Chapter 6
Zaila
I settled onto the couch next to my father’s favorite chair, a leather recliner that had seen better decades.
The soft, worn upholstery cradled my mother, who huddled in its depths, draped in her housecoat.
She told me she’d changed into it after her shower, but I’d bet she’d worn the horrid thing all day.
The housecoat itself wasn’t horrible; what it represented, however, upset me.
My mother was getting worse. She’d slowed down physically, and now she didn’t even want to get dressed. Instead, she hid in her nightclothes, growing paler and thinner—such a change from the vivacious, smiling woman who’d raised me.
“Mom,” I said, taking her hand in mine. Her skin was cool to the touch, and I could feel the bones beneath. “Do you want dinner?”
She opened her eyes and smiled. “Zaila, my sweet girl,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I…forgot what we were talking about.”
“I asked what you wanted for dinner.” Emotion rose in my throat as it tried to push up and make my eyes tear, but I shoved it down.
“Oh, I can just get something later.”
Her vague answer told me what I’d feared: my mother wasn’t eating. “I’m moving back in,” I told her.
She frowned. “Whyever would you do that? You should be out living your life.”
The tears I’d tried to force away now welled up. “I am living my life. I just told you about my job, remember?” I could tell she didn’t. “But you…” I blinked back tears. “You’re not.”
She reached over, fumbling until she could squeeze my hand weakly. “You have to, Zaila. You have to live your life, free and unfettered. Don’t let me hold you back. Your father would be appalled.”
He would, but not for the reason she’d cited. My mother had always been the backbone of our family, so seeing her reduced to this wisp of her former self destroyed me, just as it would have him.
“I’m going to make stroganoff.”
My mother loved the creamy pasta dish. I rose and headed to the kitchen, unsurprised that she didn’t follow me.
Just two years before, my mother would have been bustling around the room, a smile on her face as she ensured that Dad and I had our favorite drinks as we waited for a meal.
I took out some of the day’s frustration on the onion, then the mushrooms.
Once it was ready, I went back to the living room, where my mother was once again zoned out in Dad’s chair.
The sight of her firmed my resolve. I’d moved out the year before Dad died—the year I’d finished my bachelor’s degree and started my master’s.
I might have stayed longer, but both my parents wanted me to “experience a full life,” they’d said.
While I loved my loft near the Galleria, it had become impractical.
My lease was up in three months, and I’d let the place go. Mom needed me.
“Time to eat,” I said.
“Zaila.” She placed her hand to her chest. “Oh, darling. I forgot you were here.”
And I’d start moving my stuff back sooner than that. No way was I leaving Mom alone, even if it meant a longer commute.
We settled at the round oak table, and I dished up a plate for her, already knowing she wouldn’t finish most of the meal. Dread settled in my belly, chasing away my appetite.
“I’ll start moving my stuff back this weekend,” I said.
She shook her head. “No, Zaila. You have your whole life ahead of you—”
“Stop it,” I argued. “You and Dad…you’re everything. Without you, I’d have spent my whole life in that orphanage. I’m here, happy and healthy, because of you. Don’t you dare diminish what you did for me.”
She smiled, her eyes filled with love and understanding. “Ah, my sweet girl. From the moment your father and I saw you, we knew you were ours.”
My parents had been over fifty when they’d adopted me at age five; Dad’s fifty-fifth birthday was a couple of months after they brought me home, and I’d enjoyed his big birthday bash more than anything in my brief life.
I’d known from early on that my parents were older than most of my friends’ parents, but they were so loving and so much fun, and I’d found so much joy in our bond, that I hadn’t cared.
Now, finally I did, because I’d lost my father before my twenty-fifth birthday, and my mother probably wouldn’t make it to my twenty-sixth.
“I am yours.” I nodded. “That’s why you understand that I’m going to love you the best way I can, with everything I have, just as you showed me.”
“You have to live,” she said. “Even better, find someone to love you. Your father was such a good man, so much integrity that came through in everything he did. Love a man like him, sweetheart.”
My mind turned to Gunnar Evaldson, but I slammed the lid on that thought before I could yearn.
“Promise me you’ll do that,” Mom said.
I picked up her hand and brought it to my cheek. “I’ll try.”
