Kneading the ductile dough took my mind off the chaos. My phone continued to ring, demanding a response. As did the news anchors filming the protests. Anarchy reigned on a Monday afternoon.
The front door opened and shut with a definitive slam. Shoes clipped across the wood floor in the foyer, every step producing a bead of sweat. Barnaby came around the corner, cheeks flushed and thick curls plastered to his face.
I slammed the dough on the powdered counter. “Don’t ask me. I don’t know.”
His wide-eyed bewildered tempered with a scowl. “That answer won’t go over well with reporters.”
“That’s why I hired you,” I retorted, placing the dough in a greased bowl and covering it. “So I don’t have to talk to reporters.”
His thick lips pressed tightly while his ebony skin grew more auburn. “Ms. Cursor, you inherited a multi-million-dollar pharmaceutical company out of college. The world has been scrutinizing your every action and now they’ve found something they don’t like. We need to paint the picture.”
My blood heated while a headache ensued. “Here’s the facts. Maurine Daniels pitched a drug with a slew of side effects I’m not willing to get behind. She undermined my authority, so I fired her.”
Barnaby’s nose crinkled. “Anything else I can work with?”
Dusting my hands on my designer jeans, I tried to cage the malice in my heart. “You mean something to appease the woke police that paint me as a heartless racist who can’t imagine someone has a better idea than me? Sorry I make business decisions based on people’s safety and not internet trends.” I stopped, taking a breath. “Wow, that felt good to say aloud.”
Barnaby pulled out his phone, typing something with lightning fingers. “This is a disaster. We need to present a better story. Make you relatable. Maybe–”
“No.”
“I didn’t finish.”
Pushing back stray blond locks, I headed for the pantry. “We’ve done this dance before, and the answer is still no.”
“Ms. Cursor…”
“I’m not bringing him into this. End of discussion.”
Barnaby pursed his lips and nodded. “I’ll come up with some other ideas.” He started to walk away.
My chest caved with how we were leaving things. “Wait.” He stopped in the threshold. “Thank you, Barnaby. I’m sorry for my tone.”
His usual gentle smile lit his face before he left.
Alone again in the kitchen with only my thoughts. Perhaps the worst place to be.
“Momma!”
My heart fluttered at the small squeal and running footsteps.
Kalek nearly missed the counter in his excitement, a crayon in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. “Look, look!”
I picked up the toddler and tousled his red hair. “What? What is it?” He produced the picture, a poor sketch of three stick figures in a miscolored forest. Yet it felt like looking at a Picasso. “This is so wonderful!”
Kalek’s caramel eyes brightened. “You like it? It’s you and me visiting Jake in war.”
I bit my tongue, trying not to laugh. “Sweetie, he’s not in war. He just got deployed out of the country to serve people.”
“But he’s in the army.”
Staring at his little face, I wondered if I had to explain this. Perhaps when he was older. Along with explaining why he didn’t have a dad and why mommy was gone a lot. He received plenty of love from his retired grandfather and the family butler, but all that seemed pointless when I walked into the door. I could never be replaced in his mind.
His crayon clattered to the ground as his body boughed toward the counter. “Bread?”
Setting him straight in my arms, I brought him toward the rising dough. “Yep. Bread. But it’s not done yet.”
His lip folded into a pout. “Did something bad happen?”
“Why would you say that?”
“You make bread when you’re mad.”
How did he figure these things out? I should bake for a birthday or something, even out the moods of pastry. “Momma’s just figuring things out at work.”
“Can I help?”
I pinched his ductile cheek. “You already are sweetie.”
He seemed to glow with his precious smile, wrapping his small arms around me.
I held him tight, remembering how scared I’d been when I found out I was pregnant. I had a thousand options, and no one would’ve blamed me for any of them. The choice I made, to have Kalek, go to college, and intern with my father. No one expected that. I fought for the life I had, something I could be proud of. And now, I fought to give Kalek a life worthy of my love for him. To teach him to do what’s right even if the world hated him for it.
Opening my eyes, I found myself swaying with Kalek in my arms. His eyes drooped as he clung to my blouse, bits of slobber coating his lips. I’d kept him secret from the public, not wanting to expose him to the heartless world beyond our door.
But what did I care what they thought of my son? All we needed was each other and everything would be fine.
Swallowing my fear, I grabbed my phone. Ignoring all the missed messages of unknown numbers, I called Barnaby.
“Yes, Ms. Cursor.”
“I’ve reconsidered your proposal. About telling my story.”
Something clattered on the other end. The excitement was evident in Barnaby’s pitchy tone. “Oh my goodness. All right, just one… Okay, tell me everything.”
I kissed Kalek’s forehead and told my story. The girl who wanted to make the world a better place.