He hums a noncommittal agreement, his chin resting on my temple as he pulls me in tighter.
I lift my head, my face meeting his. “If this ends badly, are we still going to be friends?”
He stares at me for a moment, then brings up a hand to cup my cheek and kisses me slowly, deeply, as though he’s savoring every last slide of my tongue against his. Finally, he pulls away, eyes glassy in the dark. “Grace, I already told you. I don’t think we’ve ever really been friends.”
33
The old adage of “sleeping on it” didn’t come close to being true about my feelings toward Eric. Sleeping on a conversation over who feels what and who is brave enough to act on it doesn’t look any different in the cold light of day. It brings a side dish of emotional hangover to choke down with breakfast. Seeing him last night has only raised more questions. I know his feelings are real, but am I naive enough to think they wouldn’t change if I got the promotion over him? Would the way I feel about him now sour if I had to watch him take my opportunity and thrive? The small, lingering voice in my head tells me none of it is real, that I’m a gullible idiot who deserves to fail. Was he being honest? Or was this just all part of some grand plan to try and make me fall for him before squashing me like a bug under his Prada loafers? Maybe I’m just a pushover, as malleable as a wet rag. Twist me in your hands and wring me out. It’s something William must have known about me, and used to his advantage until I finally noticed.
The moment I met William he zeroed in on me as someone to mold and manipulate into an empty shell ofa person who would be his subordinate in life. Maybe Eric and I have hardly seen eye to eye because we’re the opposite of that: we see each other as worthy opponents. Equals scrambling toward the same future. I push the feelings down, taking deep breaths to fill my brain and my blood with oxygen instead of searing self-doubt.
My hand jitters against the waiting-room chair as confidence-boosting mantras swirl in my head, smushing together like fruit in a blender. We were both instructed to send our presentation slideshows over to Catcher’s office this morning so they could be pre-queued up on the huge flat-screen. This is both a blessing and a curse: the former is because I can’t panic about last-minute changes, and the latter is because I can’t panic about last-minute changes. Instead, I panic about what they’ll think of me as a person. Will they interpret my nervous energy as care and passion, or immaturity and unpreparedness? My stomach wrenches as I smooth down my powder-blue suit. I put this on thinking it would match the Ditto brand colors. Some subliminal messaging to suggest I should be part of the launch. It’s only now I realize it’s the same suit I was wearing the day I found out about this project.
My phone vibrates and I flinch, knowing a message from Eric right now will throw me off even further.Jesus, you need to calm down.It’s probably just a good-luck message from Yemi and Alice. It’s neither. It’s a message from William via Instagram. Ugh, I can’t think of anything worse than talking to him right now. If Icontinue to ignore him on every platform hopefully he’ll get the hint. Standing up for myself with Susie gave me such a surge of confidence and reassured me that, actually, the world wouldn’t end if I vocalized my wants and needs. So why can’t I bring myself to definitively shoot William down? I’ve already spent way too long pushing away the someone Iactuallywant. I dismiss the notification and roll my shoulders back, trying to stop fidgeting.
We’re presenting to Catcher and two major investors for the app. My nerves calm slightly as I enter the room and notice one is a woman. Hopefully, this means I won’t be presenting my ideas to a boys’ club of tech VCs. Catcher is bad enough. I pray he doesn’t call me sweetheart during this interview. My lip curls on one side while remembering Eric’s knuckles turning white at the word “sweetheart” in our initial Ditto meeting. I was too nervous to dare correct the CEO of the company on his misogynistic tendencies, but Eric had to hold himself back from punching him. My stomach twists with guilt: his instinct was to protect me even when I was acting as if I hated him.
