I am so thrilled and electrified, it feels intoxicating. I’m afraid that if I speak it will be complete gibberish. Eli is staring at me. I’m assuming he’s waiting for me to thank everyone or give a speech, but I’m still tongue-tied, thoughts swirling.
An image of my mother pops into my mind, as it often does in moments like these. Before my brother died, my mom was seemingly normal. She was always a little eccentric, but not mean, not cruel the way she became. She was actually quite thoughtful, and at times ruminative. My dad sometimes referred jokingly to my mother’s musings as “esoteric LSD flashbacks,” but she would laugh it off and say she had never touched the stuff. There’s a memory of her I always think about whensomething good happens: It was my graduation from UCLA and my parents and Ben had come down from Seattle. We were all driving to the ceremony, and I was in the backseat with my mom because she said she wanted to talk to me. Ben sat in front while my dad drove. She was holding my hand and smiling at me.
“Danielle?”
“Yes, Mother.” I laughed at our formalities.
“Be serious for a moment.” She smiled tersely.
“Okay.” I laughed once more. “Okay, okay.”
She scooted closer to me in the car so my father and brother couldn’t hear her. In a low voice, she said, “When you walk across that stage this afternoon, I want you to pause and look out into the crowd. Your inclination will be to think about where I, or your father or Ben are sitting, but I don’t want you to do that. I want you to take a deep breath and consider this…your education is not an object to frame or a memory to look back on fondly. Your education is a tiny seed. It’s a gift and if you water it, it will continue to grow…forever. The degree, the name of this fancy college printed on a piece of paper, or the job that may come along with it…those things arenotevidence of a good education. Being self-aware, compassionate, humble, being able to see the world and the others in it through an unselfish lens, that’s what aneducatedperson does. They remind themselves that they have a choice, not just to do the right thing but also tothinkthe right thing.” She tapped the graduation cap I was holding in my lap and said, “You were an educated person long before this came along and I couldn’t be prouder of that fact.”
My mother had no formal education herself, but still she was hell-bent on Ben and me graduating from college. My parents even took out a second mortgage to pay for it. My mom workedfor the Seattle City Clerk’s Office for forty-two years, pushing paper. No one ever asked her about her job and she never talked about it. That day in the car she wasn’t giving me the advice because she regretted her own life. She was preparing me for the realities ofanylife. At the time, I found it ironic that the person who was insistent on us going to college was essentially telling me that a degree, in and of itself, was meaningless. But I get it now. Before Ben died and before she got sick, my mother was the most educated and compassionate woman I knew. That version of her would have been proud of how I handled Beth today, even more than she’d be of me landing the show. Whenever I think about my mother before my brother died, it pains me knowing Alex and the boys never got to know her in that light.
Finally, I stand from my chair. The room goes quiet. “Thank you. It goes without saying that I am over the moon excited, but I’m also humbled and grateful.”
Everyone stands, we shake hands, and the execs leave. Gina and Eli are standing over the table in the corner that was set up with coffee and pastries. I approach them once the execs are completely out of the room.
“I told you,” Eli says.
Gina turns toward me and smiles. “I’m not blowing smoke, Dani—out of all the shows we’re developing, this is the one I have the most faith in and the one I think I’ll most enjoy myself.”
“Thank you so much. That’s never happened to me before. You guys must have sold it to them before this meeting was even planned.”
“It was a no-brainer. Exactly the type of show we needed,” Gina says.
“So, how do we start?” In the back of my mind I know I have to pick up the boys from Jose’s house before it looks like I’m abandoning them.
“Go home,” Eli says. I’m relieved. “I’ll get the offices set up the rest of this week, hire a couple of interns, and get things going. Why don’t you work from home, Dani, maybe get us a breakdown of episodes and some names so we can put together your writing dream team.”
I suddenly realize that I don’t have anything written beyond the pilot, and that I will need a group to work out a season of writing with me. “How many episodes did they order?”
Gina laughs. “Thirteen, Dani. They want the whole season. They’ll probably want a second season too, considering how jazzed they were, but let’s take this one step at a time. You have to choose some writers and then interview them.”
“This makes me so happy.”
“Did you think we’d ask for anything less?” Eli says, smirking. “We’re thrilled to have you running this show.”
“So I’m the showrunner?” What a dumb question.
“Yes, Dani, you’re the creator and showrunner.” Gina is laughing still. “I can’t believe you’re asking that. We’re honored to have you. Now go celebrate!”
This is who I am. I’m not a fraud, not an imposter, I’m the real thing. At least for today, until the doubt creeps in again.
“All right,” I say. “I’ll get to work at home this week and see you guys here on Monday.”
“Yep, your offices will be on the third floor.Gracelessis going down, we’re gonna take that space.”
I’m spooning irony into my mouth right now and it’s delicious.
“Okay,” I say.
I reach out for a hug from Gina and then realize it’s an awkward thing to do so I pull back. She smiles and then pulls me in for a huge embrace.
“Congratulations,” she whispers. My eyes are welling up.
“I’ll walk you out,” Eli says.
