Page 126 of Debugging Love

I try various remedies, none of which work, then I call JetAero’s help desk and pipe the guy through my phone’s speaker while he has me log off and on again, among other things. Eventually, he gives up and says I need a re-image, techie speak for “I’m going to take your computer for three days while you sit there falling farther and farther behind on your projects.”

The benefits portal app is due soon. I don’t have time to sit around while the help desk wipes my computer and tries to reinstall my development environment, which they can never do without copious hand holding. In other words, no bueno.

I sit in front of my fairly useless computer and contemplate my options. Obviously, I could go into work. But I’d get there late and have to use annual leave to make up for my travel time.

Or…

Hey,I type into my phone.

Seconds pass.

Hey,Chance answers.You’re not online.

Are you?

Yes. Your dot says you’re offline.

My VPN software is hosed.

More seconds passed.

Mine’s not,he finally types.

You know what I’m going to ask.

You can’t use my wifi unless you’re in my apartment, otherwise it’s stealing.

Does that mean I can work over there?

If you don’t mind sitting at a kitchen table while I sit in my epic gaming chair.

I’m sitting at a table now.

Then come over.

I don’t need any more convincing. This won’t be weird at all. Especially not after we spent yesterday painting in between kissing, reloading my bookcase, and then kissing some more, and then eating Chinese takeout at my kitchen island before snuggling on my couch watchingPee Wee’s Big Adventure, which he thought was ridiculous. Another convert, I’d say.

I stuff my laptop into my backpack, fill up a knockoff Stanley cup with water, put on jeans and a T-shirt, and then walk across the breezeway to Chance’s. He opens the door before I knock. His eyes immediately drop to my unicorn slippers.

“You’re lucky I’m not in pajamas,” I say.

“I’m still in mine.”

He looks casual in plaid pajama bottoms and a fitted white shirt, understated, but exceptionally flattering, as usual.

“Take your pick,” he says, referring to the couch or the kitchen table. I opt for the table because the teleworking form I signed said something about having a private, dedicated place to work.

Chance and I both live alone in one-bedroom apartments. That’s as private as it gets, but I don’t have the fancy chair, desk, and monitor spread that Chance has going on over there. All three monitors are hooked up to his work laptop, each displaying a different app. BrainyJ is not one of them.

“How’s it going over there,” I say to Chance after I’ve settled in.

“Epically.”

“Heng is on track to finish his module on time. I know because he’s been updating my kanban board.”

Chance swivels around. “I told you. I don’t miss deadlines. In fact, I’m ahead of schedule.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

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