by Suzanne Park
I gave him the play-by-play of Ian and Asher’s betrayal and left out the part about his internship. “Now I have to get everything done with only half the team and a basically nonexistent marketing budget.”
“You’ll find a way. You’re resourceful. You always get yourself out of messes.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said drily.
“You know I mean that in the sweetest way possible.”
Feeling a smidge better, I smiled a teeny bit.
“If you want me to say it, fine, I’ll say it. You’re the strongest, smartest, coolest, most stubborn woman I know.”
The hurt I felt inside didn’t allow me to appreciate his flattering, heartfelt words. “Don’t forget abandoned.”
“Uhhh . . . what do you mean?”
I said flatly, “Ian told me your internship was ending.”
He let out a sputtering exhale. “Oh. Oh no. I’m so sorry. I . . . I was going to tell you, I swear. To be eligible for an internship, you need to be enrolled in school, and I just withdrew enrollment from business school a couple of days ago. My parents aren’t talking to me right now, because I explained to them that I just didn’t see myself taking over the family business, and now I desperately need a job to pay off school debt since they fully cut me off. I did try to stop by at work to talk about it, but you kept saying you were so busy, and I could see you were stressed about GameCon. And honestly, I didn’t know what to say. That I’ll be an unemployed loser, an MBA dropout, and have no direction in life?”
New tears brimmed in my eyes. All this was happening when I was laser focused on work. “I wish you had told me,” I said, letting out a sad sigh. “I wish I had let you tell me.”
“If it makes you feel better, I’m trying not to leave. I’ve applied to some internal full-time positions at Seventeen and Uncle Ian said I have a good shot at them. So there’s a chance I’ll still be working there, just not as a lowly intern. I also applied to some other jobs at local gaming companies and ones in California, since a lot of the big game companies are there. My goal though is to stay in gaming and live in Seattle. I like it here. And . . . I’m happy I met you.”
“Really?” I brushed the tears rolling down my cheeks with my pajama sleeve. His words briefly cheered me up, but hearing that he might move to another state brought me right back down again.
“Really. I don’t dress up like a fake stripper on a moment’s notice for anyone, you know,” he said.
“Thanks for that, by the way.” I laughed. Nolan MacKenzie really knew how to win a gal over. With stripper talk.
“It had always been a fantasy of mine, and you made my dream come true yesterday. If you ever need me for more stripper work, I’m your guy.”
I could feel him grinning through the phone. Could he feel the same?
“Mel, you’ll find a way to get your game launched on time. I’ll be in and out of the office for interviews the next few weeks, but I can help out as much as I can before I go, just ask.”
I don’t know why asking for help was so damn hard for me all the time. Doing everything all by myself wasn’t sustainable, and it wasn’t smart. Long-term success meant having to say no sometimes, just to get the job done. Setting limits, sticking to them, and getting help from teammates when necessary was key to doing well at Seventeen Studios, and I needed to work on all that.
Swallowing hard, I asked, “Would you please help me until you leave? I’m gonna need all the help I can get.”
“Yeah, no problem. I have interviews on Monday and Tuesday, but I’ll pitch in to help when I get back.”
“Thank you. For everything. And good luck with interviews.”
When we hung up, my brain synapses fired like never before. He had always been right; I couldn’t manage all this by myself and I needed to ask for help. My own pride got in the way of my success. But I knew just the person at work to give me advice. Someone to confide in and trust. Someone who could help me get this done.
Kat.
I jumped out of bed and grabbed my phone from my messenger bag. Hey! I know you’re not working weekends but I need your guidance. Would you please help me? Ian is taking all resources away but not moving the go live date. Will set up meetings with you first thing Monday morning. I’ll bring coffee.
Within ten seconds she replied. Caramel macchiato. And get some rest or you’ll get sick.
I could do this. I felt better. Not great, but better.
Like I-could-eat-a-couple-of-glazed-doughnuts better.
