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Recently, Marine has been getting home from work late.
When she was still playing, there was no such thing as working "late". On some game nights, she'd be lucky to be in bed before midnight. Even now, when Les Bleues are in a tournament, she keeps the same schedule as the players despite no longer suiting up in blue.
The rest of the year is spent tending to her directorial duties. She feels like an office worker some days: sitting at a big desk with her name on the front of it, making phone calls and scheduling meetings, and diving into research projects.
Directing the French national team is her dream retirement role—one that she fought to earn, never wanting to feel like anything is handed to her. She started with smaller clubs in France, working her way up the ladder just like she did as a player until her management resume spoke for itself and the Federation came knocking.
Now that she's at the helm, she wants to do better for the new generation of Les Bleues. Across the ocean, the WNBA season is starting, the rosters finalized a few days ago. She's kept busy establishing lines of contact with all of the WNBA teams rostering the players from their national team pool. Sometimes, that means staying late in her office in Paris to speak to coaches when it's the morning or afternoon for them in America.
She loves her job, loves the work she does, loves the fact that she gets to help create a better Federation, but sometimes it means that she comes home to a quiet house.
Today, only the cat comes to greet her after she unlocks the door and steps inside, the bell on her collar jingling as she pads down the hall.
"Coucou, HB," Marine crouches down, generously scratching behind HB's ears and planting a few kisses on the top of her head.
"What did our troublemakers get into while I was gone?"
HB offers no intel. She purrs like an engine, swaying her tail and nuzzling against Marine's arm.
Marine gives her lots of love and scritches until HB decides she's over it, rolling over and trotting off.
Marine follows suit, taking off her shoes and dropping her bag before heading upstairs.
It's quiet up here too—almost too quiet—but their daughter's bedroom door is ajar.
Marine peeks into the room, then leans against the door frame, a big smile spreading across her face as she takes in the scene before her.
Her favorite girls are sound asleep—on the rug.
It looks like they made it through their standard night routine, at least. Their daughter is curled up on Gabby's chest, donning mismatched pajamas and clutching a fistful of Gabby's shirt in her sleep. A forgotten picture book rests open on Gabby's thighs with a stack of five more on the ground next to them. Gabby's using a toddler-sized beanbag chair as a pillow, her glasses askew and her lips parted as she snores softly. She's got an arm wrapped around the baby and Marine notices her tattoo sleeve is colored in too (in an endearingly avant-garde fashion, clearly courtesy of their baby girl).
They can't spend the entire night like this (lest they both wake up cranky tomorrow), but Marine decides to let them be sweet for a few minutes longer. She takes a few pictures of the scene on her phone before tip-toeing down the hall to change into something more comfortable.
When she returns, Gabby is stirring, rubbing her forehead and blinking the sleep away. She lays eyes on Marine (over her glasses) and whispers out a small "help".
Marine stifles her laughter, stepping into the room and helping Gabby to sit up slowly without disturbing their daughter's slumber. Once Gabby is sturdily upright, Marine carefully takes the baby from her arms, then lays her down gently in her toddler bed.
"Sleep well, my princess," Marine murmurs, tucking her in with her favorite blanket and planting a soft kiss on her little forehead. She watches for another minute, making sure she's really still sound asleep before she turns to Gabby, quietly offering a hand to help her up.
They sneak out of their daughter's bedroom together, Marine turning off the lights and Gabby pulling the door shut ever-so-slowly.
They wait to debrief until they're in their own bed.
"Some things never change," Marine muses as she snuggles up next to Gabby, tracing the messy colored lines that adorn her sleeve.
"Yeah, she got that from you," Gabby teases with a smile. "You were a little neater with your coloring, though."
"No, she's just more creative," Marine says. "We probably shouldn't encourage her to draw on people, though."
"Well, we did start with coloring books, and then she realized my arm looked just like the page, and then what am I supposed to do? Say no?" Gabby argues.
"Ah, well, we'll just have to warn the guests that they could get branded with your tattoo gun, or her Crayolas."
"I think that sounds fun."
"And it looks like you can still fall asleep anywhere, yeah?" Marine teases, and Gabby smiles guiltily before they both laugh at the sentiment.
"I've been exhausted lately. I don't remember being this tired last time," Gabby says.
"You were," Marine reminds her gently. "And that was without having a toddler to take care of."
