by Suzanne Park
He let go of my arm and rubbed his chin. “Uh, not ice cream. I was hoping for something else.”
I blinked rapidly, my mind unable to process his words.
Jane walked in between us and pointed her bouquet in Nolan’s face. “This is neither the time nor the place for . . . whatever this is.” Lowering her flowers, she glowered at him. “I don’t even know who the hell you are.”
He nodded reverently. “Sorry, Jane. I’m Nolan MacKenzie.” He held out his hand and they shook awkwardly.
Her face softened. “Ah, I know you. You’re the intern.”
“Former intern,” he clarified.
She whispered to me, “I like your intern, he’s perfect for you.” She hooked one arm with mine and the other with Candace’s, taking great care to not smush the bridal bouquet. “Let’s go, ladies.” She motioned for Candace and me to start walking. “It’s my big day, bishes! I’m getting hitched!”
THANKFULLY, THE CEREMONY was short and sweet, and there was so much going on I could forget about my strange encounter with Nolan outside the elevator. The bride and groom said their lines without stumbling, and no one tripped down the aisle. They exchanged a few lines of noncustomized vows and went straight into the final kiss. Sean did one of those movie kisses where he tilted Jane back, and she lifted her foot as they smooched. Cute stuff. The crowd loved it. So did the photographer.
The start of the reception was pretty typical, too, except for when the bride’s dad gave a speech that sounded more like a rundown of Jane’s résumé: he rattled off all her academic and work-related accomplishments. I wasn’t sure what her perfect math SAT score had to do with her meeting her soul mate, or what her acceptance into Wharton Business School had to do with love.
Luckily Jane had the foresight to ask Asher and me to forgo our maid of honor and best man speech duties because she knew her dad would ramble on for the total allotted speaking time. It wasn’t a huge deal to me either way whether I did or not. Whatever made Jane happy that night was fine with me. Bored to tears, my thoughts drifted to Nolan, replaying the day’s events. Maybe after the wedding, he and I could sit down and talk about where things stood between us.
I had just ordered a lychee martini at the open bar when the DJ squawked on the microphone, “Laaaaaaadies and gentlemen! It’s time for the best man and the maid of honor to help get this party started!” With Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the USA” playing in the background, he whooped, “Melody Joo! Asher Jennings! Come onnnnn down!”
I searched the crowd for Asher but couldn’t find him. The DJ continued yammering into the microphone. “It’s a wedding tradition! Melody and Asher, it’s tiiiiiime for you to dance! Don’t be shy!” Everyone turned around in their seats, looking for me. A handful of people pointed to the bar. “Oh, we found her! Everyone please give Melody a warm round of applause for being an amazing maid of honor today, and to encourage her to come up here and dance, dance, dance!” He clapped along to those last three words.
“Dance, dance, dance,” the crowd chanted.
With a plastered smile hiding my distress beneath the surface, I waved to the crowd and made my way to the front. The wedding-goers blocking my way to the dance floor moved their legs so a clear path opened up magically, like Moses parting the Red Sea.
Wearing my dreadful toga dress, I looked at the hundreds of wedding guests, who were waiting for me to dance, dance, dance to Miley’s anthem.
Asher still wasn’t there. I stood all by my lonesome in front of two hundred people. Just Miley Cyrus and me.
“Paging Asher Jennings! Report to dance floor, stat,” the DJ joked.
Asher, where the fuck are you?
The DJ, hired to make the night go smoothly, filled the airtime. “While we wait for Asher, everyone, this is Melody Joo, friends with Jane since graduating from college. And, gentlemen, there’s no riiiiing on that left haaaaaand!”
I wanted to flee but my knees locked and froze in place. I could usually muster a quip to say in awkward moments like these, but this time no words came out. God, please, don’t let me cry up here.
I searched the audience for Asher and found Candace, her mouth agape, with a look of pity and horror on her face. She, too, had no words.
My chest tightened and blood rushed to my face. Hotness swept across my body.
I blinked back tears.
I had about ten seconds before the waterworks show would begin. My thoughts muddled and I didn’t know what to do. My choices appeared limited: I could run out the door and ruin Jane’s wedding plans, or stay here and cry in front of everyone.