She smiled, her gaze tracking the curves of my face. “That’s all I ask, my darling Zaila. Just for you to try.” She pulled her hand back and picked up her fork. “Now, tell me about your day.”
When I walked into the Wildcatters’ office building for my second day on the job, my heart thudded against my ribs.
I half expected people in the office to glare, believing I was the reason Lydia had quit.
Yet everyone seemed more relaxed and happier than they’d been the day before, just as Jay had said they’d be.
It seemed the guy had appointed himself my office friend, and throughout the day, he kept me informed on the rest of the marketing team’s reactions to Lydia’s resignation.
But I was determined to prove myself worthy of my position, so I settled at my desk and got to work sketching out my portion of tasks we’d put together based on my pitch to Gunnar the day before.
Later that afternoon, Jay, Tim, and I met with the Wildcatters’ marketing director, Noelle Fischer, a kind but no-nonsense woman who reminded me of my mother.
I left the meeting feeling more confident about my position with the team.
I also met Natalie Patel, who handled most of the Wildcatters’ PR, and she seemed polite and competent, but was much cooler in her response to me.
Regardless, I was finding my footing—especially now that Jay and I dealt mainly with Noelle—and I knew my stuff.
Though Gunnar had said I’d report to him, he’d clearly changed his mind, as Noelle, Tim, and Jay had each taken over some of Lydia’s duties, at least for now.
That made for a more streamlined department with an obvious hierarchy—Jay acting as my boss and Tim managing the art department.
Fortunately, I liked working with both of them, as well as Veronica and the designers.
The days unfolded, and the week went smoothly as I began interviewing the team nutritionists and physical therapists to implement my plan for social media.
And I spent every evening with my mother, brushing off Jay’s continued coaxing to get me out for a drink, dinner, something, anything social outside of work.
Ida Jane and Naomi had invited me out to lunch, just as they’d promised they would, but I’d begged off from that, too.
Not because I wasn’t interested, but because I wasn’t sure, exactly, of the line was I wasn’t supposed to cross.
My internship was for a full calendar year, giving me time to get a better feel for the industry and the sports team.
At the end, I hoped the Wildcatters would offer me a position, so I didn’t want to blur any boundaries that might complicate that.
Over the weekend, I moved more of my clothes and all of my toiletries into Mom’s house, returning to my old bedroom.
While some might see this as a step backward, I didn’t.
My mother needed me, and after just a couple of days, I was more than happy to see the color return to her wan complexion and interest brighten her eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were lonely?” I asked her on Sunday afternoon.
We’d gone out for mani-pedis, and Mom had even agreed to get her hair cut and colored. She looked beautiful in her silk blouse and wraparound skirt, so much more like the mother I was used to. My heart warmed. This is what I wanted—to see my mother again.
“I was worried.” At my questioning look, she sighed. “That I was being selfish, wanting you here with me. I never want to be a burden.”
I leaned over so I could rest my head on her shoulder. Peace filled me. “You could never be a burden, Mom. Please don’t say that.”
She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and hugged me. “You got it, Zaila. Thank you for being such a sweet girl.”
“I’m who I am because of how you raised me.”
Monday morning, I got up extra early and put on the outfit I’d chosen the night before: dark blue, flowing pants and a tailored, white linen blouse that made me feel feminine and pretty.
I pulled my hair back into a high ponytail and applied my makeup.
Today, the social media team would meet with Gunnar about the new campaign we’d developed.
The memory of our first meeting still made my cheeks flush, but I was determined to demonstrate that I was prepared and capable, that I deserved the trust he had shown me.
I drove to work, and as I approached my desk, I noticed something odd. Sticky notes in various colors covered my entire workspace. I couldn’t help laughing. “Jay!” I called out, knowing exactly who was behind this.
He appeared, leaning against the wall with a smug grin. “Yes, Ms. Social Media Guru?”
“How long did this take you?” I asked, gesturing to the sticky note disaster zone.
“Oh, you know, just a few hours after the game last night,” he said. “But it was worth it to see the look on your face.”
As I began the tedious process of removing the sticky notes, an idea struck me. “Wait a minute,” I muttered. “This could be perfect for our Day in the Life series!” I glanced up, my voice as bright as the ideas now bouncing through my mind.
Jay raised an eyebrow. “How so?”