We started brainstorming and my phone vibrated. Glancing quickly at the screen, I noticed my mother had called twice without leaving a voice mail. I held back a groan. Typical. If I didn’t pick up, she just kept calling and refused to leave a message. Soon, a text came through.
Frannie, please call me. I have an important question.
Impatience flickered. She was always calling me with endless questions, from how to work the television remote to what movie to rent at Redbox to whether I’d read the latest article about coconut oil healing all ailments. Once, she’d called half a dozen times to tell me she had a thirty percent coupon at Kohl’s and didn’t want it to expire.
She’d never really respected my work or how far I’d come, still treating me like I had a disposable job that allowed me to leave when I wanted, relax on weekends, or delegate my work when I wished. Her constant refrains echoed through my mind.
I don’t understand. Aren’t you the boss? Why can’t you take some time off?
I grabbed my phone and typed out a text. Busy now. Call you later.
I got back to work and shortly thereafter Adam came in. His curly brown hair was a bit mussed, and sweat gleamed on his forehead. “We have a problem,” he announced, crashing down into the chair.
“You decided you’re too fancy to work on branding Lexi’s Lemonade,” Layla teased, used to Adam’s dramatics. The man was a bit over-the-top but a genius when it came to creating click-worthy social media campaigns.
“No. The IG ad for Dallas Jeans is tanking.” He slid his iPad down the table with it opened to the screen. “Consumers hate it. We need a rebrand.”
My heart rate rammed into a full gallop. I had no time for any failures that weren’t scheduled. “It’s still brand-new,” I said, glancing down at the ad. “Maybe we need some organic growth first.”
Adam shook his head. “Not with this. It’s only going to get worse. I have a few suggestions on what to tweak, Frannie. I know you’re busy so I can work with Layla and get it handled.”
“No problem,” Layla said. “I can make the time.”
I hesitated. I was already overworked and overscheduled. I should just let Adam and Layla take care of it, but the Dallas Jeans ad was something I’d helped create. If it bombed, I needed to be involved in fixing it. “No, I can work with you.”
Kate blinked. “What about Lexi’s Lemonade? We don’t want to get behind. It may be better to let them handle it, Frannie.”
I squared my shoulders. “I know the client best, including Perry’s preferences. I’ll stay late a few nights and knock it out.”
Kate and Layla shared a glance but held their tongues. They’d been pushing for more control, advising me to hire more people and to work lead on fewer clients. I knew they were trying to help and that they craved more responsibility, but I still had an uneasy feeling that if I stepped back too much, they’d eventually decide they didn’t need me.
I tamped down on the tiny flicker of fear coursing through my bloodstream. That annoying, buzzing voice whispering the million ways I could fail. My entire reputation was based on running F&F Advertising and thriving at every level. I’d finally managed to secure some national-brand clients and needed to show they’d made the right decision in placing their dollars with a smaller firm.
Why did it feel like the entire world was waiting for me to fail? Successful women were still looked upon as dangerous, and one big mistake was gleefully gossiped about, with news of it spreading like wildfire.
I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. “Now, let’s get to work,” I said firmly.
They didn’t protest.
* * *
* * *
Hours later, I collapsed in my office and buzzed Jessica. “Any messages?” I asked.
She rattled off a few I could put off until tomorrow. “Your mother called twice. Said you’d promised to call her back.”
I groaned, rubbing my temples. “I forgot, thanks. Go on home. Thanks for staying.”
“No problem. Have a good night, Frannie.”
My stomach growled. I reached inside my desk drawer and nibbled on a Kind bar. Better get it over with. I dialed my mom’s number.
“Hi, Mom. Everything okay?”
“You never called me back.” Her voice held a slight sting designed to instill guilt. It worked. “You weren’t at Allegra’s track meet.”
Shit.
My daughter’s schedule was as jam-packed as mine, with tennis matches and races across the county. I’d missed the last few and swore I’d be there for the invitational. Her time was stellar and she had a good chance at getting a scholarship for both her running and her grades. This meet had been key. “I’m sorry,” I said with a sigh. “We had a crisis here at work, and I literally just got to my office. Why didn’t she call or text me?”
“Because she wanted you to remember on your own.”
The whiplash of guilt stung deeper. Another test I’d failed. How could I be a rock star at my job and such a loser at home? “What was her time?”
“I forgot but I wrote it down for you. She beat her record in the eight hundred and got a medal for first in the fifteen hundred.”
Pride flashed through me. “That’s amazing. Is she there with you?”
“No, she went home on her own. But I wanted to invite you both to dinner this week. Allegra wants to try out a new dish and we’ve had no family time together. How about Wednesday?”
I closed my eyes, resenting the requests she threw at me. She had nothing on her schedule and assumed I should jump at any invitation. “I can’t, Mom. I’ve got a hell of a week coming up with this new campaign, and I need to work late.”
An impatient sigh huffed over the line. My nerves prickled with annoyance. “Again? This is a difficult year for Allegra, and she needs you home, at least for dinner. Plus, I can’t freeze the grass-fed beef since it’s been in the refrigerator and I got it specifically for you. It’s expensive.”
“Then make it for yourself, Mom. It has less hormones so it’s better for your health.”
Mom snorted. “I’m too old to care what I eat anymore. Why can’t you come home and eat like a normal person, then go back to the office? At least we’ll have some time with you.”
I ground my teeth, remembered my last dentist appointment, and tried to relax my jaw. My mother had spent her entire life catering to Dad and me, creating domestic chores like a lifeline. And though she always said aloud that she was proud of my success, deep down I wondered. Instead of trying to support me through my struggles as a single mother, she turned to her skills as a master guilt-trip artist and exposed all my own crippling doubts. Did she resent my choice to become a career woman? To raise Allegra without a father figure? Or did she wonder what type of life she would’ve had if she’d embraced more than the four walls of her home?