Page 83 of Tangled up in You

Her last relationship—with a neurodivergent man two years older than her—had ended amicably when he was offered anopportunity to work in Japan and she didn’t want to pick up and move with him.

He’d understood. Did she miss him? Sure, but she’d be unhappy if she’d gone with him to Japan.

She hadn’t…lovedhim.

No, that wasn’t right. She hadn’t beeninlove with him. She loved him as a friend. The sex had been good, but good sex wasn’t a reason to uproot her life and make herself and him miserable in the process.

That would definitely lead to bad sex or, more likely, no sex, and resentment. Quickly followed by no relationship.

Better to have an amicable friendship than a horror story about an ex.

When her plane landed and she turned on her work cell, she received a flurry of notifications. It was the most recent one, from three hours earlier, that made her groan.

A voicemail from Dr. Katherine Fornier-Thomas.

“Dr. Scott, a personnel issue has come up, and we’ll have to delay your trip into the park by four days. I’m really sorry. I hope this won’t throw your schedule off too much.”She left her phone number and Jesse stepped out of the flow of foot traffic to call the woman back.

After the call connected and the standard social pleasantries were exchanged, the other woman explained. Then, “I’m really sorry about this.”

Jesse pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed, forcing herself to downshift and not react with irritation. Carefully modulating her tone, she replied, “There’s no one else who can take me? I don’t need a seismologist. I’d be fine with a park ranger, or a commercial guide familiar with the terrain. We have the GPS coordinates of the existing sensors. And I’m fine with one guide.”

“Hmm. That’s a valid point about their qualifications, but due to current bear activity, we must insist on two experienced guides for safety. Let me make a few calls. I’ll call you back shortly.”

Jesse slipped her phone into her pocket, slung her laptop case over her shoulder, grabbed her carryon’s handle, and followed signs to the baggage claim area as she chewed on her simmering frustration over this blip in her plans.

Once she located baggage claim and checked her equipment crates to make sure they’d made the trip unscathed, she loaded everything onto a luggage cart and worked her way across the building to take her place at the end of a very long and sluggish line at the rental car counters. It looked like only two agents were working the counters, and the other two counters were closed. Jesse had reserved an SUV, even though that was overkill, because the crates were each about the side of a large suitcase. But she wanted plenty of room to stow everything.

Thirty minutes later, there were still four customers ahead of Jesse when her cell rang.

Dr. Fornier-Thomas. “Good news! I’ve lined up two guides for you.”

Jesse breathed a sigh of relief. “Excellent. Thank you so much. Can you text me the information?”

“It’s already in an e-mail on the way to you.”

“I appreciate the accommodation.”

“No problem.” More necessary pleasantries followed before Jesse finally got off the phone with her. She hated talking on the phone, preferred texting and e-mails. It meant she had the words in front of her and she’d long ago trained herself not to assume “tone” in words.

And to be mindful of how her own “tone” might come across in writing, especially to neurotypicals. Her staff all knew to never assume a tone in her e-mails and texts, and to take everything atface value. Likewise, to keep their written communications with her as literal as possible.

She pulled up her work e-mail on her phone and skimmed through the inbox. The two men, Marcus Powell and Christopher Wright, were a park ranger and a scientist, although Jesse wasn’t sure who was which. With four weeks before the opening of the park’s big spring tourist season, thankfully the men could be spared for this task.

While Jesse headed up the seismology department of her father’s tech company, she was but a tiny cog in a world-wide corporation worth billions. They invested in and developed water collection and purification systems for arid regions, new agricultural methods to better make use of climate-challenged areas where farming was increasingly difficult, alternate power sources like solar and wind to provide power to remote areas, and other tech designed to help level up people’s existences.

Gudbrand Klevenson made his first fortune starting a software company with three buddies, then sold his shares several years later and bought three smaller companies Jesse’s mom pointed him toward. Sure her father was obscenely rich, and Jesse was well aware she benefitted from that privilege, but her father also had a conscience. Being raised by a welder and baker in Oslo, he’d never lost touch with his humble roots.

Over the past eighteen years, the tech his company developed had improved the lives of tens of millions of people around the world. He also scolded his fellow billionaires who committed what he called “performative charity” to avoid taxes.

When Jesse had dinner with him several weeks ago, he’d laughed when she asked why he wasn’t at a huge international conference with other tech giants.

“I wasn’t invited.” He smirked. “They don’t like me because I refuse to buy a yacht worth the annual gross national product ofa small nation. And I make fun of them for being too scared to mingle with the ‘unwashed masses’.”

Jesse did her best to politely ignore the people in line with her and avoided being pulled into excruciating small-talk that she sucked at. Finally, it was her turn. Despite her growing weariness and overstimulation, she minded her tone and forced a smile.

“Hi, JessicaLynn Scott. I have a reservation for an SUV.”

The obviously harried woman typed on her keyboard. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a reservation for that name.”

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