Chapter 13
Moms of Mayhem
Stevie
Happy Monday!
Shannon
That feels like an oxymoron.
Tate
I kind of agree. What’s happy about Mondays?
Stevie
Okay, party poopers.
Emmy
You ready for orientation today, Shannon?
Daisy
Oh! That’s right! Are you excited to start your clinical fellowship year? Do you meet your mentor today?
Stevie
Wow, okay. Somebody googled this far more than me. Now I feel like a bad friend.
Shannon
We’re not friends
Stevie
cuz we’re BEST friends
Tate
What time do you start?
Shannon
I need to head out in an hour. Trying to decide if I look okay.
I held the phone away from me and snapped a picture, looking more confident than I felt. My black scrubs hit above the tops of my Doc Marten boots, a black sheer long-sleeve shirt covering my tattoos on my arms. I’d layered several gold necklaces over it to feel more me, but I felt stuffy.
Daisy
I like it. Medical goth. Spooky professional.
Tate
Seconded.
Stevie
And look at that BLING. He did such a good job with your ring.
Emmy
I know, I love it. It’s so you.
I looked down at my hand and the wedding ring shining back at me. We hadn’t left the house over the weekend, Mikko and I settling into a routine that consisted of planning our entire lives around an energetic toddler and avoiding each other as much as possible.
That wasn’t part of the original plan, but after his whole if my wife has needs, comment, it felt more important than ever to keep my distance.
But now that I was headed out, I felt like I needed to wear my ring again.
Needed to sell this narrative that yes, I was a wife and step-mom. Even if both titles sounded absurd.
Stevie
I need a style besides, ‘I don’t care if my kid wipes their snotty nose on this shirt.’
Emmy
That’s a fun project. Maybe we need to take a girl’s trip down to Denver and go shopping?
Daisy
I’m in.
Stevie
Omg that sounds so fun. Can we come see you, Shan? I miss you.
Shannon
It’s been like, five days.
Stevie
I know. TOO LONG.
Grinning at my phone, the nerves that woke me up before the sun dissipated. The kitchen was quiet, Mikko gone at morning skate and Leena still asleep. He was only going for part of the workout today so I could head to my job orientation, the first of our slightly off-schedule days.
I sipped my iced coffee, watching the clock tick by at a pace that seemed spectacularly slow. Before I had time to wonder if Mikko would break his promise about what time he’d be home, the elevator dinged, announcing his arrival 15 minutes early.
But he wasn’t alone—the concierge from downstairs was with him.
“Hi Ken,” I said, a little confused what he was doing here.
“She’s still asleep,” Mikko said to Ken, only confusing me further. “You’re sure you’re good up here for a few minutes?”
Ken smiled. “I have six kids, Mikko. I’ve got you.”
Mikko looked far calmer than I expected, considering how weird he was with other people around his kid. When he held his hand out for me, I studied it for a moment.
“Let me walk you down to the garage,” he said when I didn’t take his hand.
I finished the last of my coffee, then put the cup in the sink and grabbed my bag off the barstool. Mikko put his hand out again, and I slid mine in his, more than a little confused by whatever was going on, but trying to follow his lead.
“Have a good day, Mrs. Laaksonen,” Ken said with a little wave.
“Just Shannon.” Living in a penthouse with a housekeeper and a concierge felt about as far removed from my childhood as I could get. “Please.”
I followed Mikko into the elevator, then dropped his hand as soon as the doors shut us in. “What’s this about?”
“Your car is here.”
“My…” I shook my head, then looked up at him. “I was going to call for a ride from the lobby.”
Mikko didn’t look at me, studying the numbers ticking down instead, one hand in his pocket. “I told you I bought you a car. It’s parked downstairs waiting for you. You can drive that.”
I took a deep breath, trying and failing not to act weird. “Mikko. This is too much, especially since we decided I’m not doing a lot.”
This time he looked at me. “You’re taking care of us. So let me do the same, rakas.”
The doors opened before I’d come up with a response to that, and Mikko strode out of the elevator into the garage. I followed behind him, practically running to keep up with his long strides. His silver SUV was parked nearby, and next to it was an identical black one.
Mikko pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, then clicked the button, the lights flashing on it. I gawked at the black car, far nicer than anything I’d ever owned. My feet stopped at a distance while Mikko opened the driver’s side door.
