Chapter Eight
JUDE
I don’t have time for much outside of work right now, so it’s frustrating when the few hours of sleep I manage to get are filled with dreams where I’m at the office.
It’s not restful to dream about meetings, or surprise visits from Edmund where he’s expecting a report I haven’t done.
But those aren’t as bad as a new addition to the lineup, one where Lacey and I are in front of a whiteboard and I push her against it with one hand—a sexy push, not like a violent one—while my other hand reaches up her thigh, pulling her skirt up with it.
It doesn’t take a dream interpretation expert to see that this is my subconscious processing the experience of the past week or so of intense collaboration with Lacey, who is the only other person in the world who cares as much as I do about Lettercat.
It’s unsurprising when you look at it this way.
Predictable, actually, that what I want for the company would be transfigured in my dreams into a different type of desire.
Unless what it means is that I want to push Lacey up against a wall and take her skirt off, which is an objectively terrible thing for a CEO to be thinking about a team member. Especially one he respects so much and is relying on to save his company. In a series of very short skirts.
This is why you don’t bring your whole self to work. Some parts you just leave at home, or at least you’re supposed to.
I feel like I’m failing at everything these days.
“How about this?” my sister says when I tell her that last part. “Let’s plan a trip to Hawaii for when this thirty-day sprint is over, so you’ll have something really positive to look forward to. We can drink out of coconuts and be each other’s wingman.”
Ella’s heart is in the right place, but there’s no magical moment at the end of this thirty days. I’ll either be able to continue my push for funding, or I’m sprinting off a cliff. Hawaii’s not going to solve any of my problems. And also, this is supposed to be a work call.
“I don’t have time to look forward to anything. Can you give me a project update?” I ask.
“Lacey sent me some mockups today,” Ella says. “She wants me to review the UX her team’s building.”
“That’s great,” I said.
“Yeah, I’d so much rather adjust it up front than tear it apart later. Is she the type to freak out if I have changes?”
I have to think about this so long that Ella has to check that my video didn’t freeze.
“I honestly don’t know,” I tell her. “She’s simultaneously the most dedicated and infuriating person I’ve ever worked with.”
“Well, she sounds like a real treat,” Ella says, and I immediately feel bad.
“No. Not like that. Lacey’s amazing. She just—maybe it’s me. Whatever I do, I end up pissing her off. It’s not the best dynamic.”
“And people ask me why I left the startup world.”
“Yet you keep coming back.”
I take back the part about failing at everything; I’m making really good progress on the ad network integration.
I block off huge portions of my day for deep focus, turning Slack and my phone off, letting Jonnie be the guardian at my doorway with no door.
I feel like I’ve gone back to my roots, back to the place I was when I built Lettercat in the first place, only with much nicer headphones.
It’s nice to be reminded of my own competence, even when I get stuck. Real-world problems are a pain to solve, but when I’m writing code, I almost look forward to the hard parts. If it’s a technology problem, I’m certain I’ll find a resolution, and I’ll learn something new while I’m getting there.
On this particular issue, I’ve tried AI and looked online, and I’ve checked in with Dave and a couple other engineers; there’s something incomplete about the solution I’ve landed on. I know I can do better, and I’m looking forward to the challenge of how.
When I get off the Zoom with Ella, I put my shoes on.
“Heading out?” Jonnie asks.
“Just going to walk until I figure this thing out,” I tell her.
“Bring a sweatshirt,” she says, so I do.
I walk along the Embarcadero to the Ferry Building and back, and when I’m almost back to the office I turn around and do it again.
I’m closing in on a solution, I can tell; it’s almost like the idea already exists in my brain and all I’m doing is catching up to it.
Music cranked, hoodie up, I’m so deep in my own world that I don’t hear the car that nearly hits me as it pulls into one of the parking lots along the pier.
The guy in it pauses to shout something I can’t hear, but he also gives me the finger, so I have a pretty good idea what he said.
I decide to stop until the walk signal gives me the okay to go, and that’s when I see Lacey waiting on the side opposite me.
She gives me a small wave. I nod, wondering if she saw me get cursed out and almost flattened.
I don’t know if I’ve been giving her space or taking some of my own this week, but I’ve come to a point where I’ve stopped trying.
There’s too much at stake right now for me to spend time on interpersonal drama.
Some people just don’t mix, and that’s okay.
No one’s coaching oil to get along better with water; they’re both doing fine on their own.
When the light turns, I cruise right past her, back into my own integration mess. I get to the ballpark, and the answer is still eluding me. One more trip, maybe.
I pretend I don’t see Lacey when we pass each other this next time.
I keep my head down and watch her go by in my peripheral vision.
But then she stays there. She turned around, and she’s now walking next to me.
I reach up and touch my headphones to stop the music, but she doesn’t say anything.
We walk all the way to the Ferry Building like this.
“Can I buy you a twelve-dollar bottle of water?” she asks me when we arrive.
“Twelve dollars?”
“I’m thirsty, and it’s either that or the water fountain. Ferry Building prices are stupid.”
“I’m okay,” I tell her, but I go with her to the market inside to get her water.
“At least the bottle’s nice,” she says, unscrewing the top of the thick glass bottle. “Do you want a sip?” She holds it out to me, and I can tell she feels just how weird the offer is while she’s making it.
I decline, but I know I’m smiling.
