Meera sighs. “Okay, look, I’m glad you’re happy. But I’m telling you now, this isn’t going to end well. Did you already forget what happened last time?”
“He’s changed. He’s going out a lot less often and putting a lot more work into his start-up. And his dad died.”
“People don’t change, Tal, and his dad dying doesn’t change what he did to you.”
Talia opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out. She could say Meera isn’t one to judge, seeing as she’s a single parent with no prospects of her own. She could say it is possible for people to change, because Meera’s ex-husband certainly did. She could say Meera is just jealous, because she doesn’t have anything like what Talia has with Townsend, and it’s likely she never will. But she doesn’t say any of that. Meera is her closest friend in Austin—her only friend, really—and she doesn’t deserve to be burdened with the truth. Whoever said truth is a deep kindness clearly didn’t understand female friendships.
“I don’t understand why you don’t like him,” Talia says instead.
“I don’t understand why youdo. I hate to say it, Tal, but he’s an entitled prick who’s just going to hurt you all over again.”
“No.” Talia shakes her head. “He’s not.” She wishes she could describe for her friend the intensity behind Townsend’s eyes when he kissed her goodbye that morning or the way his mouth curled up on one side as he said,Talia and Townsend. T ’n’ T. We’re dynamite together, baby.But these fragile, fleeting moments will fracture if they’re laid out on the table for everyone to appraise. Talia needs to keep them as safe as she feels in Townsend’s arms.
“Okay. I hope you’re right. Just know that, in my experience, history repeats.”
Their food arrives—huevos rancheros for Meera, sweet potato hash for Talia—and they eat in tense silence, Talia glad for the excuse not to speak for a bit. At the table next to theirs, two women who look to be in their mid-twenties are laughing at something on one of their phone screens.
“Where did you guys meet?” the one with red hair asks.
“On Cuff,” says the brunette.
Talia and Meera meet eyes and grin knowingly. It’s always amusing to hear about other people’s experiences with the app. Cuff employees are, of course, encouraged to use it themselves, though most don’t. Seeing how the sausage gets made takes some of the magic out of the experience—not that there’s a whole lot of magic to begin with when it comes to online dating.
Still, Talia is one of the few who take advantage of the free membership. She’s always believed the adage that you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find the one that turns into a prince. And sometimes, she’s begun to suspect, you have to kiss the same frog twice.
She’s not an idiot, despite what Meera clearly thinks. She knows that the last time she and Townsend dated, he was an ass to her. She can still remember the searing jolt she felt when she let herself into Townsend’s place that Saturday night and found him in bed with another girl. And maybe she’s just setting herself up for disappointment once again, but it’s a risk Talia’s willing to take. Her favorite podcast,Spot of Positivitea, always talks about the power of positive thinking. How we have the ability to shape our own realities. Someone like Meera, who assumes the world is out to get her, usually has her biases confirmed. Talia doesn’t want to live like that. She wants to be hopeful.
The girls at the next table over are now discussing how the brunette’s Cuff date was in bed, and the redhead seems angry suddenly. “Jen, you shouldn’t have gone to that guy’s apartment after the first date.”
“Seriously? You’re slut-shaming me?”
“I don’t care if you have sex on a first date. But you met this guy on a dating app. Do you know how many girls have been murdered by dating app matches? You don’t know him at all.”
Murdered.The word hangs in the air, heavy as the sweet potato hash already churning in Talia’s stomach, but it’s the last line that really sticks in Talia’s head:You don’t know him at all.She knows this woman isn’t speaking to her, probably isn’t aware of her at all—but still, her words feel like a direct attack. It seems Meera’s cynicism is contagious.
She does know Townsend. Shedoes.
“Damn,” Meera hisses, nodding her head in the direction of the two girls. “Are you listening to this? Shit got dark fast.”
Talia manages a smile, though she still feels uneasy. It seems things are okay between her and Meera, at least.
She finishes her meal and lets the conversation drift to Gracie and whether she’s going to sign up for ballet or soccer in the fall. But in the back of her mind, Talia keeps repeating to herself that she knows Townsend. Getting back together with him has its risks, but it’s the right choice. He’s everything she’s always wanted.
Besides, peoplecanchange. She certainly has. She’s no longer that desperate, cloying girlfriend who drove him away. Her past experiences were a result of her past thinking, but the present is hers to mold like clay in her hands.
And she’s going to make it perfect.
Chapter Three
Meera
It’s not unusual for Meera Ratnam to be the first one on the floor. At least, not since nearly losing her job.
Her chronic illness isn’t her fault; she knows that. Still, she can’t help but feel guilty for the hours of work she missed while fighting her fucked-up thyroid. After being diagnosed with Hashimoto’s disease a year ago at the ripe age of thirty-three, Meera spent an inordinate amount of time in and out of doctors’ offices, desperate to feel less achy and irritable and utterly drained. She even went on temporary disability to get her symptoms under control, and though her manager claimed to be understanding, she could just imagine what he was thinking: Weak. Lazy. Underachieving, just like her thyroid. She can’t trust that her job is safe, and so—as of last month—she always shows up early and stays late, hoping her commitment makes up for her routine blood tests and persistent brain fog.
Unfortunately, Meera is finding it more difficult than usual to concentrate this morning. Last week, she’d been tasked with creating a presentation on new machine learning operations tools, and it’s still not finished (even though it’s due to be presented to the summer interns at noon). She needs to stay on task, but her nagging suspicion wins outover her need to achieve. Work can wait. It will only take a few minutes to find what she needs.
Just to be sure she’s alone, Meera stands up from her desk, which is bare, save for a framed copy of Gracie’s latest school-picture-day photo and a half-dead succulent. (“Halfalive,” Talia, ever the optimist, corrects Meera when she says this.) In the wake of the pandemic, Cuff hired an architect to design what the company coined “mod pods”: a series of modular mini offices that contained each team within its own mega cubicle. The hope was to offer more peace and privacy than the traditional open-office concept, but really, Meera just feels like she’s trapped in a jury-rigged fort with the whole ML team. At least she can see most of the floor from her spot near the doorway, including the corner dedicated to the offices of the C-level executives.
