Page 105 of Caught A Vibe

I fight the tears of relief that spring to my eyes. CEOs don’t cry.

Dash wraps an arm around me and I lose the battle.Fuck it.This CEO can cry if she wants to.

“You are all so amazing. I can’t believe the way you’ve all stepped up this week. I am the luckiest CEO in the world to get to work with such talented and loyal people. I appreciate every one of you, but I don’t want you to have to keep going above and beyond to make this work. I don’t want my friends to burn out. I wasn’t going to say anything if we were going under. But since we are funded through at least the end of the year, I want you all to start thinking about hiring some freelancers or contract help for some of our upcoming projects. Make a list of tasks that could be taken off your plate by someone new, especially anything that will tie you up for the busy holiday season.”

Emmie snickers and mutes herself.

“We’ll get some job postings up. I’ve invited Dash to join us, in a consulting role, to continue developing the community portal. He’s also got a relationship-building game in the works. I think it will help our customers build healthier relationshipsanduse our toys better.”

“Actually, if we’re hiring, there is a young indie designer just getting started I think you should meet. Izzy Hayes’s game inspired me to start the project, and I think she would really thrive here. I’ll work on connecting you.” Dash says his piece and sits back, giving me the floor.

I turn my attention back to my screen team. “So? What’s next?”

They groan and fall out of their chairs, laughing and chasing away any lingering doubts. Will the next six months be perfect? No. But it doesn’t have to be. It will be enough. And we will keep going, making products to help people connect with their bodies and each other.

I don’t have to be perfect either. I took some time to relax with Dash, and my team rose to the challenge. I’m not a failure for resting. I’m not weak because I loosened my grip. I am still too controlling, but I’m working on it.

I am human, and that’s divine.

Dash

Penny sits hunched over her computer, refreshing the browser and muttering. It has been six months since I moved back in, but she still has a tendency to get lost in her work. The new European production line is set to start running in Slovakia tonight, and she’s watching for updates like a kid watching baby chicks hatch. I set the order of ramen on the counter, and with one gentle finger I slowly lower the screen of her laptop. When she finally looks up at me, she’s got a thousand-mile stare going.

“Take a break, babe. A watched pot and all that. Time to come up for sustenance. It’s our prep night.”

I make sure she eats some of her favorite ramen, and turn her phone to silent. I keep the conversation to the mundane to let her mind rest. I figure I have about half an hour before she succumbs to the pressure to check again, and I don’t want to play my trump card yet.

“So, can we go through the schedule for the week?”

Ever since our reconciliation, we have been more deliberate about planning the times I need to do things and adding reminders to my phone. It’s a system that works for hitting deadlines, but using it for chores is new. More importantly, it’s the plan Penny and I settled on together to take the onus of persistent emotional labor off her and keep things balanced. Sitting down to fill out the schedule every week gives her a chance to talk about her needs, and me a chance to voice concerns. And we both put reminders in place to help us achieve our goals.

Am I perfect? No. But I am enough. Just as I am.

“This week we agreed to switch, so you’ve got dishes and I’ve got laundry, since I’ll have late meetings all week. Do you have any dinner plans?”

“I’ve still got some free meal kits I could order in. Maybe we could look at them together this time, so I don’t assault your taste buds?”

That earns me a laugh. I’ll take it.

“Sounds good. Are there any motivational sound bites you need me to record?”

In the beginning of this experiment, I had asked her to record herself sayingCome on, Dash!so I could program it to play as the alarm sound for my chores. That way she didn’t have to be the one reminding me, but I’d still get the dopamine hit of her voice. Something about the way she says my name cuts through any other distractions. Now it’s a running joke, and I ask her to record outlandish things.

“Could you record one that says, ‘Wash the dishes, and I’ll give you a blow job’?”

She laughs again and tosses a soy sauce packet at me. “Dash, stop it.”

“No, that’s counterproductive. But what about, ‘Oh baby, just like that,’ in that voice you use when I have my tongue on your clit.”

She sets down her chopsticks, fully intrigued now.

I scoot my chair closer to whisper in her ear. “I still think you should let me record one for you that says, ‘Good girl.’”

“I’d never get any work done.”

“Or how about one that says, ‘I love you and you don’t have to be perfect to earn that.’”

When I pull back to look at her face, she has her eyes closed and her lips pursed. I might’ve pushed too far, and I try to scramble back into levity. But before I can find the words, she climbs into my lap, straddling my chair, and wraps her arms around my neck, hugging me tight. I hold her to my chest as quiet tears dampen my T-shirt.

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