Make Up Break Up

by Lily Menon

  “Is there something going on here?” Alesandro asked, setting his fork down and looking from Hudson to Annika. “Between you two?”

  “Nothing besides animosity,” Annika said, barking a laugh. “Seriously, Alesandro, I—”

  “She’s always been obsessed with my pecs,” Hudson said, crossing his arms.

  “What?” she spluttered. “Alesandro, don’t believe—”

  “Yeah.” Alesandro patted his lips with his napkin. “I thought so.” He looked at Annika. “You weren’t connecting with me tonight. I felt it, you felt it. And I think I know why now.” He scraped his chair back.

  “Ale—”

  “No, it’s okay.” Alesandro smiled a little. “I understand. I’ve been hung up on other people before, too. Just call me if this doesn’t work out, okay?” He gestured at Hudson and nodded at the two of them. “I’ll settle the bill before I leave.” Without another glance backward, he strode toward the hostess stand.

  They watched him go for a moment, and then Hudson turned back to her, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Seriously, if he scares that easy…”

  Annika glared at him. “For your information, he was a very nice guy. And this was the best first date I’ve had in a long time. But you had to go ruin it. You messed with me before in the hallway, and then you just show up here. What’s your problem?” To her alarm, her eyes began to fill with tears.

  But she had no one else to blame except herself for this date going to hell. “Go ahead,” she said, refusing to look at Hudson and brushing her tears away with a rough fist. “You can laugh. I know you want to.”

  “I would never laugh when you’re crying.” She looked up at his tone. Lines of concern had appeared between his brows, and there was no trace of his trademark teasing smile on his face. He reached for her, seemed to think better of it, and set his hand on the table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know … the date was important to you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

  Annika shook her head and took a deep drink of water. “It’s not about this particular date. I mean, I wanted to give it my best shot, but I don’t think it was going anywhere, to be completely honest. That seems to be a theme with me.” She took a centering breath. That’s enough vulnerability for now. “But that’s okay.” Pasting on a bright smile, she added very deliberately, “It gives me more time to prepare for my Time interview. Or should I say, co-interview, with you?”

  He paused, his face confused at the change of topic. And then his brow cleared. “Wait. What? How do you know about my Time interview?”

  Ha. She sat back and crossed her arms. “Our Time interview.” She paused, savoring his silence. “Whoa. Hudson Craft, with nothing to say for the first time in his life. Maybe I should take a picture.” She put on an innocent expression. “Emily Dunbar-Khan hasn’t told you yet? Mm, well, she will. It’s not just a profile on Break Up anymore. It’s a ‘Make Up and Break Up go head-to-head’ kind of thing.” Smiling, she took a slow sip of her wine. “Much more interesting for readers that way.”

  Hudson shook his head slowly and began to chuckle. The neon lights frosted the tips of his blond hair pink. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

  Annika narrowed her eyes, not liking his reaction one bit. “Get what?”

  He looked at her, cocking his head. “You think you’re getting one over on me. But all you’re showing me—by rushing into my office and accusing me of taking your idea, by renting out a corner of the rooftop during my event, by co-opting the interview I was going to do by myself—is that you can’t bear to be apart from me.”

  Annika stared at him, her cheeks flaming. “C-completely, utterly ridiculous.” It wasn’t a full thought, but it was all she could manage.

  “Is it? I’m not so sure.” Still smiling, Hudson pushed his chair back and stood. “I’ll see you later, Annika. I’m sure you’ll find a way to make that happen.” He stuffed a hand in his pocket and walked away, melting effortlessly into the crowd.

  Annika sat looking after him, her heart beating furiously in annoyance. After a minute, she sighed, put her napkin on the table, and stood. This was all too much. Alesandro had the right idea; she was going home, too.

  * * *

  Back home, Annika kicked off her shoes, pulled off her bra, and threw it on the floor on her way to the living room, her eyes catching on the evidence of a life lived alone: one cup on the kitchen counter. One forgotten plate on the coffee table. The remote stuck between the cushions, where she’d last left it.

