June 2025
We’re Here Now
Katharine McGee
Playlist: “Hits Different”
“Thanks again for driving me. I know it’s out of the way,” Carly murmured, glancing over at her best friend, Nate.
“Of course I’m driving you to your interview,” he replied.
“I couldn’t let you take the bus in that outfit.
” He drove like Carly’s grandfather, his hands never leaving the ten and two o’clock positions on the steering wheel, eyes fixed firmly on the road.
It was the same way he’d driven on all their road trips throughout California, when they were listening to true crime podcasts (Nate’s pick) or Game of Thrones books (Carly had been appalled when she learned that Nate hadn’t read them), back when they were very newly friends.
Carly ran her hands nervously over her navy blazer and skirt (borrowed from her friend Anna since Carly didn’t own anything remotely this girly, or this nice). Noticing the gesture, Nate smiled. “Speaking of which, you didn’t tell me you were interviewing to be head librarian in a fantasy novel.”
“This is business attire, Nate. Not that you would recognize it, since all you wear while working are T-shirts and hoodies.”
“All computer engineers are like that. You should know, since you’ll be managing them once you work at Google.” At a stop sign, Nate finally glanced over. “Should we practice one last interview question?”
“Absolutely not.” Carly had done so many mock interviews, she thought her head might explode. “Let’s talk instead about what we’re wearing to eighties prom.”
Nate’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. “Carl, I’m not going to eighties prom.”
“You’re going to make me go all Molly Ringwald by myself?
” Carly was excited about this weekend’s Sig Ep party, the biggest one of the spring semester.
While Nate wasn’t actually a member of the fraternity, he was friends with most of the guys and usually tagged along.
“Come on,” she pleaded. “My dress is made of pink taffeta. It’s got huge puffed sleeves.
You’ll have blackmail material for years. ”
“I think I’ll stay home and work on the app,” Nate insisted. Carly knew that he meant it; he really was the type of guy to code his app on a Saturday night.
“It’s been over a month since you and Emma broke up. Don’t you think it’s time you got back out there?” Carly asked gently.
“You act like it’s so great out there,” Nate said, repeating her words with an eye roll. “But maybe I’m just fine where I am.”
Carly sighed but knew better than to push it.
She’d met Nate freshman year. They were both living in Wilbur: unquestionably the ugliest building on Stanford’s campus, a concrete monstrosity surrounded by the older, elegant stucco dorms with their courtyards and fountains.
They had been at one of those mandatory freshman meetings, sitting cross-legged in a circle in their RA’s room, answering painful “get to know you” questions like Where are you from?
and What’s your favorite TV show? Nate and Carly had bonded over both admitting to a love of ER (the early seasons, mostly—Carly had binge-watched it with her mom for years).
When the orientation meeting was finally over and they had each taken a free Stanford T-shirt, Nate had fallen into step next to Carly.
“You said you’re from Houston?” he’d asked. “My mom always goes there for academic conferences. She’s a genetics researcher at Cal Berkeley,” he added in response to Carly’s questioning look.
“Then she probably lectures at Rice. Which isn’t exactly close to me.
” Carly glanced away as she added, “I’m from Bellville, an hour outside Houston.
Actually…I’ve never left Texas before, not until I boarded the flight to San Francisco three days ago.
” Her so-called tour of Stanford had been entirely virtual.
It turned out that Nate was local, from the Oakland hills.
“If this is your first time in California, then you need to see some landmarks,” he’d insisted.
“There’s a lot more to this state than Palo Alto.
” He’d suggested they go to Tomales Bay that weekend for oysters—and thus began their tour of California.
As the year went on, they ventured farther and farther afield.
They road-tripped to Yosemite at 3:00 a.m. so that they could hike Half Dome in the predawn light; they braved the icy roads to Tahoe, where Nate attempted to teach Carly to ski (she was hopeless); they drove to Anaheim and waited all afternoon to ride Space Mountain (Carly had insisted on buying Nate a pair of Goofy ears).
Her own family road trips, when they’d gone to South Padre Island on the Gulf Coast to visit her grandparents, were nothing like this.
Back then, Carly had focused on surviving, wedged in the back seat between her two older brothers, the three of them bickering about music or fighting over a Game Boy.
Carly and Nate, by contrast, could spend hours together without friction—debating politics, stopping at unexpected attractions like a lizard zoo, sitting in easy, uncomplicated silence.
