“You’re sitting in your closet, aren’t you, Dani?”
“So what?”
“Danielle?” came Alex’s voice from outside the closet door.
“Hold on, Connie. What is it, Alex?”
“I’m going to pick up the boys.” His voice was quiet…worried. I wished for a moment I could see the expression on his face. It had been a long time since he showed concern for me.
“Okay,” I said. I felt the tightening up of my throat and welling tears in my eyes. Whenever Alex acted like he cared even just an ounce, it made me emotional.
Connie spoke up. “Dani, I have to jump on another call. Listen, I’m going to a luncheon thingy tomorrow for one of my clients and Eli Abrams is going to be there.”
“Okay,” I said, not sure what she was getting at.
“Eli is working for Gina Edwards, who has that big overall deal with Apple right now. They’re looking for an episodic dramedy.”
“Wow. I know Eli. We had a great working relationship.”
“Well, he’s producing content for her now. Why don’t you shoot me over the twelve pages tonight so I can talk about it tomorrow with him?”
“Okay,” I said in a much higher voice. I instantly had the simultaneous thoughts, very common among writers, where you hear your own voice say, “I can write award-winning television in my sleep. I’m going to write the whole pilot tonight,” and “I’m a fraud, a hack, a talentless impostor.”
“We have a plan, then, Dani?”
“Yeah, I’ll send the pages over tonight.”
It wasn’t until an hour later and a half a bottle of ten-dollar chardonnay in my gut that I decided to actually leave the closet. I threw on a pair of sweats, twisted my hair up in a bun, and made my way downstairs to the recycling bin, passing my thirteen-year-old son, Noah, as he sat at the kitchen counter reading. He’s the brainy one whose curiosity and interests overshadow the turmoil going on around him, thank god.
“Hi, Mom. I just read that Elon Musk developed a video game at the age of twelve and was paid five hundred thousand dollars for it.”
“Wow. I guess that explains why billions to him now must feel normal.” I paused and looked over Noah’s shoulder at the iPad he was holding. “What site are you reading?”
“An article inPopular Mechanics. I could probably develop that same game, except so could half the kids I know.”
“Innovation and skill are different things.”
He smiled and looked up at me. “Are you saying I’m not innovative?”
“You are innovative, the most innovative person I know. You just have to figure out how to develop that thing that no one has created but that everybody wants or needs.” I bent and kissed the top of his head. “How was school?” Noah was growing up. I noticed for the first time he had peach fuzz on his upper lip. Alex and I were too swept up in our drama to notice that our boys were becoming men right before our eyes.
“Do you think I’m more innovative than Ethan?”
I blinked, contemplating how to answer. The boys were too old now to pull one over on them. I instantly regretted using the superlative “most,” even though it was true. Noah was the most innovative person I knew, but he was still a kid with normal sibling rivalry tendencies.
“Ethan is innovative, but his strengths are different than yours.”
“Explain.”
“Noah, you and your brother are different. I’m actually surprised at how different you are, considering you are brothers so close in age.” My voice was starting to rise with irritation. “Ethan has that flexible kind of brain that makes it possible for him to adapt to any situation.”
“I’m flexible,” Noah said.
Ethan walked into the kitchen as we were talking about him and it didn’t even faze him. He glanced at the empty yogurt container in front of Noah and said, “Did you really eat the last yogurt even though I told you I wanted it?”
“I thought there was another one in there.”
“No, you didn’t. Whatever.”
