Aubrey trails a finger around the rim of her glass. “I didn’t say anything.”
“But you should,” Ilena says.
A high-pitched squeal negates Aubrey’s response, which is just as well. Such is the life of the youngest of four, with nearlyten years between Aubrey and her next sibling. Aubrey’s thirty-two, of average height and average(ish) weight, from a family of professional and near-professional athletes, though the only competitive streak she had was for mathletes. Growing up, her siblings’ games and practices and pancake breakfasts became her games and practices and pancake breakfasts. Her day planned for her before she woke up. Every decision made for her by someone else. Routines become habits and habits become a way of life.
AIM’s way of life has always been Mallory as the public front, Ilena as the strategic core, and Aubrey behind the scenes as the master of all things tech, the only role she ever wanted. Except ever since Ethan she’s found herself drifting, unable to focus, with little interest in the day-to-day of AIM.
Another shriek, followed by infectious giggling. At the end of the dock, Felix and James’s daughter claps her hands in delight as Kai teeters on a paddleboard, playfully splaying his arms to the sides, mouth hanging open, exaggerating his risk of splashing into the murky river.
Mallory’s teeth clench. “The invitation specifically said no kids. Where’s Noreen? Oh, good, she’s still close.” Mallory raises her voice. “Nor—” The rustling of Ilena pushing herself out of her chair makes Mallory pause. “You know what, never mind. It’s a good look for us, right? Let me just text those influencers to get a couple of shots. Hashtag family friendly?”
Aubrey digs a nail into the mosquito bite on her thumb as Ilena pauses, then slowly slides back into the seat. Her index finger taps against her mule, still untouched.
Her nails are painted their usual neutral beige. Mallory’s sparkle in gold. Aubrey’s are gnawed with jagged cuticles, just as they were the day the three of them met. It was eight years ago at a start-up program in Silicon Valley. Aubrey had been there as part of another team, but Mallory and Ilena had seenpotential in her that her own team hadn’t. Though Mallory and Ilena’s alumna mentoring idea hadn’t exactly been the program darling, buzz had still surrounded Mallory Latham and Ilena Cohen: smart, confident, extraordinary women who had bonded as freshman roommates at Harvard. An hour and a half into their first lunch, Aubrey had finally gotten past her nausea to eat some cilantro microgreens and those strange but delicious little squares of pancetta.
“After the program, you should join us,” Ilena had said, to which Mallory had immediately added, “Youarejoining us.”
Instead of her nausea returning, all Aubrey had felt was a dizzying desire to say “yes.” Her brain slotted things into place as if it were code. “Aubrey, Ilena, and Mallory. We could be ‘AIM.’”
Mallory smiled. “We’re so going to make FU money.”
“And show everyone that women can make FU money,” Ilena had added.
Aubrey had toyed with her napkin. “And, maybe, show women that they should?”
Have they?Aubrey wonders now, looking out at the lawn full of employees who are all counting on them.
Has Aubrey?As chief technology officer she keeps the paid subscription base that could now support a moderate-sized Boston skyscraper running. That growth, which is responsible for AIM’s astronomical Wall Street valuation, is partly due to last year’s introduction of “How Wide’s My Smile,” one of Aubrey’s grandmother’s sayings and the buzziest feature of their app. The motivational talks from celebrities and “organic,” “word-of-mouth” influencer campaigns (which are anything but) are all Mallory’s doing. While Ilena ensures the inclusion of menstrual tracking and health proxies. All of it intended to help users find and stay on the path that will make them happy, healthy, and wise, guided and overseen by experts, teams ofdoctors and therapists and mindfulness specialists that provide the authoritative foundation that’s come to set AIM apart from others in the niche.
Aubrey takes a mouthful of her strawberry mule, rolling it over her tongue, the sweet, savory blend rounding the edges that so much tension have made sharp. The three of them have always worked best when they work together. They need to be reminded of that.
“Maybe Noreen’s right,” Aubrey says. “Today’s announcement deserves more than one celebration, doesn’t it? Seems like the perfect thing to usher in good luck for AIM, right?”
“Yes!” Mallory says with more enthusiasm than Aubrey would have expected. “The night before we go public? We come back here, strawberry drinks and all. I’ll take any excuse to wear this jumpsuit again. Stella McCartney sent it herself.” Something lurks in Mallory’s bravado, an undercurrent of insecurity. She tips her glass toward Ilena, waiting for her to agree.
But she doesn’t, not immediately, and so Aubrey nudges Ilena’s elbow. “Bring Jonah if you want, if he doesn’t have a shift at the hospital like tonight.”
A glistening sparks in Ilena’s eyes, and she blinks. “No Jonah. Just us. I’ll be there.”
“Perfect,” Mallory says.
“But about the direct listing,” Ilena says slowly. “After AIM goes public, I’m—”
“This isn’t the time,” Mallory interrupts, eyeing Aubrey.
Tug, tug, tug on Aubrey’s left.
“Because it’s past time.” Ilena raises an eyebrow at Aubrey.
Tug, tug, tug on Aubrey’s right.
This is the way it’s been. Mallory hell-bent on going public, Ilena wanting to hit pause, and both trying to get Aubrey to voice her opinion. Except what they want isn’t an opinion butfor her to choose a side. Whether they don’t see that or can’t or choose not to, it’s not fair, same as it’s not fair for her best friends to be acting like they aren’t.
“The Lannisters,” Aubrey blurts out. “Cersei, Jaime, Tywin, go!”
Ilena’s brow crinkles. “I honestly have no idea what you just said.”
A whisper of a smile plays on Mallory’s lips. “Well, look at that, finally, we agree on something.”