“I DIDN’T KNOW if you wanted an iced caramel macchiato or a hot one, so I got both.” I’d stopped at one of Seattle’s iconic bikini drive-through coffee kiosks on the way to work, where barely dressed baristas greeted me at 6:30 A.M. with giant, perky . . . smiles. “Princess” had taken my order, and as she leaned over to grab my twenty-dollar bill, I wondered if I was helping or hurting the world by supporting this local business.
Kat smiled greedily and grabbed both from my hands. “I can’t choose between hot and cold, either. That’s like asking if I like my son or daughter more.” She leaned in and whispered, “My son makes me toast every morning, though.”
I laughed and then told her about all the shit that went down at GameCon.
She whistled and leaned back in her chair. She lightly tapped her pen on her desk, to an adagio metronome beat.
She stopped tapping and frowned. “This sucks. I’m not gonna lie.”
“I know. I’m hoping you might have some ideas on how we can get this game launched with half the team. And no marketing money.”
She scrunched her brow and nose at the same time. “Well, you’re the one with the marketing background, so I’ll leave that part up to you. But the design and development stuff, I might have a thought or two.” She took a sip of the iced drink and then tried the hot one. “The hot one’s better.” Her face lit up and she clasped her hands together. “Okay, so you may hate these suggestions, but I’ll tell you what I think. We have two programmer interns, both still in college, both Chinese citizens with visas. If they do coding on the evenings and weekends, in exchange for, say, help with English assignments and essays and such, you might have a workable solution.”
“I’m not good at writing essays, though.”
She swatted her hand at me playfully. “Look, I’m just telling you where I see opportunities for mutually beneficial opportunities. Got it?”
I covered my head and winced. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll shut up. Keep going.”
“Production-wise, I actually think you’re doing great. Asher leaving will hurt us but he loaded all the remaining Jira tickets and all the projects into our shared tracking system. The receptionist Kedra isn’t too busy, she’s hyperorganized, and she’s been dying to break into game production. She’s smart, too. I think she could be a good coordinator. Your intern friend can assist her.” She nodded, like she’d just realized something. “I’ll make sure you get the design resources you need. Those guys will listen to me over Asher because they like me better. I’m glad you came to me, by the way. It’s better to rally with a team than to be a lone avenger. If you tried to do it all, you’d for sure fail. No offense. And to tell you the truth, I’m really enjoying the break from Zooful Nation.”
If Kat’s ideas panned out, I could have three new people on the team by the end of the week. With the energy and enthusiasm of fresh new teammates, and me putting in more hours, Ultimate Apocalypse could get back on track.
“Thank you, Kat. I’ll set up some meetings this week with the developers, Kedra, and Nolan and bring them up to speed on everything. You’ve been so helpful. I owe you so much.” I tapped one of the bobbleheads on her desk as I stood up from her guest chair. Its head projectile-launched off the spring, slammed the wall, and fell to the floor.
“Oh god, I am so sorry about that.”
She scratched her brow. “Don’t worry about it. It was broken and I hated that one anyway.” She pointed to her coffee cups. “If you bring in coffee again, I’d love
the hot one.” She took a sip of the iced one again. “Yeah, the hot one. Oh! They just opened up a trendy coffee shop down the street, you should check it out. It’s gotten great reviews.”
DURING MY LUNCH break, I stopped by the new neighborhood coffee place Kat had raved about to get her an afternoon macchiato. What she had omitted from her narrative was that this new coffee hot spot was a kitten café. Seattle had so many coffee shops downtown, and new shop owners tried to find new ways to differentiate, such as having feline animals on the premises to cuddle and pet while drinking coffee and/or reading the morning paper. What I didn’t disclose to Kat, because she didn’t tell me about the live kitten motif, was that I had a severe allergy of cats. Kittens, no matter how snuggly and adorable, could shut my body down.
Opening the Critter Café door triggered a cheery meowing tune, signaling a newcomer’s arrival. I tried to remember what venue had been there before it turned into yet another coffee place. Was it a furniture store? A boutique? Oh, wait . . . Seattle’s oldest tattoo parlor. The now-defunct badass tattoo parlor had been replaced by an animal-themed café with cartoon paw prints on the window and signage written in comic sans.
