Before she can think better of it, Meera says, “I can pull up their message history on the database.”
“Meera.” Talia gives her a look that’s meant to sayYou know better than that.“That’s a major privacy breach. You could get fired for that.”
“Well, if it weren’t for you, I’d probably already be fired.” When Meera was first diagnosed with Hashimoto’s a year ago, Talia covered for her on countless instances, explaining Meera’s absences to their boss when she had appointments to attend or was simply feeling too shitty to leave her bed. Picking up the slack on projects Meera couldn’t finish in time. Watering her sad, half-dead succulent in vain. “I’m happy to take the risk for you.”
“You shouldn’t,” Talia says. “Unless ... you’re really sure you can do this without getting caught?”
Meera glances at her watch. “No one will be in for another half hour. Let’s do it now while we have the chance.”
Ten minutes later, they sit in the ML-team office, both gathered in front of Meera’s monitor. As Meera suspected, none of their coworkers are in yet, including the office custodian, Aarav, who’s usually here by now.
“You’re sure you don’t mind doing this?” Talia asks for what feels like the tenth time since they left the coffee shop.
“For you, not at all,” Meera says, “but you need to stop distracting me so Icando this.”
Once again, Meera logs on to the company database and types in Townsend’s name. There is all the info she saw last time, including his account status (still active).
“Look.” Talia points at the screen. “It says he hasn’t been on Cuff in nearly three weeks. He probably has no idea his profile is even active.”
“Maybe,” says Meera, “but we should still check out his conversation history.”
“Do you know how to pull up the chat log?”
“It should all be stored in a log file.” Meera quickly scans the page, and there it is: the entire chat history between Townsend Fuller and Amanda Reade, complete with dates and time stamps. “Should we go all the way back to the beginning?”
Talia shakes her head no. “I don’t need to see how things started. That would be too painful.”
“Okay. When did things end?”
Talia is quiet for a moment, her brow furrowed. “Based on what Townsend has told me, he broke up with her in early March.”
Meera nods and scans the log, working her way backward until she finds the first message where things seem to take a sour turn. “Here it is,” she says.
Amanda [Sun, Mar 3 at 8:20 PM]:Hey baby. Just want to remind you that your the love of my life.
Townsend [Sun, Mar 3 at 8:22 PM]:I am not the love of your life. I am not anything to you. This is done.
Amanda [Sun, Mar 3 at 8:34 PM]:We’re over?
Amanda [Sun, Mar 3 at 8:36 PM]:Seriously?
Amanda [Sun, Mar 3 at 10:12 PM]:Your going to be so fxcking sorry.
“Shocker that she doesn’t know the difference between ‘your’ the possessive adjective and ‘you’re’ the contraction,” Meera jokes.
Talia fails to laugh. Eyes glued to the screen, she says, “Keep scrolling.”
Together, they continue to read silently. From what Meera can see, Amanda harassed Townsend for months after their breakup, often sending twenty to thirty messages in a row before receiving even a single reply from him.
“Jesus,” Meera says under her breath. “This is fucking nuts.”
Amanda’s messages are a mix of beseeching and cold-blooded; a pathetic entreaty for Townsend to take her back would be followed minutes later with threats to go public about his start-up’s failings. It doesn’t make any sense. It seems like the ravings of a madman—or, rather, a madwoman. Meera glances at her friend, expecting to see her bafflement mirrored in Talia’s face, but Talia’s expression is entirely unreadable.
“Is his company not doing well?” Meera touches her finger to the screen. “Did you get to this part? What is she talking about here?”
“Shh. I’m reading.” Talia bats Meera’s hand away, still transfixed by the screen.
The last exchange between the two seemingly took place in mid-May, where nearly a dozen messages from Amanda were followed by just a single response.
