“That wouldn’t be the first lie she’s told,” says David. “I’ve heard her use the excuse that her car is in the shop at least four times this year alone. No one’s car breaks down that frequently.”
Though she doesn’t say a word, Talia has to agree: Meera’s cardoesbreak down suspiciously often.
“I just don’t think she gave a shit,” Galina concludes. “Not about this job and certainly not about any of us. Except for ...”
Three pairs of eyes shift over to her at once. Talia pretends not to feel the stares. She should be defending Meera right now; she knows that. But frankly, she’s still pretty pissed at Meera herself and doesn’t feel like coming—yet again—to her rescue.
“Oh, holy shit, guys.” Out of the corner of her eye, Talia sees David squinting at his computer screen. “Check your email.”
Silence fills the mod pod for the first time that day as they all turn to their screens, Talia included. A message from Cuff’s COO,Betty Jeong, has just appeared in her inbox with the subject line “Team Update.” Before Talia can even open the message, Galina spoils the punch line:
“Wow. She’s been fired. Meera actually got fired.”
Shit.Talia’s mind immediately goes to Gracie. Without a job, how is Meera supposed to support a seven-year-old who plays a new sport every season? Talia may not be responsible for Meera’s actions, but she feels guilty all the same—especially now that a child’s livelihood is at stake. She has to say something. Even if Meera blows her off again, Talia wants to at least say she tried.
That’s how she finds herself outside Meera’s Tarrytown condo after work, a place she’s visited dozens of times but where she now feels unwelcome, like a door-to-door salesman or a home invader. The windows are dark, and when Talia knocks, she’s surprised (as well as a little relieved) to find that Meera isn’t home.
She’s tempted to leave, sparing herself any awkwardness rather than waiting for Meera to return, but then she remembers: A spare key that Meera gave her ages ago is still in her work bag. Perhaps it’s wrong to use it without permission, especially following their big argument. But Talia just wants to leave a little gift, to let Meera know that she’s thinking of her, even if they aren’t on good terms. She doesn’t see the harm in popping in for a minute. After this, Talia has one more errand to run, and then she can return home to her fiancé.
Fiancé.As she steps into Meera’s empty condo, Talia grins to herself. She could get used to saying that.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Meera
It’s official: She’s fired.
Just a few weeks ago, her ex suggested that Meera was too good for Cuff, that she should quit and move on to bigger and better things—and though she didn’t admit it, she agreed with Hari. And now she’s been terminated without pay. It’s humbling, really. Humbling and maddening.
What’s worse is that Meera felt hopeful when she was called into the Cuff office yesterday for an early-morning meeting. Just over a week had passed since her initial suspension, which (according to her boss, Betty) was due to the company’s belief that Meera was misusing her access to privileged data. Per the COO, Meera would be put on leave until a full investigation had been conducted—and apparently they’d come to a decision.
Unfortunately, from the moment Betty opened her office door, Meera could tell her news wasn’t good. The pink-haired executive wasn’t much of a smiler to begin with, but her expression was particularly dour as she ushered Meera into her office, located right across from the ML-team mod pod. Before stepping inside, Meera took one last look, just to confirm it: The office was still empty. She wouldn’t have to face Talia, at least not that morning.
After exchanging a few obligatory pleasantries (Betty even had the gall to ask Meera “How have you been feeling?” as though she cared), she finally dropped the bomb: “We’re going to have to let you go, Meera.”
The words didn’t click right away. “You mean ... permanently?”
“I’m afraid so,” Betty said, not looking the least bit afraid. But perhaps she should have been. As the COO droned on about the terms of her dismissal (“You will not be eligible for unemployment insurance. You will not receive severance pay. Your health benefits will end immediately.”), Meera could feel anger rising like steam inside her, starting in her chest and radiating through her skull. Her teeth clenched. Her hands shook. It wasn’t fair; she didn’t deserve any of this. And she was ready to make someone fucking pay.
When Betty handed Meera her parting gift—a stack of termination paperwork outlining the findings from the security audit—Meera was too pissed to give it much more than a glance before shoving it into her work bag, almost instantly forgotten.
That night, she stopped by Hari’s place to fill him in. She cried, embarrassingly, because even though she was—as Hari had pointed out—probably too smart for the job, it was a job nevertheless, and now she had nothing. Too young to understand why her mom was so upset, Gracie simply sat beside her on the couch and stroked her hair, a gesture so pure and sweet it only served to make Meera cry harder. She was a good girl, the best girl. Meera would do anything to get her back.
When Hari stepped into the kitchen to check on dinner, Gracie put her mouth to her mother’s ear. “I love Daddy,” she whispered, “but I want to come home with you.”
“I want you to come home with me too,” Meera told her.
“So can I?”
“Soon,” promised Meera. “Not yet, but really, really soon.”
It wasn’t until Gracie was put to bed that Hari finally confronted her, as Meera knew he would. “Is your friend Talia the reason you were fired?” he asked.
Meera had expected her ex to have questions, but she hadn’t expected this. “Why would you say that?”
“When you first brought Gracie here, you said you were in trouble at work, and it had something to do with Talia. Now you’re out of a job while she—I assume—is still employed.” Hari threw his arms out. “Explain that to me.”
“I wish I could, but it’s complicated,” she said. “All I can tell you is that it’s not Talia’s fault.”