The aroma of slightly charred coffee grounds wafted in the air. In the corner of the room the furry blurs of kittens caught my eye. I took in the entire room—the randomly placed scratching posts, giant catnip plants, and fishing-rod-type toys with dangly cat lures on strings on various tables—and my heartbeat quickened. My breathing turned to panting. My arms and face prickled. I had to get out immediately.
I ordered a drip coffee for myself and Kat’s caramel macchiato and threw down a twenty-dollar bill. I’d taken my allergy meds earlier that morning, but that wasn’t extra strength enough. The hives and itchiness came first. The sides of my neck and chest grew hotter and I tried to scratch it through my scarf. Then, the wheezing struck.
While squeezing the caramel drizzle, the cheery barista said, “You know, research shows that animals can be therapeutic and calming. Would you like to hold one of our kittens?” Her tie-dye headscarf had cat faces on it. “I made this bandanna myself,” she said proudly, noticing my stare.
She slid the two coffees my way. One of the coffees sloshed out of the sipper top and burned my hand. I didn’t even feel it.
I grabbed the drinks and flew out of there like a bat out of kitty allergen hell.
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. My heels echoed down the street. Water splash marks covered the calves and ankles of my jeans. When I got to Kat’s office, I handed her the macchiato and told her about the adorable kitties triggering my full-blown allergy attack.
She took a sip. “This is amazing. The coffee shop sounded so cute, with all those little furballs running around. I hoped that place would help you relax. It’s weird your allergies flared up because all the breeds of cats they have there don’t shed and are all hypoallergenic.” She took another sip. “Thanks for the coffee! It’ll help fuel my late-afternoon push.”
Was that a panic attack then? A side effect from massive sleep deprivation? Maybe a psychosomatic episode? This had never happened before. Could I really harm my own body so brutally? I walked back to my desk, with less clomping and more of a light meandering step, contemplating what had happened to me at the café.
Maybe these harassers, haters, one-star reviewers, trolls, whatever you called those assholes, not only messed with my head, but they now made me susceptible to physical harm, too. They’d tried to wear me down for months. And damn it, it was finally working.
THAT EVENING, CANDACE and I accompanied Jane to a wedding cake tasting appointment. Normally this would be something the bride and groom did together, but her fiancé had recently diagnosed himself with a gluten intolerance, so she asked her bridesmaids to fill in. And who was I to say no to free cake?
Miraculously on time for once, Candace came out of the bathroom, pulling back her long brown locks with a hair tie. “I’m almost ready,” she said.
“This isn’t one of those hot dog or pie eating competitions, where pulling your hair back might be an advantage,” I joked, elbowing her lightly in the arm.
She giggled. “I know; it’s more that I want to be able to see everything. Pregnancy has made my hair grow faster and thicker.”
We took our seats at the restaurant holding the tasting, flanking Jane from both sides. Just as we pulled our napkins onto our laps, a petite, older Asian woman with a kimono and perfect hair bun brought in bento boxes with three compartments of cake samples.
She said only three words. “Yuzu. Lavender. Chamomile.”
For cake? Gross. Yuck. Ugh.
Jane read my mind. “I know this isn’t chocolate, but give it a try,” she whispered from behind her napkin.
So try I did. A small bite of all three of them.
Jane asked, “What do you think?”
Truthfully? “They’re okay,” I answered with a wince.
“Be honest,” Jane begged.
“Honestly, they taste like spa lotion.” Her face fell a little, so I added, “But really fancy spa lotion. Maybe you go in this direction but also get a crowd-pleaser dessert, too?”
Candace jumped in. “Can I have yours then?” I looked over and she had polished off all three of her minicakes. She swapped boxes with me and finished mine, too. “Final trimester,” she muttered with a mouth full of whipped icing.