“So what are you stuck on?” she asks once we’re outside. I don’t ask how she knows that I’m stuck.
“The API for the ad network,” I tell her. “Technical and dull, but important.”
“Go ahead and bore me with the details,” she says. “Maybe explaining it will shift your thinking and help you solve it.”
This is a thing that works; some engineers even substitute a rubber duck for a live person when they do it.
We walk along the Bay together while I describe the problem.
Lacey asks questions that make me see it differently, if not clearly.
I’d love to keep going but I can tell she’s getting cold.
I’m not going to offer her my sweatshirt, so we head back to Lettercat.
We’re still talking it over when we get to my office.
I kick my shoes off, she sits on the couch, and we keep at it for another ten minutes, until I think I’ve got it. I’m ready to try, at least.
“Thank you,” I say as she leaves.
“This was fun,” she tells me.
When she’s gone, I realize she’s left her empty, expensive bottle behind. I put it on my desk next to my three monitors, and I get to work.
“How we doing, bro?” Trevor’s in my doorway, not picking up on the don’t interrupt my flow state vibes I’m sending his way.
I nod, hoping he’ll go away but he comes in and stretches out on the sofa, crosses his feet on the armrest.
“Things were looking pretty cozy in here before,” he comments.
“What do you mean by that?” I keep typing.
“You and Lacey,” he says. I ignore the tone and what it’s implying.
“Yeah, we worked through that distribution problem I was stuck on. We landed on something much more configurable than where I started.”
“You sure there’s not more than minds meeting? You know?”
He’s smirking at me when I look up.
“Enough, Trevor.”
“I get it. Lacey would be hot if she weren’t so… sour.”
“She’s not sour.”
“So you think she’s hot.”
“I don’t have time for this,” I say, throwing my stress ball at his head. He catches it and tosses it back.
“This isn’t a social visit. I’ve got my brother’s bachelor party this weekend, but I see you put meetings all over it.”
What part of all hands on deck does Trevor not understand? We have thirty days, and he has two teams that have committed to grind this out. I need him to be present and pushing or this is all a waste of time. I unload on him, to the point where Jonnie pops her head in and asks if everything’s okay.
“It’s chill,” Trevor tells her, standing up. “I’m about to go. Glad to be your punching bag, Jude.”
Jonnie, who doesn’t even like Trevor, pats him on the shoulder as he makes his way out of my office.
“Wait,” I tell him.
I know my expectations can be a little unrealistic.
I sometimes forget that I’m the only one who’s chosen to give up their entire personal life for Lettercat.
I can’t ask him to skip a family event, even if it does involve Las Vegas and the things Trevor does in a place like that.
I apologize and tell him to have fun. Not so much fun that he’s not here on Monday.
“But I do need to make a change,” I tell him.
He gives me a sad fist bump before he goes.
Lacey’s got her headphones on and her hair’s pulled into a messy pile.
I can tell by the way she’s looking at her screen that she’s found something she wants to change; she twists her mouth to the side whenever this happens.
She taps her pencil against her notepad a few times, then sketches something and nods to herself.
She processes things externally, I’ve noticed: talking, sticky notes, diagrams.
“Hey,” she says, finally seeing me. She pulls her headphones off and looks up at me, then at what I’m holding in my hand. I start to wonder if this was a stupid idea.
I hold up the little stuffed tiger my sister sent me earlier this week, and I wiggle it awkwardly at her before placing it on her desk.
“What is this?” she asks.
“It’s a tiger,” I say.
“No. What is this?” she asks, motioning to the three of us: me, her, the tiger.
“I removed Trevor from the tiger team.”
“Because he’s on his way to, I quote, fuck up some shit in Vegas?”
I nod. “But also because he never should have been on that team. I never wanted him there.”
She waits. I know I don’t deserve to have this made easy for me.
“Lacey, I know you’re really busy with everything else, and you’re doing incredible work. But it would mean a lot to me to have your help on the tiger team.”
She’s trying not to smile, and doing a poor job of it. She scratches the stuffed tiger between the ears.
“Sure,” she says, shrugging like it’s no biggie.
“You going to be here late?” I ask.
She looks around and I realize it’s already late.
“You want to grab some sushi? We can eat in the conference room while I bring you up to speed.”
“Okay,” she says. “Just let me finish this one thing, Mountain Carrot.”
I’m in the middle of reviewing the project plan Trevor put together, showing her where we are when she interrupts me.
“You’re a vegetarian,” she says, like she’s solved part of a puzzle.
I look at my tofu avocado roll and nod.
“For how long?” she asks.
“High school,” I say.
“Why? Do you love animals?”
“I mean, sure. I don’t know, I just don’t eat meat.”
She gives me a knowing smile.
“What?” I ask her.
“Unrelated. When did you first read Walter Isaacson’s seminal biography of Steve Jobs?”
“Shut up,” I say.
“But really. When? High school?”
I nod, a little embarrassed. “I’m a goober, okay? I know it.”
“I didn’t say that. I think it’s…” she trails off, and I see her looking for the right word.
“What?”
“Cute, I guess.” She looks me dead in the eye while expertly chopsticking some spicy tuna roll into her mouth.
I take a sip of water and try to find where I was in the project plan.
It’s not that I’m rattled. I’m just so accustomed to butting heads with Lacey that I’m not sure how to handle whatever the opposite of that is. Oh god. No, I didn’t mean it like that.