Page 72 of February

“Do you really see people using these to break up with someone?”

“No, I can see people buying them after the fact and sending them in revenge or, really, just checking them out in the store, laughing, and putting them back on the rack. I don’tknow. Maybe friends would buy them for friends who just broke up with someone.” Bridgette leaned back in her chair. “Is this stupid? Will people actually buy them?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s New Orleans, right? It’s irreverent at times and funny, yes. I’m not sure how they’d sell, honestly. Maybe we should consider a marketing strategy before you get too far.”

“A marketing strategy?”

“Yeah. I’ve got some time now if you want to walk through it.”

“We don’t really have marketing strategies here.”

“Maybe you should,” Monica replied as she leaned in. “Come on. Let’s see what we can come up with. I’m thinking, we can create a few fake social posts from some burner accounts I have, and we can joke about breakup cards. Something like, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if you could buy a breakup card just like you can by an anniversary one?’ or, ‘Wish I had a card that told my girlfriend I don’t want to be with her anymore.’” She paused as she opened the conference room door. “Stuff like that. We can see if we get a response.”

“Hold on there.” Bridgette stood and walked over. “You havefakesocial accounts?”

“Several of them,” she said. “And if we see a few good comments, it could be an indicator.”

After two hours of going over the marketing and sales possibilities, Monica was surprised to have not even opened her laptop because she hadn’t needed it. Then, they left together to walk down the street to the hotel to pick up Aaron. He’d texted her that he’d woken up and would meet them outside, so when they arrived, he was already there. Monica smiled proudly at her son. He had changed his clothes from the ratty jeans and hoodie he’d worn for the flight to a pair of much nicer jeans, a belt, brown shoes that she’d bought him last year, an actual button-down shirt that he’d tucked in, and a sweater over that. He would likely burn up later in the day, but he looked like a young professional about to go to his first day of work.

“He’s more dressed up than me,” Bridgette noted.

“Well, he’s trying to get into school. You already graduated.”

“Do I look like a slob?” Bridgette looked down at herself as they walked.

“Uh, no,” Monica said, leaving it at that.

Bridgette always looked good to her. Today, her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She never seemed to wear much makeup or any at all, and it worked for her. She was wearing jeans and a green sweater that was just tight enough to show off her ample breasts, which Monica forced herself to look away from when they arrived to meet Aaron.

“Hey, honey. This is my friend, Bridgette. Bridgette, this is my son, Aaron.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bridgette spoke, holding out her hand for Aaron to shake.

“Yeah, you too,” Aaron said, shaking it. “Thank you for doing this. It’s cool of you to take the time.”

“No problem. I love my alma mater.”

“Yeah? When did you graduate?”

“About five years ago.”

“Five years?” he asked, looking at his mom.

“Yes. I know you have a real tour to get to, but I thought I could point out the stuff they’ll leave off the official tour.”

“That would be cool,” he replied. “So, you’re like, what, twenty-seven?”

“Yes. Almost twenty-eight, but yeah. Why?”

“Just curious,” he said.

Monica then lifted an eyebrow at her son, who looked between Bridgette and her.

When Bridgette’s phone rang, she pulled it out of her pocket and said, “Sorry. Can you give me one second? It’s my mom.”

“Sure. The car’s not here yet, anyway.”

“You ordered a car?” Bridgette asked.

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