Page 6 of Isolation

I stared at the message. That offer had been open for a while, ever since Mason started kindergarten. Adult conversations, a real office, and a salary that didn’t fluctuate actually soundednice. Still, that would come with less flexibility, less time with my boys. Not to mention, Mateo would take it as me not having confidence in his career, as if stepping back into my happy place would mean I didn’t believe in him having a breakthrough.

Me:

Let’s grab coffee and discuss next week.

I replied noncommittal as ever. I rolled my shoulders and got back to work ticking off the things on my list. My phone alarm sounded, reminding me it was time to pick Mason up from school. I put the computer to sleep and grabbed my purse. At the door, I slipped into my flats.

I weaved through the familiar route through Columbus traffic. As traffic slowed to a crawl, I went through my to-do list in my mind. I switched the radio to music when they started discussing basketball trades. I didn’t want to hear any speculation about Mateo’s team before he told me himself.

At the elementary school, I spotted a space and slid in before another parent could claim it, earning a glare from a mother in a Benz. I flashed her my best PR smile—pleasant but unapologetic.

The dismissal line moved fast, and I spotted Mason with his backpack. His face lit up when he saw me. A teacher helped him into the back seat and strapped him in.

“Thank you,” I said.

“No problem. See you tomorrow, Mason.” The teacher closed my door, and I continued moving with the traffic.

“Mommy, I got a gold star today.”

“No way!”

“Un huh. Mrs. Elise says I’m advanced.”

“Yes, you are. How did show and tell go?”

“My teacher said Daddy’s jersey is cool because he’s a professional player. Jalen said his dad plays too but at the YMCA, so that doesn’t count.”

I turned my head and chuckled. “That isn’t nice, Mason.”

“I didn’t tell him that. I just thought it.”

“Okay, that’s good.”

“What should I make for dinner?”

“Spaghetti.” Mason’s go-to answer.

“How about the chicken Daddy likes since we had pasta yesterday?”

“Okay, but can you make extra sauce?”

I pulled into a space in our complex. I let Mason out of the car, and he raced to our front door. Inside, he dumped his backpack, a habit I was trying to break, and he ran to his room to play.

A while later, I heard the front door open when I was transferring the chicken to a serving platter. Mason confirmed what I suspected—Mateo was home.

“Hey, little man.” Mateo’s voice carried across the room.

“Perfect timing,” I said as he approached.

“Let me take a quick shower. Smells good!”

I set the table and poured drinks. I handed a basket of rolls to Mason.

“Be careful. They’re hot.”

The table was set when Mateo returned showered and dressed in fresh basketball shorts and a t-shirt. He slid into a chair and immediately reached for his glass of water.

“How was practice?” I asked while fixing Mason a plate.

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