  She began switching on lights as she went. The darkness only made her apartment seem emptier, emphasizing how alone she was. No one else would go into a room and turn on a light.

  Her stomach growled as she walked into the kitchenette and peeked into the freezer with a single-minded purpose: ice cream. It was definitely an ice-cream-for-dinner kind of night. She grabbed a spoon, a glass of water, and a pint-sized tub of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, then padded back to the couch. Flopping down, she turned on Netflix and began to browse.

  She found what she wanted to watch in an instant—Hacker Love Story, a rom-com about two hackers who tried to out-hack each other but ended up falling in love. It was exactly the kind of funny, low-stakes, everything’s-gonna-be-all-right world she wanted to lose herself in.

  Annika was only fifteen minutes into the movie—right at the part where the male hacker hacked into the female hacker’s computer and left her a video message—when she realized she was barely following along at all. Her thoughts were too tangled, too messy, too loud.

  She pulled a fluffy throw over her and pushed her spoon into the cardboard container of ice cream, watching it get swallowed up. She hadn’t even been the tiniest bit disappointed that Alesandro had left, that their date was basically over before it began.

  A slow, undeniable realization sank in: The most fun she’d had was at the beginning of the night, when she’d run into Hudson in the hallway. When he’d crashed her date, her heart had lifted before she’d squelched the feeling. Annika groaned and stuffed a spoonful of cherry ice cream into her mouth. What was wrong with her that she’d rather spend time with someone so arrogant, so smug, so detestable, than a perfectly nice bakery owner who ran charity marathons?

  She was completely hopeless when it came to matters of the heart.

  Her phone beeped. It was a text from June.

  How’s the date going??

  Annika squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. She’d respond to that later. Currently, all she had the energy for was ice cream.

  * * *

  Early Monday morning, June pulled into the mostly empty parking garage, turned off her Porsche, and faced Annika. “So what if things didn’t work out with Alesandro? There’ll be other guys. Lots of other guys.”

  “You know, I’m fine with it,” Annika lied, grabbing her yoga gear and handbag. She’d had all weekend to think up her response, and she didn’t want June feeling bad for her. She was tired of being the one people had to feel bad for. “I just need to focus on the EPIC pitch and keeping Make Up going. That’s just the season of life I’m in.”

  June studied her for a moment before opening her door and getting out. “That’s a great attitude.” Pausing, she looked around at the empty garage. “Hey, maybe we need to work on off-hours. Would you look at this place? Traffic on our commutes would be so much easier, too.”

  Annika laughed. “Easy parking and no traffic are tempting, but not tempting enough to get me to give up my early mornings, late nights, and weekends.”

  “Yeah, plus your dad wouldn’t like you skipping your Saturday dinners.”

  “That’s very true. Hey, I feel like a little fresh air—want to go the long way around?”

  June nodded and they walked out of the garage and onto the street in the direction of their huge steel-and-glass office building. The early-morning air was cool and slightly breezy, and Annika took a deep breath, imagining she could smell the ocean in the distance. In this moment, she felt light. She felt
… optimistic.

  “Maybe we could expand one day,” June said, spreading her arms wide, apparently feeling it, too. “I could head up the office in Paris.”

  Annika laughed. “You might be getting a little ahead of yourself there.”

  “No way,” June insisted as they walked into their building and headed to the elevator, their heels clip-clopping against the gleaming floor. “We’re totally going to slay at EPIC. You know there are rumors that we’re the ones to watch? Well, us and Break Up, but you know we’re going to win it.”

  As the elevator pinged and opened onto their floor, Annika smiled at her, her eyes shining. “Yeah, I have heard that. I think Rita Davenport at Early to Tech has a lot to do with it, actually. Rumors about the Time article are creating buzz, too, I can tell. I have to admit, I know we’re overleveraged, but … I’m feeling good. Like something’s about to change. You know? All our money troubles are going to be behind us soon.”