Jane shot a panicked look at Candace and me. She would have to change plans. And for control-freak Jane, that was just too much to handle on what was supposed to be the best day of her life.
The doors near the DJ booth flung open and Wil charged in, wearing disheveled athletic wear head to toe. He nudged the DJ aside. “Sorry, everyone, a slight change in the itinerary. Asher wasn’t feeling well, but lucky for us, we have a suitable replacement.”
Wil looked at me and grinned. “Nolan MacKenzie, would you please do the honor of joining Melody on the dance floor?”
A spotlight moved to the doorway and a freshly showered Nolan walked in, waving and smiling sheepishly at the wedding guests, like he was in a parade. The crowd erupted in applause as he joined me on the center of the dance floor.
He took my hands and said, “I’m wearing Wil’s tux. It feels weird. Does it fit?”
The pants were too short and his jacket was too big. His silver bow tie sat askew. He looked perfect.
I nodded.
He exhaled and said softly, “Asher’s passed out on a couch in the lobby.” We swayed to the music as applause swelled around us. “Does this count as our first date? We look really fancy and we’re dancing and there’s an open bar.”
Did he say . . . first date?
I nodded again.
The tears finally came. Joyful tears, mixed with a smattering of thank the fuck relieved ones. After all our ups and downs, back and forths, Nolan and I finally fell into place together.
Candace ran up to me with wads of tissue. “Don’t let your makeup run! They’re taking pictures!”
The DJ cranked up Taylor Swift’s “How You Get the Girl,” and a dozen or so drunk people joined us on the dance floor. The nondancing guests clinked their forks on their plates as they happily devoured their gorgonzola beet salads.
My eyes focused only on Nolan, who pulled away and shimmy danced next to me, making me giggle. “Mel, I wanted to ask you out for so long, but I was too chicken. It sounds stupid, but I thought that maybe you would ask me out if you liked me. You seemed like the first-mover type. After we kissed though, I wanted to go for it . . . but could never quite get the timing right with all the shit that kept happening to you. That, and you also somehow kept becoming my boss. And then I had to find a job and you had your game release. I even just now tried to tell you in the elevator how I felt but royally screwed that up too.” He stopped dancing. “I was worried I’d waited too long. I guess that really sounds stupid.”
“No, I definitely get it. It was never a good time. But, look, today we’re together, and all decked out.” At the song’s end, he spun a full 360 degrees, showing off his borrowed tux.
He grabbed me around the waist, tighter this time. I whispered as we swayed together to the music, “It’s weird to see you without any gingham.”
“What the hell is gingham?” he asked, pulling his head back to look at me.
My jaw dropped. “You wear it all the time, are you serious?”
He drew in closer. “You’ll have to show me what you’re talking about then. No clue.”
“Okay, on our next date.” Tilting my head up, I tugged his nongingham shirt so he’d bend down. “Thank you for everything you did today.” Closing my eyes and heart fluttering with anticipation, I inhaled his clean showered scent and parted my lips. Without any hesitation this time, I pressed my mouth against his. His lips were soft,
and full, and perfectly smooth. Like with two opposing magnets, it was hard to pull away from him. This was all I wanted, to be here with Nolan Fucking MacKenzie. Kissing Nolan Fucking MacKenzie. In a toga pressed against Nolan Fucking MacKenzie.
“Wow,” he murmured. His eyes opened slowly, as if he was awakening from an incredible dream. “Can we do that again?”
“Yes. Stop talking.” I pulled his shirt and brought his lips to mine again, pressing harder this time, sending ripples of electricity through my body. I breathed him in deeply as he slid his hands down my lower back and slowly showered me with kisses down the left side of my neck, sending my heart racing.
Candace and Wil danced over to us. “Get a room!” they cheered in unison.
Nolan and I looked at each other and burst into laughter. Maybe Candace wouldn’t mind if I kicked her out of the bridesmaids’ room.
