She took a deep breath, balancing the laptop between us atop our thighs. I took a chance and tentatively slipped my arm around her shoulders as she hit play on the queued-up video. She leaned into me.
The piece started simply enough, like other videos Maureen had made where she’d gone into someone’s closet and asked them about their style, showing outfits to the camera. There was an intro segment where Francesca told the audience about her hometown, introducing Katy as a local single mom with two small children. B-roll showed the modest ranch-style home Katy lived in. Francesca’s voiceover narrated, “It’s a miracle anything stays neat when there are tiny humans around. I don’t have kids myself, but sometimes I wonder if there’s a secret parent manual that gets handed out when you have your first child saying it’s a requirement to have a play kitchen and a big tub of Mega Blocks in your living room.”The camera panned in on said items before Katy came into the shot to add,“It’s a rule to have a copy of ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ and a stack of wooden puzzles which immediately lose one piece.”
The cuts highlighted Maureen’s editing skills. She’d obviously tailored her later narration to the quip Katy made during the original filming.
The focus shifted to the home’s main bedroom, where Katy modeled her favorite casual outfits and Francesca offered suggestions for how she could change things up if she ever gotthe urge. Then Francesca coaxed Katy to try on some dresses in the back of her closet.
“Do you think you’ll feel like wearing more of your dresses and nicer clothes once the kids are a little older?”Francesca asked.
“Maybe. But it’s only recently I’ve started even considering my fashion again.”
“What do you mean?”
Katy sat on the bed, and Francesca was out of the shot.
“Well, I’m fine sharing with your viewers that I’m recently divorced. Not to be too blunt about it, but my husband left me for another woman. I don’t think he did it because he’s a terrible guy or anything. It’s complicated. Sometimes bad things just happen, and you have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.”Katy spoke to Francesca off to the side, so she wasn’t looking directly at the camera. Still, her words were powerful.“Have you ever heard of ‘The Five Stages of Grief’? Well, I feel like my fashion choices since my split have been like the ‘Five Stages of What to Do When the Man You Thought You’d Spend the Rest of Your Life with Leaves You for Another Woman.’” Francesca could be heard huffing, but she didn’t interrupt as Katy found her stride and continued, “Stage One was basically I could barely get out of bed and lived in my pajamas. Stage Two was when showering and leaving the house felt like an accomplishment. All my energy was for taking care of the kids. Pretty sure I still mainly wore pajamas, but I was clean and brushing my hair at least. Stage Three was after I got through the worst of my pain and anger. I was back to living my life, but being a newly single mom required serious streamlining. I developed a uniform and stuck to it. Jeans and a sweatshirt every day. Usually in dark colors so I didn’t have to worry about stain management. Stage Four was when I felt a little more like I had a handle on things. I added in a few sweatersand some button-downs. I’d been doing all messy buns, but occasionally, I got wild and did a ponytail.”She made an up-and-down motion over her outfit, a fitted red button-down and dark jeans.
There was a lull. Katy looked placid, and Francesca came around into the shot with her. On screen, both women reached to sip from wineglasses that had been out of camera range.
“Was there a fifth stage?”Francesca asked.“Like with the grief?”
“Oh, yes.”Katy glanced coyly at the camera.“Stage Five is where I’m a kick-ass single mom who’s finally confident enough to let a fashion vlogger convince me to put on some dresses I haven’t bothered with since my divorce. I’m getting up and facing the days with some sense of hope. And humor. To be clear, I’m not judging anyone who wears pajamas to the grocery store or has a uniform, but for me, I think wanting to mix it up means I’m healing.”
“Well,”Francesca began, turning to face Katy,“I can’t imagine a better note to end on. Other than I want to make sure you know, no matter what you wear, you are one hot mama!”She took a sip of wine before looking at the camera and adding, “I hope all my viewers enjoyed this fashion adventure. Thanks again to Katy. And to all the moms out there—be easy on yourself. I hope you’re doing well, especially if it’s pajama day. Sending lots of love.”
The shot faded to black with a “like and subscribe” note. Maureen looked at me with a question in her eyes.
“It’s great,” I said. “Pitch-perfect. I agree it’s different, more therapy than fashion maybe, but it fits with the aesthetic you’ve created for the channel, and it has the humor viewers expect.”
She ran a finger across the top of the screen. “Thanks.”
“I mean it. It’s okay for you to grow. You don’t want the channel to get stale. You’ve been evolving the whole time, from the first year to now, so maybe this is the next step in that.”
“That’s kind of what Katy said. She gave me the best compliment when she told me she wants to show it to her kids someday.”
“If she said that, then you have to post it.”
“I’m doing it,” Maureen said, bringing her fingers to the keyboard. She added a caption, then clicked to begin the upload. Once the video went live, she added the link to her channel’s social media pages before closing the laptop and putting it aside. “I’m going to stay off for a while. Let it simmer.”
“Smart idea. Should we distract you?” I tightened the arm I still had wrapped around her shoulders. The gesture was meant to be friendly and affirming, but she looked pointedly at where my hand squeezed her upper arm. “I wasn’t suggesting anythinguntoward.” I grinned.
She smiled back, and I swore the whole room got brighter.
“What could we do?” she asked. “I’m not sure what you’re feeling up to.”
I unwound my arm from behind her and pointed at a stack of board games piled on the floor. “James brought me those yesterday.”
“You want to play board games?” Her tone sounded as though I’d suggested we clean hair from the shower drain.
“We could. But board games aren’t really my thing.” Relief crossed her features. “Actually,” I said, “I was kind of hoping to do something Christmas-y. Being stuck in this room so long, I’ve practically forgotten it’s December. Other than the tree Marley put in here.”
“Hmm—” Maureen tapped a finger to her lips and eyed me. “You seem recovered enough to switch your home base for theday from the bed to the living room. No one could miss the holiday explosion there.”
“Sounds good.”
“We can make cookies. That’s pretty Christmas-y. And it’ll keep my mind off Katy’s video. I’m guessing you’re not up for standing and moving around the kitchen yet, but you could help decorate them. Nothing screamsholidayslike messing up the frosting trying to put little eye dots on a gingerbread man.”
“Sign me up.”