Marine didn't realize Gabby could become more of a sleepy house-cat before her first pregnancy, but it only made sense. Sustaining yourself as a professional athlete is exhausting enough on its own—growing a baby in addition to that takes even more energy. Marine was expecting to fight Gabby about slowing down and taking it easy during pregnancy, knowing well how stubborn she is. Instead, she got an even sleepier wife.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Gabby concedes. "It feels like it was so long ago. I can't believe we had a life without her."
"And by Christmas, we'll feel the same about our next little one."
Marine kisses Gabby's cheek, then places a palm on Gabby's belly.
"I can't wait, my love," Gabby smiles softly, resting her own hand on top of Marine's.
The baby is the size of a raspberry, a piece of popcorn, or a peanut M&M (according to the pregnancy trackers Marine keeps on her phone), but she pictures their newborn fully grown and in their arms.
"It's not too much for you to be alone with her right now?" Marine asks, suddenly feeling guilty.
"I would tell you if it was," Gabby reassures her. "And it's not like this is your normal schedule, it's just the start of the WNBA season."
"Oh, I forgot to tell you!" Marine sits up to face Gabby a little better. "Guess who I learned is on Charlotte's staff now?"
"Who?"
"Azurá! She's the DOBO."
"Aww, that's nice," Gabby smiles fondly. "I bet she wanted to be closer to home. It made her so happy every time we played in North Carolina when we were in college."
Their reminiscing is interrupted by their doorknob jiggling. They watch, amused by the sheer number of times the knob twists back and forth before the door finally cracks open. Their daughter gasps to herself behind the door, then drops to the ground in attempt to hide, landing with a highly indelicate thud.
Gabby slaps her palm over her mouth, attempting to stifle her giggles.
"I hope our princess is having sweet dreams," Marine turns back to Gabby, speaking with a more animated tone than she typically would.
"Don't worry, bébé, she's definitely sleeping peacefully," Gabby attempts to play along (though she's still fighting to fix her face).
"Ah, I wish I could've read a few books to her," Marine tuts. "I guess I'll have to wait for tomorrow night, then."
"It's a shame," Gabby shakes her head. "Do you think you can make it that long?"
"I suppose I could," Marine lets out a dramatic sigh. "Unless…"
"Unless what, my love?"
"Unless she wakes up tonight somehow?"
"Oh, she'd never," Gabby exclaims. "You should've seen her, Mar. I think she was snoring, like a little bear cub."
It's at that moment that their daughter decides to make her grand entrance, pushing their bedroom door open. She puts on the performance of a lifetime, faking a big yawn and rubbing her eyes as she toddles into the room.
Gabby turns the other way, shoving her face into her pillow to avoid laughing in the face of their very sleepy girl.
"Luna!" Marine says in faux surprise. "What are you doing awake, ma bichette?"
"I woke up and Mamounette wasn't there anymore," She pouts, starting to climb into their bed. Marine picks her up, setting her in her lap.
"I'm sorry, mon chou. I was sleepy too, and your bed is too small for me, so I had to come lay down in my own," Gabby apologizes.
"Then I sleep here too?" Luna offers with her cutest doe eyes (a trait she definitely inherited from Gabby).
"No, no, you have to sleep in your big girl bed," Marine says softly before Gabby can give in. "Remember, we made it up all nice just for you!"
"But you're in here," She whines, starting to pout again.
"How about this. We go back to your bed and I read you some books, yeah? And then we look at the stars?"
Luna snuggles up against Marine, thinking about it for a moment before nodding her little head.
"Okay, let's kiss Mamounette goodnight, and then we'll go."
After plenty of goodnight kisses, Marine carries Luna back into her bedroom. Luna really doesn't have much fight in her, yawning cutely as Marine tucks her into bed.
"Which book would you like?"
"Can you tell me the story about how you wished on the moon for me and Mamounette?" Luna asks sleepily.
"Ah, that's a good one," Marine smiles. "Let me get comfortable and I'll start."
Marine kisses her forehead, then sprawls out on the floor next to the short bed, using a forgotten stuffed animal as a pillow. The ceiling is covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, moons, and planets, and Marine stares up at them as she starts.
"One night, I was laying in bed just like you, but I couldn't sleep…"
Marine can hear soft little snores after a few minutes but she finishes the story anyway, just in case Luna can hear her in her dreams. She kisses her baby girl's forehead twice and tells her she loves her even more times than that. She sneaks out of the bedroom, pulls the door shut, and smiles to herself.
While Luna's bedtime story is a very abridged and toddler-friendly version of how Marine got here, it's a reminder of how lucky she is that all of her dearest wishes came true.