“I also got you the all-wheel-drive package and a set of snow tires we’ll put on next month before winter arrives.”
On and on he went, explaining every feature and why he’d picked it, but I barely heard him, so lost to my thoughts.
The paint wasn’t black—it was matte black, like my nails.
The license plate wasn’t the standard green-and-white, but a custom red-and-black one that blended into the car perfectly, sporting the letters SWL.
Shannon Wilder Laaksonen.
My new monogram.
This wasn’t just a luxury vehicle—he’d made it mine.
“I got Leena’s car seat installed before I came up this morning too,” Mikko said, drawing my attention away from yet another sweet gesture. “And the directions to your orientation are in the GPS already, so you’re set.”
When I still didn’t move toward him, Mikko finally looked up. A loaded silence hung between us in the empty parking garage.
I finally made myself move, walking over to take the keys from his outstretched hand. Mikko held the door open, and I slid under his arm, looking inside the vehicle. Two-tone black and cream leather lined the interior, but it was the roses embroidered on the headrests that finally did me in.
This felt far more than you needed a car, so I bought you a car when he’d had so much customized to exactly what I would have chosen for myself. No, this felt like a husband choosing a present for a wife.
“Mikko.”
“Did I do something wrong?” He sounded far more nervous than someone who’d given me the best gift of my life should.
“No.” I cleared my throat. “It’s great. I love it.”
Mikko put his hands in his pockets, a small smile tugging at his lips. I shouldn’t have stared at them, at how the bottom one was fuller than the top, looking so damn kissable, but I did.
“Good. I hoped you would.”
I sank down onto the buttery leather seats, then listened while Mikko switched back into business mode, explaining how to adjust the seats and program it to my preferences, then ran through every safety feature available I hoped I’d never need.
“All set?” he asked.
I put hands on the steering wheel and looked out the front windshield. Anything to avoid looking at the man who was going out of his way to take care of me like no one in my life ever had before.
“Yes. I’m good.”
Mikko moved out of the way, and I closed the door. He tapped the glass once I started the engine, and I rolled down the window. The moment it was fully open, Mikko leaned down, elbows resting on the edge.
“Have a great day, wife. Tell me all about it when you get home.”
I was so thrown off by this entire morning I didn’t even have a snappy comeback ready. No, I was too busy focusing on the way my heart fluttered in my chest the longer his attention stayed on me.
Home.
What a dangerous word.
Denver traffic was awful on a good day, but I made it to the office by the Tech Center in time to reread my email from my mentor, Heather, for the millionth time before I had to go inside.
Today would be mostly onboarding tasks, but Heather had a great reputation as a pediatric speech pathologist, and I wanted to make a good impression. To show that I was ready for this.
I got out of the car, slinging my backpack full of toys, laminated cards, and games over my shoulder as I walked toward High Country Rehabilitation.
My calendar invite was updated yesterday to bring me here instead of Little Voices Pediatric Therapy, but they were part of the same network.
I assumed orientation was happening at the main office before they sent me to the clinic I’d signed up for.
The moment the sliding glass doors whooshed open, I knew I was wrong.
The walls were a muted beige, decorated with generic landscape prints that looked like they’d been pulled straight from a discount bin. The waiting room was quiet, save for the low murmur of a television mounted in the corner.
No bright murals.
No tiny chairs.
No bins of well-loved toys.
No finger paintings taped proudly to the walls.
This was about as far from a warm, welcoming pediatric clinic as I could imagine.
“Shannon?” a woman called from behind the front desk.
I pasted on a smile, trying to swallow my disappointment. “That’s me.”
She came around the counter wearing maroon scrubs beneath a charcoal zip-up jacket embroidered with the High Country Rehabilitation logo.
I guessed she was in her early forties, her dark hair pulled into a neat ponytail and a pair of tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose.
She offered me her hand with an easy smile.
“I’m Rebecca Ellis. Thanks for being flexible with the last-minute change. ”
I shook it. “Of course.”
“Come on back.”
She held open a secured door, and I followed her down a hallway lined with identical offices, each marked with a clinician’s name and credentials.
The floors gleamed with freshly waxed tile, and every few feet another framed landscape hung against the same beige walls.
It was immaculate. Organized. Sterile. Nothing like what I’d imagined when I accepted a position with Little Voices.