  They got out and headed toward their office. “Absolutely,” June agreed. “But now I need to run to the potty. Too much coffee on the ride over.”

  After Annika unlocked the door and stashed away her bag and yoga gear, she grabbed the mail and rifled through the envelopes. Bill, bill, a membership offer for Idealists Anonymous of Los Angeles … Annika glared in the general direction of the Break Up office. Wonder who signed her up for that. Turning back to her mail, she saw there was an offer to upgrade her Wi-Fi service, and—Annika frowned as she landed on an envelope from the Bank of California. From Mr. McManor, to be precise.

  Annika walked back to her desk and tore into the Bank of California envelope. Her heart was jumping in her chest, and her palms were slightly sweaty. It’s fine, she told herself as she smoothed out the paper. It’s probably just a reiteration of what he told us at our meeting. Nothing new, nothing to worry about.

  19909 La Casita Ave

  Los Angeles, CA 90079

  May 20, 2021

  Annika Dev

  Make Up

  2160 8th Street, Suite #2688A

  Los Angeles, CA 90055

  Dear Ms. Dev,

  Pursuant to our meeting on May 10, this is a follow-up to remind you that as of the writing of this letter, your account continues to be in a delinquent state. After a thorough review of your account, the Bank of California has decided that, should your debts not be sufficiently settled by July 1, 2021, you will be evicted from your office space at 2160 8th Street, Suite #2688A in Los Angeles, CA. At that time, we will also begin legal proceedings to recoup losses via Make Up’s capital assets.

  Please contact our offices immediately to make arrangements for payment to avoid this outcome. If you have questions, please reach out to me via the address above or via telephone at 213-555-7343.

  Sincerely,

  Irvin A. McManor

  Financial Manager, Bank of California, Los Angeles

  The letter fluttered from Annika’s fingers to the desk, where it landed atop ZeeZee. July 1. She had until July 1 and then they were … they would … Annika felt her throat tighten painfully. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them away. She looked around at her haven, her beloved office space—at the big metal sign on the wall, the settee, the painting right above it, June’s enormous whiteboard. Her fairy-tale cottage. Her space for people to believe in true love again. To believe in themselves again.

  And the bank would take it, just like that. Cast her out with nothing to show for all the love and effort and thought she’d put into making Make Up what it was today. And could she really blame them? They were a business, too. A crushing wave of guilt and shame and fear threatened to swallow her. She was failing. Just like her dad expected her to do.

  And what about her future app users? What about all the people out there who lay tossing and turning, lonely and cold, wishing they knew how to convey to their estranged lovers all the things that went unsaid in their hearts? If the bank kicked them out, Annika would never have the chance to help them. She’d never be able to give them their happily-ever-after.

  “Did we get anything good in the mail?” June walked in, smoothing her hair back. She’d put on some mascara, too. When she saw Annika’s face, though, she stopped short. “You okay? What’s going on?”

  Annika picked up the letter wordlessly, her hand shaking, and handed it to June, who scanned it, her frown deepening as she went.

  “Well, this is just bullshit!” she said. “We’re gonna have to talk to a lawyer. They can’t just force us out.”

  Annika shook her head slowly. “We’re really overleveraged,” she said, her voice suddenly hoarse. “He warned us when he came.”

  “They’re just doing this because they want Gwyneth’s cousin to move in here! That’s gotta be illegal.”

  “That might be why they’re doing it, but it doesn’t change the facts. I just…” She looked at June, stricken. “Six weeks, June. And if we can’t pay the back rent by then, we’ll be forced to declare bankruptcy on top of being evicted. That’ll effectively be the end of Make Up.” A wave of panic overcame her; she was afraid she was going to start crying. Did she have to see this letter today, when she’d been on such a high, when she’d felt like things were finally changing for Make Up?

  “That’s not going to happen, though,” June said defiantly. “We work our tails off, and that means a lot.”

