“This is really terrific,” Jane said to me, holding a coffee mug in one hand and her phone in the other. She was scrolling through my notes, using her thumb. Writers and editors are stellar at multitasking when it comes to drinking coffee and anything else. “I wasn’t sure how this would turn out, but it’s really becoming way more than a passion project.”
I took a sip of my own latte and looked down at the table. It had been a while since I’d been this excited, even more so than the gender-neutral clothing piece, which still hadn’t dropped. It had been even longer since I’d been proud of myself.
“I could be wrong, but I rarely am,” Jane looked up and said with a wink. “But this smacks of not only a series but a staff position.”
“What?”
My mouth went dry, and it wasn’t the coffee. Reaching for my water, I waited to hear what came next. I wasn’t one to make assumptions.
Jane put her phone down and set her mug next to her tablet. We were in a small local place I preferred to the big-name coffee chains. The walls were exposed brick, and various sizes of planters filled with ivy lined the perimeter. It felt like an inside garden, and typically was calming and soothing.
But not at this moment.
“I may have mentioned to Tony,” the magazine’s editor-in-chief, “that we were missing a market segment—parents and the companies who need to target them. Yes, we cover and cater to big toy brands and SAT prep, blah, blah, but we’re missing floundering parents who need information on best practices. In the process, we gather data for all kinds of companies who want to reach parents. Yes, it’s a bit like sticking our hand in both cookie jars, but quid pro quo and all that. If we help parents, then they can help us.”
My head was spinning. Deciding against any more caffeine, I took another sip of water.
“I told Tony I would chat with you,” Jane said, “but we quickly brainstormed and were thinking some sort of guidebooks and/or videos to start.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“To start, say you’re flattered. You deserve this.”
“I truly am. Flattered, that is.” Swallowing my pride, I asked, “But this isn’t pity?”
Jane sat back in her chair, leveling me with a serious expression. “I knew you were going to say that. Look, you didn’t owe me any explanations, and I didn’t expect a ton of details. You’ve been one of my best writers for a long time, and it’s not typical for people to work together as long as we have in this world. I’ve always liked you, and I suspected things weren’t so terrific at home for you.”
“Oh,” I muttered. I’d always thought I kept everything so buttoned up.
“No one stays like you did, doing freelance crap for me, biding your time. You were stuck, and now you’re unstuck, and I want to hold on to you. So, no pity on my part.”
I begged myself not to cry. I’d become such an emotional soul over the last few weeks. After my life had been in slow motion for years, everything was changing at light speed.
Holding back the tears, I simply said, “Yes, I’m in for that.”
“Good. Now finish this story, and we’ll set a meeting with Tony to discuss further. Payments and some added benefits, and all that.”
My stomach was in my ankles. I wanted to rub my eyes and make sure this wasn’t a dream.
“Can you come to the offices then? When we meet?” Jane asked, bringing me back to reality.
“Of course,” I said.
Taking a deep breath, I went back to my coffee and celebrated with a long slug. Then I thought about dinner at Mick’s later and celebrating with him.
And Priscilla.
Oh well, it would be G-rated—not everything could be fairy-tale perfect. But showing my daughter my success was a highlight.
Jane and I made plans to connect the beginning of the following week, and I noted in my calendar when I needed to finish the piece. I had one more interview tomorrow with another parent.
After Jane left, I closed my eyes and blew out a breath. Benefits. Staff position. Role model.
Words and titles floated in my brain until my phone beeped. I’d had an alarm set to go pick up Priscilla, but this was Rochelle texting me that she’d picked up what I needed to make dinner tonight.
“Hi, baby girl,” I said to Priscilla as Annabeth helped her inside the car at afterschool pickup.
“Mommm,” Priscilla said, giving me her standard frustrated response to that term of endearment.
