Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Andi
I hurl myself back into work like it’s the only thing keeping me alive. I spend Sunday deep cleaning my apartment and loading my fridge with responsible foods like spinach and twelve-dollar juices. On Monday, I call in sick, skip all my meetings, and work from home, where I wrap up Dane x Sentinel and finally respond to Brett’s email requesting yet another meeting. We get it on the books for the following Monday, which is a whole two business days later than his original proposal of Thursday and therefore a significant victory.
By Wednesday morning, though, I’m running out of creative ways to prolong my fake illness, so I head into downtown Boulder. As soon as the elevator doors shunt open, I make a beeline for my office. Once inside, I click the door shut behind me. I’m not avoiding Cat, I tell myself, so much as giving her space. You know, in case she needs it.
I wonder if she’s told Sal about what happened. That even though she kissed me, I was the one who bent in toward her first.
As if I have any right to stand so close to her.
No. I’m doing fine. I’m doing fine and everything will be just fine. I’m definitely not thinking obsessively about the brush of Cat’s lips against mine, nor do I feel any sort of way about how she was gone by the time I woke up on Sunday with back pain from sleeping on a hotel chaise longue. In fact, I’m glad she left without making the fact that we kissed a Big Thing. We’re coworkers, after all, and as her boss, I could (arguably should) get in a whole vat of hot water for what happened. Best to pretend like Saturday— all of Saturday—never happened.
Like I said, I’m doing perfectly fine.
I needn’t have worried about bumping into Cat, since she doesn’t show up all day. Philo, however, lets herself into my office the minute five o’clock rolls around. Pressing her back against the inside of my door, she slides down to sit and beckons for me to approach.
“Eight back-to-back meetings today,” she says as I settle into my armchair. “God forbid the suits let me do some actual work around here.”
“That is work,” I point out. “Meeting with the suits so Gabe and Dom and I don’t have to.”
Making a face, Philo crawls over to the cabinet where she knows I keep a handle of Maker’s Mark. Helping herself to a finger, she tilts my glass in my direction. “Speaking of our coworkers … what are your thoughts on interoffice dating?”
An alarm bell goes off inside my head. “What do you mean?”
“You know,” Philo says, taking a sip and smacking her lips. “Coworkers spend time together. In our case, a lot of time. Sometimes, things can happen. Feelings can develop.”
“Are you thinking about anyone in particular?”
“Not … exactly. Just observing that if it hasn’t happened yet, it’s bound to soon. I mean, who knows what our testers are up to in that room of theirs.”
I study my nails one by one. “I mean, if Alina and Thackery go on dates together in their spare time, who are we to stop them?”
“You mean Alicia and Thayer?” Philo says.
“Uh, yeah, them.”
“Thayer’s not a tester, Andi. He’s a technical animations engineer. Honestly, I wonder if a tablespoon of people skills exists between you, Gabe, and Dom.”
“Hey now,” I say, dropping my hands to my thighs. “I know the names of everyone on my team. It’s not my fault Dom’s team is the size of a small island nation. To answer your question, I don’t give a flying fairy if our people date within ranks, as long as the four of us”—I draw a circle to include Philo, Gabe next door, and Dom down below—“keep our noses clean. I mean, how unprofessional would it look if one of us started up a relationship with someone else in this office?” I bark out a laugh. When Philo doesn’t join in, I continue, “No drama. That’s all that anyone really cares about.”
I think I see a shadow flit across Philo’s features, but a second later it’s gone, replaced by open-mouthed confusion. “Flying fairy?” she repeats. “Haven’t heard that one from you before.”
Shoot. Flying fairy is one of Cat’s. I’m going to have to be more careful with what mannerisms I borrow. Pulling my shoulders up to my ears, I go back to checking out my cuticles. “You know me, Phi. Always coming up with colorful new ways to curse.”
Thankfully, Philo changes the subject after that, and we spend the next hour commiserating about safe things like how terrible Jan Eschler was at IAX and how much we’ve grown to hate getting emails from Brett McCloy.
Miraculously, I manage to get through the workweek without talking to Cat once. As if by some unspoken agreement, we both decide to communicate via Carter, who does an admirable job bridging the distance between us. When I peel my eyes away from my monitor for the final time on Friday evening, I have a thousand-page script for every romance-related quest in Compass Hollow , ready to be reviewed with Brett on Monday. Too bad the last time we exchanged emails about it, while I was poolside in Vegas, he seemed on the fence. I’d wonder what’s got him changing his tune lately except I have enough on my plate as it is.
I’m about to shut down my workstation when a fresh email comes in from Ainsley Ray, subject line “Let’s talk love in CH.” Sighing, I open it and ready my cursor over the trash icon.