  Blinking hard, Annika walked to the window to look down over the still-quiet city streets, at the glint of sunlight on the steel skyscrapers around her. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “It means a lot to us. But it means nothing to the bank.”

  “That’s because they’re a bunch of bloodsucking leeches.” June walked over and put her arm around Annika’s shoulders.

  “They’re just doing their jobs,” Annika said, feeling a tremble at the edge of her words.

  They stood watching the burgeoning traffic together for a few minutes.

  June spoke into the silence, her voice resolute. “You know what? Our big chance to get some capital was to ace the EPIC pitch anyway, right? So that hasn’t changed. The pitch is on June thirteenth. That’s a full two weeks before the bank deadline. If we win that, we can show the bank we’ll be coming into funds and they’ll let us stay.”

  Annika pinched her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose. “We need to really wow the investors to win EPIC. And the way to do that is to show them a completed—or nearly completed—prototype, which we don’t have.”

  “But we have all the work we’ve done so far on it. We can show them that. And you said yourself that energy and passion are what matters! Do you want to work on the pitch together right now?”

  Annika turned to her with a wan smile. How could she explain to June how she felt? The bank letter had just confirmed her worst fear: that she wasn’t fit to be a business owner, and everyone else seemed to know it except her. Maybe tomorrow she’d have the energy to rally and see a solution. But right now there was nothing but the bitter tang of defeat and the crushing fear of failure. Her business, her love life—nothing was going right. “I think I want to get some work done by myself,” she said finally. “Sorry, I just need some time.”

  June studied her expression, biting her lip. “Okay, hon.” She nodded as Annika walked back to her desk on wooden legs. “I’m here if you need me.”

  * * *

  Annika wasn’t surprised to only get approximately thirty minutes of sleep that night, which were not only spent upright in her chair on her rickety little balcony but also happened without her permission. It was like her body was trying to shut itself down so her brain wouldn’t keep going around and around in panicked little circles.

  Eviction.

  Bankruptcy.

  Eviction.

  The words were a tinny heartbeat in her ears. She heard them when she got home, she heard them as she climbed the steps to her apartment, she heard them as she undressed. She had a feeling she’d never stop hearing them. Sitting on her balcony in the near dark, looking out at t
he cold city lights, shivering lightly in her T-shirt and boxer shorts, Annika felt like an enormous failure. No one in the world had ever failed this epically. This was it. This could be the end.

  She picked her phone off the tiny table next to her and dialed, tears streaming down her face.

  “Hello?”

  “Daddy?” she said, her voice catching. “I know I missed our dinner Saturday night, but … can I come visit? Tomorrow night?”

  A pause while her dad scrambled to understand what was happening; it was clear from his voice that he’d been asleep. “Of course you can,” he said at last. “You can always come home, Ani.”

  She closed her eyes and let the tears flow.

  * * *

  Annika felt a wave of nausea as she walked up her dad’s wide, sloping driveway after another restless day of work, her shoes clip-clopping on the concrete. It was quiet here, especially after the hectic bustle of the city, and she took a moment to stop and listen to the birds chirping in the oak trees, filling her lungs with silken air that carried the faint scent of eucalyptus. She and June had barely spoken to each other all day, June sensing that she still needed space. And thankfully, the Break Up team had been off attending some workshop together, so the floor was quiet for what felt like the first time since Hudson had burst back into her life.

  The lack of sleep definitely wasn’t helping her nausea, nor was the realization that it wasn’t all a horrible dream from which she’d soon awaken. The idea of telling her dad about the eviction was … well. Not the bright spot of her week.

  She wasn’t worried he’d be unsupportive. Sure, he hadn’t exactly been the most enthusiastic about her plan to go into lots of debt and open Make Up. He hadn’t understood why she’d choose such a risky proposition over the steady income generator that was being a physician. His past actions weren’t exactly a ringing endorsement of his faith in her ability to carry this off. But the bottom line was that he loved her. Her dad was her dad, as June said. He had to be there for her. It was in the contract he’d signed when she was born or something.