The dance floor cleared, and my parents called just as we sat down for dinner. Nolan looked down at my vibrating phone. “You know, now’s a good time to take it, or they’ll keep calling back, over and over and over . . .”
I laughed. “You’re right. Who knows what we’ll be up to later.” I squeezed his shoulder and left the ballroom. In the lobby, I paced around while telling my parents about the wedding, letting them know that Nolan and I had finally gone on a date.
Drunk Asher lifted his head from the couch. “Issss ’bout fucking time.” He passed out immediately.
Mom screeched, “Waaaaaaa! We so happy! Jee-jus answer our prayer! We pray every day. Every day because you single so long. SO long. Now maybe Jee-jus answer our other prayers.”
“Other prayers?”
My mom yelled, “We want you to marry!”
Then my dad. “And have baby!”
Oh god. Really?
Epilogue
Eight Months Later
The University of Washington eSports Club held a “Women in Gaming” Q&A, and most of the questions had been easy to answer.
“What’s your favorite game of all time?”
Easy. Mario Kart. A Nintendo classic.
“What’s the hardest game you ever played?”
Any Resident Evil title. It’s hard to play when you’re covering your face with a pillow because you’re too scared.
“Do you like working in video games?”
Depends when you ask me. I just got promoted to producer, so as of today, yes!
A student raised her hand, and the moderator handed her the mic. “Hi, Melody, I’m the president of the esports club, Jessie. What do you think is the hardest part about being a woman in gaming?” Jessie had dyed jet-black hair with purple streaks and wore black leather head to toe. Her bright red lipstick suited her. Such contrast and boldness.
“This is a great question. Does everyone have a few hours? It may take me a while to answer!” I took a sip of water to buy some time. The room fell silent. I could hear people breathing. Dozens of young men and women at this event waited to hear my response.
“For women in gaming, you’re damned if you do, and damned if you don’t. Let’s take an actual game play example. A question for the female gamers in the audience, how many of you have been told that you’re good, for a girl?”
A few hands crept up, from a dozen or so female gamers.
“Okay, now for those women here who aren’t good at gaming. I’m one of them. How many of you have been told you aren’t any good because you’re a girl?”
Half the women there raised their hands. More than I expected.
“So it’s sort of like that, working in games. Women working at game companies have to constantly overcome perception barriers. I argue a lot about how women are portrayed in the games we produce. Gaming is very white, and bro heavy. And the more nonwhite nonbros we have at companies like mine who can interject opinions and different perspectives, the more diverse the gaming offerings will be in the future. I would love to see more of this happen.”
I looked at Jessie to see if I’d answered her question. She smiled back at me and nodded.
Whew.
“If it’s okay to shamelessly plug my company’s diversity internship program, I’d love to do that now.” I passed out our recruitment flyers. With the help of Sue from HR, Seventeen Studios established a paid diversity summer program, created by yours truly. The board of directors approved our plan for broadening our recruiting efforts in all levels of hiring (*cough* more women *cough* people of color *cough* LGBTQ *cough*). The beauty of this program was that we weren’t just limited to new college graduates. Underrepresented professionals who wanted to switch industries and work in games could apply too.
Sue and Tope, our new, wonderful studio leader, asked me to be the company’s diversity show pony (okay, maybe not in those words), but I was fine with that. Nonwhite, nonmale game producers were uncommon. We needed more. With the number of female gamers growing exponentially each year, gaming could go the way of American college admissions, where the number of women surpassed the men. In just a few months, Sue and Tope had overhauled our entire hiring process, revamped our diversity and sexual harassment employee training, and implemented mandatory manager inclusivity coaching, with the goal of helping teams foster community with new diverse group members.
After the Q&A ended, students and community members wandered to the back of the room to hoard the free cookies, crackers, cheese cubes, and soda. It reminded me of the Seventeen lunchroom after a board meeting, when all the vultures swooped in to forage the sandwich and cookie trays. The board of directors always left soggy chicken salad pita remnants, and oatmeal raisin cookies. I don’t know why anyone would ever bother to order oatmeal raisin cookies. Who would ever pick oatmeal raisin over a chocolate chip cookie?