A tiny elderly woman dressed in head-to-toe black swooped away our bento boxes. Our cake hostess pulled open the curtain from the kitchen and brought us three more cake samples. Rosewater Honeycomb, Orange Blossom Twist, and Coconut Cream Chiffon. Great, more spa lotion. And the coconut one smelled like sunscreen.
My phone buzzed twice in a row and I looked at Jane for permission to check it. She nodded.
Two messages from Nolan. One saying, Here are final versions of the newsletter and website, for your records. I’m pushing the website developer to do two versions that we can A/B test. The next message was images of all the things Nolan had been working on.
Jane leaned over to read my screen. “Wow, those look really good.” Looking up at my face, she added, “I haven’t seen your face light up like this in a long time, and I don’t think it’s just the photos. You’d think I’d invited you to a Baskin-Robbins ice cream cake tasting instead.”
I didn’t hide too much from my girlfriends, but there were things I kept tight to my chest, like my dream job of being a radio DJ. My inexplicable love of Crocs clogs. And my desire for a relationship with an MBA intern that was not destined to be.
Jane continued. “You’re blushing, lady.” She looked over at Candace. “Maybe she’s going to be walking down the aisle next!”
With a hard shove, I pushed my bento box halfway across the table. “He’s just a friend. Nothing’s going to happen between us. Plus, he’s looking for a job, in case you have any leads.”
Candace pulled my bento over to her and finished all my untouched samples. “That’s too bad,” she said with cake-filled chipmunk cheeks.
Jane pensively tapped her lower lip with her index finger. “We have a strategic analyst position opening up at my company. If you don’t have any feelings for him”—she paused to take a quick drink of water—“then I can email you the job description that you can pass on to him. But the job is in New York, so he’d have to relocate.”
My stomach sank as soon as she said the words “New York.” This job was perfect for Nolan, but it was over two thousand miles away.
Before I could ask any more questions about the open position, the hostess reentered the room with one more sample. “Chef’s special, custom-made for you, dear.” Hibiscus-cardamom sponge cake with lychee puree on the side.
Jane took an eager first bite. “This is it.” I hadn’t even tasted it, but it’s not like Jane and I saw eye to eye on any of this anyway. I passed my small plate over to Candace, which she gladly accepted.
The bride-to-be announced to the hostess, “Yes, we’ll take this one, and I’d like to ad
d a Belgian chocolate accompanying cake, too, for my guests who want something more”—she searched for the right word—“familiar.” She smiled at me and squeezed my hand. For the first time ever, I’d convinced Jane to change her mind about something. Life achievement unlocked.
Chapter Twenty
Asher moved to a different floor so he could be closer to his development team. Au revoir, bro! I didn’t hold my breath, though, because I knew that any day I might have to share the office with someone else, or something else, like those stupid Kaizen Five life-size cutouts again. But I appreciated the temporary reprieve.
Thanks to the team putting in extra hours in the evenings and on weekends, with just two months left before the big launch, we were still on track for our release. My tight-knit incubator team had found our stride after a bumpy start. Processes became more streamlined, the designers worked well with the engineers, and Kedra the receptionist (moonlighting as our production coordinator with Nolan’s assistance) had done a great job with keeping our tasks organized and on schedule.
Every morning I brought doughnuts to our daily team meeting. The engineers usually dove in first, taking the chocolate glazed with custard filling, our designers went for the seasonal flavors, so after a few days of collecting doughnut data I could predict the crowd’s favorites. No one would have to consume second-tier doughnut calories. Not under my watch!
Kedra hooked up her laptop to the overhead projector. Even the people closest to the front of the room squinted at the hundreds of tasks listed in our production schedule. She zoomed in and we could see all the to-dos on the horizon.
I dunked my doughnut into my coffee. “We still need to make sure this game can run on all operating systems on all common phones.” Mmmmm, coffee doughnut.
Kat said, “We just started testing on different devices, and to get the constant frame rate throughout the game experience, we need to sacrifice some visual effects.” She saw me eating the sugar glaze I’d picked off my napkin. “Hey, don’t eat too many doughnuts, Melody. You don’t want diabetes someday. Sorry, being overprotective mama bear.”