Andi,
Following up here on Jan’s question at IAX. Would you be willing to confirm or deny the existence of romanceable NPCs in Compass Hollow ?
I don’t think I need to point out how much the internet has jumped all over your little moment with Jan and that unidentified cosplayer who crashed the party. Some conspiracy theorists are even beginning to ask if Sheik was a Heartrender plant. Let me know if you want to talk, get out in front of any runaway narratives. I’m around 24/7.
A.R.
Ainsley Ray Senior Writer | G A Y M E S . E X E
Has the internet jumped all over me and Jan and Cat? I haven’t wasted time online in days, and Philo and the rest of the team have been either too polite or too scared to bring it up to my face. I consider Googling myself but decide against it as a bad way to round out the workweek.
With a growl, I let the email stay in my inbox. Without Brett’s blessing, I can’t issue a statement either way. I can only hope that, come Monday, Brett will decide, once and for all, whether to keep or discard the romances we’ve been slaving away at. With a definitive answer, Philo can put the rumors to rest and I can get people like Ainsley off my back.
And Jan.
Was Jan aware of Brett’s “numbers-backed” proposal to add romance to Compass Hollow ? Did he put Brett up to warning me against confirming “the love stuff” during the panel? But then, why ask me about the rumors at IAX if he (a) already knew they were true and (b) knew I couldn’t confirm them? Could his goal really have been to watch me publicly flounder and relive all my Aftermath trauma? Why else would he have shown up at our mainstage event?
But no. Jan is a titan at one of the biggest game publishers in the world—the same publisher backing Compass Hollow . He wouldn’t go to all that trouble just to humiliate me.
Then again, I’ve seen powerful people do pettier things for less.
That’s the trouble with surviving what I’ve survived. I never know if how I’m feeling is an overreaction or a valid reading of the evidence before me.
I wish Cat were here. She’d set me straight. She’d tell me—probably none too kindly—if she thought I was blowing things way out of proportion or not. She’s not here, though, and obsessing over Jan is a surefire way to work myself into a frenzy, so I block them both from my mind. My only job right now is to keep my head down and prevent leaks from adding fuel to the fire.
I drive home. As I’m letting myself into my apartment, I dial my mom. I have no idea how long our D her gray isn’t hardy like the gunmetal coloration some older people develop, but thin and fragile like a washed-out T-shirt. “How’s your health?”
“Fine.” As if she can tell what I’m thinking, she fluffs the bottom of her hair.
“Good,” I say.
We both fall silent. Outside, a dog or coyote howls, long and lonely.
Why can’t I think of anything to say? Why is talking to my mom harder than talking to Cat, or Philo, or even Brett McCloy? As a kid, I never thought the day would come when I’d run out of things to share with my mom. I wish someone had told me that growing up often also means growing apart.
“Andi, listen.” My mom’s gravelly voice slides through my thoughts like scree. “Mommy’s been thinking, you don’t need to call if you don’t have anything to say.”
“What?” I watch without comprehension as my mom’s lips repeat her words.
“You’re a very busy person, Andi, creating things that I do not understand but that I know are important to you. You’ve been a busy person, ever since Iris left you. I know you dated that other girl for a while, but when you and Iris broke up, it’s like you decided overnight that work was the only thing that mattered.”
Isn’t work the only thing that matters? How can I believe otherwise, when both my dad and Iris chose career over family?
On the other end of the line, my mom shifts. “No need to call me every week. I know I’m just an item on your to-do list. But promise me one thing, Andi: get yourself a partner, okay?”
“Mom, c’mon, not this again.” I close my eyes, but it doesn’t keep me from seeing Cat, curled up around her Switch and worrying her lower lip in thought. It’s an image I haven’t been able to shake all week. In it, her hair is loose and brushing the tops of her shoulders and her mouth is flushed from all her nibbling. Because she’s not real, because she’s not really with me, I feel safe staring at her, drinking her in with my eyes, taking in how her nose wrinkles when she finds something Javier from that DILF game has said funny or how she twirls a strand of hair around her index finger when she’s pondering which dialogue option to choose.
I clench my left hand into a fist. “I can’t talk about this, Mom.”
As usual, she ignores me. “Get yourself a partner, Andi. Boyfriend, girlfriend, person-friend, I don’t care. Just don’t end up all alone and empty like me. Fill yourself up with someone else’s love. Someone who understands you better than I can. Work will not always be enough. You may tell yourself otherwise right now, but I know you. You’re my daughter, and I love you.”
She hangs up. I stare down at my balled-up fist, which, less than a week ago, held Cat against me. I felt the heat casting off her body then, saw the look of something in her eyes, even after we pulled away from each other. Surprise? Fear?
Want?
It doesn’t matter. My feelings begin and end with me, as they always have. They have to.
Because the person I like is currently dating someone else.