And it’s true: It was Meera’s idea to peek into the company database. It was Meera who took the risk. It was Meera who probably would have lost her job long ago had it not been for Talia, who covered for her those times she was too sick to work. But what she didn’t tell Hari is that—irrationally or not—she’s livid with her former friend.
And of course, none of this would be happening if it wasn’t for Townsend fucking Fuller.
It was just over two years ago—not long after her divorce from Hari was finalized—that Meera decided to take that entrepreneurship summer intensive through the UT Austin McCombs School of Business. With many of her weekends now free, she needed ways to fill her time that didn’t involve moping and drinking. Plus, as Hari always reminded her, shedidhave an entrepreneurial spirit. And when a tall, handsome man chose the seat next to hers on the first day of class, it felt like a sign: Her life wasn’t over. She could still have a second act.
“Is it just me,” the man said to her, “or do you feel like you missed a memo about this intensive only being for undergrads?”
Meera looked around the room, noticing for the first time just how young the class skewed. She decided not to let it bother her. “Are you worried they’re going to kick you out?”
“No, I was just relieved to see you and know that I’m not the only thirtysomething ...” He trailed off, catching himself.
“How do you know I’m not an undergrad too?”
Confusion crossed his face. “I mean, I don’t mean to assume—”
“Relax.” Meera swatted his arm. “You assumed correctly, and you’re in good company. If we lay low, I bet no one will find us out.”
His features relaxed again. “I’m Townsend, by the way.”
“Meera.” She extended her hand, and they shook. “I’m here because I just got divorced and am apparently having an early midlife crisis. What brings you here?”
Seemingly taken aback by her bluntness, Townsend spat out, “I’m here because I want to do something on my own for once after a lifetime of having everything handed to me.”
He was rich. This intrigued Meera, but it also affirmed what she’d already expected: Men like him were very much not her type. Still, he was handsome and—as he’d correctly pointed out—they did seem to have a good decade on everyone else in the room. So she asked, “Do you want to grab lunch later?”
“Sure,” he said.
Over the course of the next eight weeks, Meera and Townsend developed a strange, tenuous bond, the kind she used to form at summer camp when she knew the stakes were low and the time was limited, so why not put everything out there? Chances were that she and Townsend would never make an effort to meet up again after the intensive ended, and that was perfectly fine with her. In fact, it became preferable around the fifth week of the program, when they started sleeping together.
The first time was fueled by booze, as—in Meera’s experience—these things often are. The program hosted a happy hour with several kegs and nothing to eat aside from a single plate of cheese and crackers, and afterward, Meera suggested that she and Townsend keep the party going. She wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, but she knew what she was doing: She was newly single, and she wanted to feel good. They went to a nearby dive bar, tossed down a few more drinks, and then took an Uber back to his place, where they spent the whole ride kissing.
Though she’d prepared herself for the possibility of it being a one-time thing, Townsend made it clear he was down for a repeatperformance—and even while sober too. A few nights a week, after Gracie was tucked into bed, Townsend would visit her Tarrytown condo, and they’d hook up, all without rules, or expectations, or (ugh)feelings. Sometimes she feared he was just doing it for the novelty, especially when he would make comments like “I can only imagine introducing you to my mom. She would absolutely shit herself.” But she knew who she was: a divorcée living in a cramped condo with her kid. And she knew he—a ne’er-do-well born with a silver spoon in his mouth—wasn’t her type either. What should it matter if she wasn’t his?
This relationship (if you could even call it that) had an expiration date from the very beginning, as well as a clear objective: to fuck and to forget.
After the sex, they would chat—just as she and Hari used to do back in grad school—about their future aspirations and what they hoped to create. She described to him the platform offering holistic autoimmune care that she hoped to design (though she didn’t tell him about her recent doctor’s appointment, where the wordhypothyroidismhad been used for the first time). He told her that he had a knack for marketing and sales but just couldn’t find a strong vision—and she actually consoled him, saying, “The right idea will come to you when it’s supposed to. I know it.” If only she knew then what she knows now. Perhaps she wouldn’t have been such a fucking fool.
As she predicted, they didn’t talk much after the summer intensive ended, and then not at all. Just about a year later, she saw him post about his holistic health care start-up, AutoInTune, on LinkedIn. Not long after that, Talia was twirling around Meera’s kitchen, gushing about how she’d met the man of her dreams on Cuff. By the time Meera found out that man was Townsend, it was too late to say anything.
She could forget that they’d slept together—but stealing her idea? That was something she just couldn’t forgive.
Lying prone in bed now, attempting to readMeat Cute(that Kennedy J. Abbott book she borrowed from Talia’s place), Meera feels strangely grateful—at least in this moment—that Gracie is at herfather’s. She would hate for her daughter to see her like this, still in bed at noon with muscle aches and brain fog. It’s impossible to say whether she’s depressed, or experiencing a Hashimoto’s flare-up, or a combination of both. All she knows is that she’s never felt more resentful, and she can think of little else besides Talia and Townsend, who are seemingly conspiring to ruin her.
She wonders:Is there any chance Townsend sought Talia out on purpose?Maybe he somehow put together that she and Talia were friends—bestfriends at that—and thoughtNow this willreallypiss Meera off.But what did she ever do to him, aside from befriend him, and sleep with him, and unwittingly hand him the idea he needed for his stupid start-up?
Perhaps it was the other way around. Perhaps Talia learned of their summer fling and pursued Townsend, effectively avenging some crime Meera hadn’t even known she’d committed. This doesn’t make any sense to Meera, either, but what’s the alternative? Could this really all just be some cosmic coincidence, yet anotherfuck youfrom the universe?
Since her diagnosis, Meera has spent more time than she probably should researching Hashimoto’s disease, so she knows the effect it can have on brain function. Her doctor has never mentioned Hashimoto’s encephalopathy by name, but he has expressed concern about her recent episodes of memory loss and confusion—and after she told him about the threats from Amanda (he wanted to know if she was experiencing any undue stress), he even suggested that she may be suffering from hallucinations.
“I’m not crazy,” she told him. “What’s happening to me is real. These threats from Amanda are real.”
He replied, “I don’t doubt that,” but in a way that made Meera believe he did, in fact, doubt it.
Above her, the ceiling fan spins dizzily.Maybe I am losing it,she thinks.Maybe I’m losing everything.She’s already lost her job; it’s probably only a matter of time before she loses her kid and then her mind. But she can’t lie here having a one-woman pity party forever.
Plus, this book is beyond stupid. A butcher’s daughter falling in love with a vegan? She could possibly get on board if it weren’t for the thinly veiled pro-life subplot with the sister who gets knocked up at sixteen and decides to keep the baby, thanks to some sweet-talking nuns.
In the kitchen, Meera puts on a pot of coffee and leans back against her counter. That’s when she sees it: a basket sitting on her table, which hadn’t been there when she left for Hari’s the night before. Did someone drop it off while she was out? A note is folded beside it, and Meera picks it up with shaky hands.