I sit down in front of a row of impeccably tailored business people. Catcher: his usual wiry salt-and-pepper hair and beard cut so freshly, I imagine he has a live-in barber who trims it while he sleeps. Another man, Angus Glass, is a fairly recognizable angel investor; I’ve never met him personally, but I know he’s invested in a lot of Catch Group start-ups. His red hair is almost asvibrant as mine, but it’s cropped tight and short, letting his green eyes do the talking. The woman, who introduces herself as Suma Harada, a transplant from Catch Group’s New York office, sports a blunt fringe with long black hair that gracefully drapes over her shoulders in a way I could only dream of achieving. After shaking hands with everyone and introducing myself, I take an audible gulp, which thankfully is covered by the sounds of chairs and papers shuffling. All three of my destiny-deciders study my face as I tap my cue cards straight against the wooden conference table. It’s safe to say no amount of mantra-ing in a fluorescent-lit hallway would have ever prepared me for this moment but I do it in my head anyway.
I am enough, I belong here, I deserve to be here.
My hands are sweating, my knees are weak and my arms suddenly feel so unbelievably heavy they might as well be filled with lead. I think I finally understand the realism of Eminem’s opening words of “Lose Yourself.” My mouth starts to dry up as I answer the first few questions about my current experience; even though most of my work experiences and achievements are notofficiallylisted on the piece of paper summing up my career. Doing all the work and letting Susie take the credit seems like a less sensible plan than I previously believed it was. My peripheral vision watches Angus Glass doodle at the top of the page next to my name. Owing to Susie’s hectic social schedule and demanding daily task list, I cansay with confidence I have essentially performed the role of Head of Marketing by proxy already with relative ease. It’s satisfying to think I could step into her shoes at a moment’s notice because I have so many times in the past.
Verbalizing this sort of thing has never been my strong suit but maybe spending time with Eric over the past few weeks has forced me to be more of a self-advocate. He always seemed as if he had been born with a head full of subconscious affirmations guiding him through life, when in reality he also has to fight the overwhelming urge to be validated by others to achieve something of which he can be proud. The awareness pulls in me like an elastic band ready to snap. If I had just stood up for myself, spoken up about what I wanted instead of bending to everyone else’s will, I could have actually been happy, fulfilled and proud of myself and my job much sooner.
Nerves rake up my spine to fight with my brain as I stand up on shaky legs to present my strategy. The tagline emblazoned across the screen tells me there’s no going back now. When I lay out my plan to not only bring current dating-app users to the space but also to attract a new generation of users who are experiencing dating-app fatigue too, the three people deciding my fate seem quietly interested: eyes narrowed intently, subtle unconscious nods and laid-back comfortable demeanors. After announcing my strategy’s premise I plow on, laying out my plans for partnering with powerhousenames in the leisure and entertainment industries but also smaller, upcoming, cool businesses; bringing a mass appeal to Ditto while establishing its reputation for authenticity. Something neither Fate nor Ignite has fully managed to execute under Susie’s and Dharmash’s leadership.
“While Mr. Bancroft and I have been securing larger brands and locations as initial launch partners, I’ve also been working with independent brands around the city to create truly unique dates. Not your usual axe-throwing, escape-room date fodder.”
Catcher raises his eyebrows in approval.
I list some of my example dates:
- Cabaret and dim sum
- Kayaking in hidden gem areas
- Immersive theater performances
- Authentic cuisine cooking classes
- Roller skating in a genuine refurbished retro rink
- Abseiling down the side of a skyscraper, for those adrenaline junkies
- Brazilian nightclub dancing
- Hole-in-the-wall quirky museum tours
- Late-night gallery tours.
An image of Eric in the gallery bursts into my mind, hesitant but willing to show me a part of himself he keeps locked away from others. Him falling into stories of his childhood without even realizing it at El Turo’s cooking class. Trying so hard to keep thewant from his eyes during our yoga session. The strip of photo-booth pictures hidden in a book he usually had open, but was too scared to show me. The person who, instead of going along with my drunken advances, didn’t want me to have an ulterior motive when I was with him. To not be like every person who wanted something from him, to mistake him for someone he never wanted to be. He deserves so much more than that.
My gut twists.
I explain how we’ll work with a wide range of influencers to create their own dream dates and promote them via social media. One-of-a-kind experiences that will only be available through Ditto. A curated date from not only brands and businesses they love, but tastemakers who potential users look to for the next big thing.
“In conclusion...” I stare intensely at the three suits, mouth dry of words.
