“Great, love to hear it. See you tomorrow, bright and early.”
And with that dismissal, I head out the door, taking care to say my goodbyes to teammates as our eyes meet.
Once I’m in my car, I see that my mom asked me to call her.
Sylvia Parker. Former Olympic volleyball player, now Momager-extraordinaire.
She’s beenall overmy sponsorships and appearances since high school. Since I have zero interest in dealing with that side of being an athlete, it’s not been terrible.
My college NIL (Name, Image, and Likeness) income became a high six figures during my final two years, and I was thankful she could take care of all the opportunities.
She’s picked up the same role for my younger sister Remy, who’s finishing up her sophomore year at UConn and her first year as starting point guard. Remy has a happy-go-lucky personality, so Mom’s management style also works for the two of them, though for different reasons.
My older brother Dylan—now that’s a different story. He loves to be in control of everything off-court too. He’s long moved past Mom’s reach in his fourth year in the NBA and hired a rockstar agent, some guy named Aiden.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she says as she picks up the call. “How was the game? I caught the stats online.”
“Fine. Then you saw. I shot five for eight, and had three assists. We won.”
My mom will know that I expect more for my own numbers, but without starter minutes, that’s harder.
“Not bad, Aves,” she reassures me. “Is it a good time for me to go over some business stuff?”
“Sure.”
“The SkyHigh brand emailed me with interest in a shoe deal. Would you want me to pursue it?”
“Why not? I like their campaigns.” They’re creative, and they always have as many women athletes as men in their marketing.
“All right, let me follow up with them. And then Legend protein bars want to do something with you, Dylan, and Dad.”
Hmmm.“What does Dylan say to that?”
She sighs. “I haven’t talked to him or his agent yet. Thought I would start with you first.”
Dylan, like me, has a complicated relationship with my dad. Paul Parker the basketball player may have been an All-Star for a decade, but as a dad, he was absent a ton. And once we hit our preteen years, there wasn’t any hero worship at home.
When Dad finally retired and was around more, we were in high school and old enough to have strong, independent streaks.His attempts to be a tough coach, teach us how to “really play,” and overall control our lives only served to piss us off.
For Dylan, that meant fighting back, loudly. He was a national phenom by that point anyway. Me, I just shut it all out.
Dad’s not necessarily a bad guy, but he doesn’t reallyknowus. Not like Mom does. He’s never quite adjusted to no longer being the star of the show either.
And Dad, Dylan, and I—we’re all stubborn as heck. So that doesn’t help.
“If everyone else is in, I’ll do it.” It’s easy to say because I doubt Dylan will agree.
“Media wise, we’re going to have a meeting with the Surge public relations lead, who mentioned a few interview requests. None of them sound too crazy to me. A local paper feature and a couple pre-recorded interviews for the first few televised game days.”
“Great. Thanks, Mom.”
“She seemed fine that we weren’t hiring anyone for your personal PR needs yet. So we’ll go with our plan, and she and I will coordinate all your media duties.”
“Perfect.” I like simple, and that approach sounds easier than adding a new person to the mix.
“Enough business,” she said, her voice relaxing. “Dad and I are excited to see you play in a couple of weeks. Got my Surge gear coming in the mail. Jamie may be able to come too.” My younger brother is still in high school.
She sounds excited, and it lifts me up a bit. Mom is adorably supportive when it comes to our on-court play.
