Page 115 of Baby, One More Time

“You’re welcome.” She stands up. “It was great to finally meet you, and I can’t wait for our first double date.”

I stand as well to escort her to the door, and she surprises me by pulling me into a hug. I pat her gently on the back until she lets go and leaves.

Admittedly leaving me in a more optimistic mood than I have been in for the past couple of days. Fingers crossed she’s right.

49

MARISSA

On Monday morning, I wake up with three text alerts already demanding attention on my phone. Still in bed, I open the first one.

It’s from Danika, informing me the final software update of The Ex Files is ready and we can plan the release of the new version of the app whenever I choose.

I’m not exactly in the right mental space to announce the release of a game-changing new feature of my secret app, so I table the launch for now. I write her a quick reply, asking that we take things slow and coordinate with the marketing team to arrange something for next month and to keep running debugging tests in the meantime.

Danika is going to hate my response. I, her, or any other coder on the planet, all want to follow the new shiny thing, and solve a new impossible problem. Debugging already-finished, ready-to-launch software is about as sexy as an octogenarian in Speedos. But this time I have to put my mental health first, especially because the second text is even worse.

It’s a group message from Shonda, my CEO, informing the top management of WeTrade that the SEC got their panties in a twist about some trading patterns in our app in the past few months and we’re under audit. Meaning work is about to turn into a hailstorm of doc reviews, late nights, and stressful days.

The last message is the cherry on the cake of an already sure-to-be disastrous week as my cleaning lady notifies me she won’t be able to work this week and the next—no explanation given.

Just perfect.

My first instinct is to send John a venting text, expecting a witty reply that would immediately make me feel better, but then I remember we’re on hiatus.

I bet I played right into Sierra’s hand, pulling away while she’s in town. But the truth is, I also might be testing him. He says he doesn’t want to get back with his wife. But would that still be true if I weren’t a factor? And I know I might be shooting myself in the foot, but space is what we need.

I walk down the stairs to make coffee and discover I’m out. And John won’t be bringing me fancy coffee this morning because I told him not to. When I open the front door, I won’t see his smiling face or piercing blue eyes. He won’t walk me to work, and we won’t hug goodbye before a long day at the office. I could’ve really used a hug today.

A test of his loyalty or not, in a blink, I come to regret all my life choices. I’m going to be pulling all-nighters this week, with an AWOL cleaner, a pissed-off coder, and no emotional support.

Yay, what a fun week of lone adulting awaits me.

Fast forward two weeks at the office on Friday night, and I’m on the brink of collapse due to exhaustion, frustration, and loneliness—mostly loneliness.

I’m resting my head on the desk, literally about to take a nap, when Blake FaceTimes me.

“Hey,” I pick up.

“Oh, you’re alive. I was getting worried. You haven’t answered any of my texts.”

“Sorry.” I sag back in the chair. “We’ve been under audit from the SEC and it’s been a nightmare.”

“Just the audit?”

“Well, no, my cleaning lady abandoned me, and I also had other work stuff to deal with.”

“And that’s it?”

“Isn’t it enough?”

Blake smirks. “So you haven’t by any chance been missing a certain blue-eyed, square-jawed, broad-shouldered doctor, have you?”

More than words can express.

“No,” I lie through my teeth. “I haven’t had time to miss him.”

Blake frowns. Initially, I assume it’s because of my untruthful answer, but then she says, “Are you wearing your dress inside out?”

---