Carly had always gotten along better with guys than with girls; she blamed her brothers, or all her years doing competitive swimming, which was such an individual sport.
For a moment there, Carly wondered if this thing with Nate would turn into something more.
But he’d started dating a girl named Emma by Halloween, and he and Carly had settled squarely into the friend zone.
Which was a good thing. There were plenty of guys out there (Carly knew this firsthand) but very few true friends.
“We’re here,” Nate announced as they pulled through a set of gates. Google’s campus rose up before them, all sleek glass buildings with geometric sculptures dotting the lawns.
Carly swallowed against a sudden wave of panic. What if she didn’t get this internship? She would have to go home to Bellville and beg for her old summer job at Buc-ee’s, ringing up ICEEs and fudge for weary commuters on Highway 290.
“You’re going to do great,” Nate said earnestly, clearly sensing her anxiety. “You’ve got this.”
“Thanks.” Carly managed a smile, then marched up to the receptionist to give her name.
“Carly Miller?” A young man emerged into the reception area a few minutes later. He was blindingly handsome—Carly’s mom would have called him movie-star handsome, the sort of handsome that combines perfect features and blue-gray eyes and dark hair that was just the right amount of disheveled.
“I’m Thomas Lyman, here to chat with you about the Global Strategy group. Should we grab a coffee?”
A coffee? Carly had been expecting a formal interview. She looked at Thomas’s Google hoodie and light wash jeans and instantly felt foolish for wearing this tailored suit. Nate was right; she looked like a librarian. Or a flight attendant from the 1950s.
“Sorry,” Thomas said sheepishly. “I had a late night running some numbers and could use the caffeine boost.”
Carly hurried to fall into step alongside him. “Coffee sounds great, especially when it’s such a beautiful day.” She instantly felt foolish. Of course it was a beautiful day; it was always a beautiful day in the Peninsula. But Thomas just smiled as if she’d said something infinitely clever.
Glass doors slid open before them, and they emerged onto a stone plaza out back. Employees in Google T-shirts sat before their laptops or chatted in groups, walking in and out of an ice cream shop, a taco stand, and…was that a tiki bar?
“So, Carly, where are you from?” Thomas asked pleasantly.
“Houston,” she replied, because no one had ever heard of Bellville.
“A Texan!” Thomas exclaimed in delight. “You know, I went to the Houston rodeo once. I remember eating a fried Oreo. Or was it a fried Twinkie?” He glanced at Carly as if she knew the answer.
“Fried Twinkies are for amateurs,” Carly replied, testing a joke. “Talk to me when you’ve had a doughnut burger.”
Thomas looked intrigued. “Is that a hamburger between two glazed doughnuts?”
“Or chocolate doughnuts, for the truly brave.”
“You’ll have to let me try one sometime,” Thomas said conspiratorially. They were approaching the coffee counter; he looked at her expectantly. “Cold brew? It’s too hot for a latte, don’t you think?”
“Oh, um—” Carly was far too anxious for caffeine. “I’d love a water, please.”
“Not a coffee drinker?” Thomas asked curiously.
“I already had two today,” Carly lied.
He laughed. “Fair enough. I’m an addict myself. Got hooked on Friday mornings in college when I had to drag myself to eight a.m. Dynamic Asset Pricing after Thursday-night robo.”
“You don’t mean Professor Gilroy’s Dynamic Asset Pricing?” Carly asked before she could think better of it.
Thomas beamed at her. “You’re at Stanford, too? No wonder I’m the one they asked to chat with you! I graduated four years ago.”
Chat, talk—Thomas kept speaking of this interview in such casual terms. Carly’s confusion must have shown on her face, because he asked, “Let me guess. The career center made you prep for case interview questions?”
“I did bring my case interview notebook. I mean, just in case,” Carly replied carefully.
Thomas shrugged. “I’m not interested in finding out whether you’re a human calculator; I’m interested in getting to know you as a human. Case interviews are for finance jobs and consulting firms. Sure you don’t want a coffee?” he pressed as they reached the front of the line.
“I guess an iced latte wouldn’t hurt,” Carly admitted. She was surprised how relieved she felt when he smiled in approval—and deep down, she knew that it wasn’t just about the interview.
August 2024
Carly wandered over to the railing to stare at the scattered lights of San Francisco. This company-sponsored cruise on the bay was Google’s send-off party for its summer interns. Most of the associates in their groups had come, too, to convince the undergrads to accept their full-time offers.
Which meant that Thomas was here and Carly was a ball of nerves.