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I email back my thanks for all her support. Once I opened up and truly embraced therapy, that, along with my will to progress and Mick’s love, saw me over the hurdles. I feel as if I can face anything.
Maybe that’s what has me setting aside caution and pulling up Google. I enterMicah Peters, marriage. In an instant, numerous Top Stories pop up and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. I scroll through the headlines from various sources includingPeople,USA Today,EntertainmentTonight, andCNN. My breaths quicken. Mick and I had deliberately not watched the news or checked social media. Now, I’m wishing I had stuck to that plan. It was one thing to be featured in a contained interview shot in our house. Quite another to see Mick and me splashed everywhere for the world to see.
Micah Peters ties the knot with children’s attorney Deeana Chase on a private island
Sunday Nights with Bianca Keller breaks the news that Micah Peters married his high school crush
Wife of Micah Peters bears it all on her weight struggles and being married to the former NBA star
One Twitter post called us the newIt couplewith a hashtag, #McDee. There’s scant mention of Mick’s award and Papa’s Kids, the purpose eclipsed by the hype of our marriage and my tell-all. Overwhelmed, I close Google and lean back, shutting my eyes for the balance of the trip.
All too soon the carreprieve is over. Stiles escorts me through another crowd of reporters. It’s for this reason that I hadn’t scheduled any in-person meetings for the next week. I’d told Lena she could work from home. But I arrive to find her at her desk and no worse for wear. In fact, her heavily lined eyes greet me with excitement.
“I felt like a rock star.”
I suppose at twenty-four and fame-hopeful, Lena would have that perspective.
“How are you dealing with it?” she asks.
“Not with the same enthusiasm.” I remove my coat. “I assume they’ll tire of this soon enough and move on after the gala next Saturday.”
“I don’t know.” Her tone sounds dubious. “That interview was fire, Dee. You put it all out there. I didn’t even know some of those things about you. Now I understand the changes I’ve seen in you over the last few months.”
“I didn’t intentionally keep any of it from you. They just weren’t issues I talked about. I wasn’t expecting to reveal that much on TV.”
“Well, I think it’s dope that you did. You and Mick are trending on Twitter.”
“I saw the #McDee.” I make a face.
She laughs. “It’s cute.”
Even so, I’m not going to let that matter. Because if I soak up the flattery, I can just as easily drown in the insults. “Any calls?” I ask, switching gears.
“Mostly from reporters. I saidno commentlike you told me to.”
“Thanks. Mick’s publicity manager will handle those.”
“There are a couple of new cases that just came in. I made up files and put them on your desk. Oh, and this person called.” She hands me a pink message slip. “She said she knew you from Springvale.”
Curious, I look down at the note. Molly Whitaker. She was my back-stairwell lunch partner in high school and we worked together at the library. We weren’t what you’d call friends. I didn’t have friends back then. I put her number aside for later and remove the framed wedding picture from my tote bag. We’re barefoot in the sand and smiling under the sun. The resort’s photographer had caught some fabulous candid shots. In this one, there’s a playful familiarity between us that captures the way we are together.
I place the picture on my desk. That I can now do that, is a welcome touch of normalcy. I angle it for my line of sight and get to work.
The morning flies by in a blink. My caseload stretching capacity. Lena, bless her, has taken on as much as she can. It’s inevitable that I will need to add another lawyer or find a partner. I’ve resisted that, reluctant to give up control. But I recognize that another attorney would enable me to serve more clients and would offer a myriad of personal perks, not the least of which is more time with Mick.
Mama T checks in on me while I’m eating lunch at my desk and Mick calls for a second time.
“Stop fussing.”
“Grandmas fuss, I’m an adoring husband concerned about his wife.”
“Your wife is doing fine,” I assure him with a smile in my voice. “Are you writing?”
“Yep.”
“I can’t wait to read it.”
“You’ll be the first.”
