Boy, if you don’t swallow that juice first and then speak. Yes, if you can find both of them. No mismatched shoes like last week,” I reminded him.
Juice dribbled down his chin as he grinned. “My teacher said it was fashion.”
“Yeah? Well, your teacher was being nice.” I grabbed a napkin and wiped his face.
“Grandma said fashion works.”
I had to admit my mother had excellent taste and razor-sharp opinions. She would have had a field day critiquing my life choices. She wanted me to marry a lawyer or doctor—someone with established credentials. Instead, I fell for a basketball player with unshakable confidence and a gorgeous smile.
When I brought him home the first time, she pulled me aside. “He’s gorgeous, baby, but can he pay the bills?”
Four years later, I took a pay cut and worked from home as a freelancer to support his comeback. Still, she didn’t say “I told you.” She didn’t have to.
Mason took his cup to the sink and stood on his tiptoes to rinse it. My phone chimed with a reminder—thirty minutes until school drop-off.
“Hey, wash your face, brush your teeth, and get your backpack. Find those shoes!” I listed off in order to get us out the door. The outfit he wore, a simple t-shirt and jeans, would do.
Mason scampered to his bathroom. I took a moment to sweep up the pieces of cereal in my living room.
I saw the city coming alive outside the window—Tuesday in motion as the morning traffic picked up.
I thought about Mateo running drills out there, trying to prove himself to a coach so he could get some meaningful playing time.
My chest got heavy thinking about him, how his disappointment had hardened him into someone unpredictable and sharp, how he looked through me sometimes, the late nights, and vague explanations like I was another obstacle between the life he deserved and him.
Today wasn’t the day for marital introspection. I shook off the thoughts. I had to be on my game for these calls and social media strategies, and making sure Mason didn’t lose Mateo’s jersey for show and tell.
Mason slid into the kitchen with his socks on and backpack ready. His face was mostly clean. I grabbed another napkin to wipe the excess toothpaste off. In his hand were the matching shoes he wanted to wear.
“Okay, look at you ready to go!” I grabbed the keys from the hook by the door and my purse.
As we headed toward the door, I glanced at our family photos and the tasteful decor of our home. Everything was in place, painting a picture of a family on the way up. If only photos could tell the entire story.
After dropping off Mason, I was back in my home office, a third bedroom converted just how I needed it with an ergonomic chair that cost more than my first month’s rent in college and dual monitors.
The view of the neighborhood was gorgeous.
I checked my appearance one more time before connecting to the Zoom call.
They would never know I was wearing leggings below the desk.
I was professional from the waist up, my best-kept secret.
“Good morning, Danica. Did you see Chef Mike’s comments and the responses to them?” The restaurant owner looked at me through the screen. Worry lines creased his eyes and forehead.
“Yes, and I’ve already drafted my response statement.
We’re going to pivot away from ‘chef hates vegans’ to ‘culinary artist advocates for education.’ We’re going to acknowledge the passion by using the language.
We’ll redirect, reframe, and then roll out the vegan menu we discussed.
” I shared my screen, pointing out the key points. I could tell his shoulders relaxed.
“This is why you’re on a retainer.”
“I’m best at crisis management.” I didn’t add that I’d had lots of practice at home.
I scheduled a follow-up session for tomorrow, and we wrapped up the call.
I closed the video chat, and the photo on my desk caught my eye.
Mateo, Mason, and I were at a charity game.
Mateo had a wide smile with his arm around my shoulders.
That was before his teammate was traded, and he was moved up in rotation.
There were whispers of scouts showing interest back then.
I shook off the thought and focused on my calendar.
I had two more calls and needed to update Mateo’s social media.
His IG had been curated to the right mix of dedicated athlete and family man with sprinkles of community role model.
I crafted his online brand as meticulously as any big business corporate brand would.
I’d spent years spinning stories, controlling narratives, and managing public images for clients. The irony wasn’t lost on me as I was doing it now for my own family. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Lanette.
Lanette:
The team misses your strategic mind. I’m still holding that senior position. Are you ready to come back full-time?