Jessie skipped the free food frenzy and beelined over to me. She handed me her résumé. “I would love to work at Seventeen. I love games, and I have As in all my CS classes.”
She had the grades, and the right background. I skimmed her cover letter and résumé. “This all looks great. You have an outstanding academic record and you’ve had some impressive internships already.” I couldn’t wait to pass her information to Sue and the recruiting team. I’d even send it to Nolan at Epicenter so she had more than one company in play.
She handed me her business card. “Jessie Alvarez, Games Enthusiast.” I flipped the card over. A simple logo embossed on a plain white background: “13.13.”
“It would be a dream come true for me to work with you,” she said, adjusting her horn-rimmed glasses on her nose.
My face beamed. “Same for me.”
WHEN THE EVENT came to an end, I went down to the parking lot and unlocked my new black Fiat with my personalized license plate, “GRLGAMR,” a gift to myself a few weeks after UA’s release. Nolan stirred in the passenger seat, waking from his nap. Even with his eyes closed, he managed to reach out his hand and place it on mine. “How’d it go?”
Being surrounded by so many welcoming and enthusiastic people in the university gaming community filled my heart with hope. “It couldn’t have gone any better.”
Acknowledgments
When I started writing this book in 2016, I had this blob of an idea in my head that I wanted to tell a story about a woman working in the video game industry. Nerdy me went into full MBA research mode by attending industry panels, reading a ton of articles and books, and interviewing friends who worked at game companies, and I quickly came to the realization that the game industry wasn’t exactly always fun and games for those who came from marginalized backgrounds. With the support of so many people, this story evolved and grew so much over the years, and through writing this book I found a stronger voice and discovered what kind of author I wanted to be.
To my MVP agent Brent, my fiercest advocate, this book wouldn’t have been written (and rewritten 473,168,392 times haha) without your support. You’ve always believed in my stories and seem to have Suzanne ESP when you send emails or check in by phone. Thank you for everything.
To my brilliant editor, Carrie Feron, who brought out the heart of my story (with more levity) and whose insightful comments gave my characters much more depth, thank you so much. Asante Simons, a huge thank-you for being the behind-the-scenes ingenious editing wizard that you are.
I owe a debt of gratitude to all the folks at Avon/Morrow/HarperCollins who played significant roles in the design, editing, sales, and marketing of LOATHE. Massive thank-yous to Imani Gary, Julie Paulauski, Angela Craft, Ploy Siripant, Ashley Caswell, Diahann Sturge, Evangelos Vasilakis, and Laurie McGee for your time and dedication. Ellen Whitfield at JKS, I can’t thank you enough for your invaluable assistance (and infectious enthusiasm!).
I’m deeply grateful for the earliest readers of this book: Helen Hoang, I honestly don’t know what I would do without you. I can’t wait till we write our publishing musical! Roselle Lim, when you first asked to read my book, I was so honored . . . and now I’m honored to be your friend! To the talented Whitney Schneider, thank you for being my longtime CP and putting up with my first-draft ramblings for so many projects. Alexa Martin, thank you so much for finding time to read the pre-sub version. Ken Choy, you cheered me on through the early drafts of this book, it means so much to me.
Julia K., thank you for giving me advice along the way as I was writing this book. And thank you for reading LOATHE and sending me game production and character motivation notes that were so incredibly helpful. It’s funny how far we’ve come since that accounting class together. Chris O. and Adam O., your game industry expertise helped me so much in my final edits, thank you immensely. Yoko N., Jeremy M., and Elizabeth W., endless gratitude to you for giving me invaluable insight into your professional worlds.
To Kathleen Barber, Chelsea Resnick, Kristin Rockaway, Sheila Athens, Nancy Johnson, Alison Hammer, Janet Rundquist, Gwynne Jackson, Annette Christie, Judy Lin, Sarah Henning, Kellye Garrett, Liz Lawson, Jeff Bishop, my WFWA friends, and the LA WFWA gals, I appreciate you so much. To the present/past members of my MAPID writers group, especially Ken, Curtis, Michael, Jason, and Ben, I’m eternally grateful to you for all the years of helpful feedback.
