If You, Then Me

by Yvonne Woon

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to act normal. “Why?”

  My mother studied me. “You seem different.”

  I hesitated. I wanted to tell her about Ella’s offer, but I also didn’t. Would she understand why I was waffling? Would she think I was ridiculous and ungrateful for not just taking it on the spot?

  “What if I was able to get us a lot of money?”

  My mother frowned. “It depends on the cost.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All money comes at the expense of something else. I could have gotten a different job making more money, for example, but I wouldn’t have been able to spend as much time with you while you were growing up. What’s the cost of this money?”

  I’d never thought of money having a cost, but I supposed that was exactly the nature of my problem.

  My silence must have been enough of an answer, because my mother shook her head. “If you’re even asking me, that must mean it comes at a high price.”

  “But it’s a lot of money. I could get you a house. A car that doesn’t break down all the time.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with this apartment. Why do I need anything bigger? And you know, new cars break down, too, and are much more expensive to fix.”

  “You could quit your job. You could spend your days doing things you enjoy. You wouldn’t even need a car. You could hire a driver—sit in the back seat and be chauffeured anywhere you wanted.”

  My mother looked at me like I was being ridiculous. “I like what I do. It’s fulfilling. And I make enough money to get by. That’s worth it to me. I could have done a number of different jobs, you know, many that paid a lot more money, but I wanted to teach.”

  Though she spoke with conviction, I wondered if she really knew what it would be like to not have to work. She’d never experienced it before, so how could she know?

  As if reading my mind, she said, “Sure, if someone rang our doorbell and left us with a small fortune, I would take it, but this doesn’t sound like that. I moved to this country so you would have choices. You don’t have to do something that makes you unhappy in order to take care of me. I’m fine. Okay?”

  It was the most intimate conversation we’d had in years, and it made me wonder why we didn’t have more. “Okay.”

  My mother, ever uncomfortable in emotional situations, nodded stiffly, then turned back to her papers.

  Later that evening, a new message was waiting for me in BitBop.

  NEW MESSAGE FROM U/OBJECTPERMANENCE:

  First, congratulations. Second, it sounds like you know exactly what you want—you just want someone to give you permission. But you don’t need permission to do what you think is right, and who cares if some people don’t agree—you’re not most people, and I bet that’s exactly why your recipe was so special in the first place.

  I can’t tell you what to do. I can guess from your message what you want, but I don’t know what’s really in your heart. I do, however, know what it feels like to spend most of your life making decisions based on what other people think is best for you, and I wouldn’t recommend it. It never makes them happy, or you.

  I turned what he said over in my mind as the last few days of winter break swirled in and out with little distinction between them. The day before I flew back to California, I decided to call Mitzy and tell her the news. I’d been putting it off all break because I didn’t know what to tell her. Should I admit that I didn’t want to take the offer? Would she get angry and drop me? Would I ever hear from her again?

  I paced around my room, glancing occasionally at the remaining newspaper cutouts of her face taped over my bed while I listened to her end of the line ring. When she finally picked up, she sounded cheerful and happy to hear from me.

  “I’ve been wondering what happened to you,” she said.

  I was relieved to learn that she’d been thinking of me. It was nice to hear her voice again; it felt like maybe things had returned to normal.

  “So Ella Eisner called me the other day.”

  I heard what sounded like a plate clattering into a sink on the other end of the line. Then silence.

  “Ella Eisner called you?” Mitzy said. “What did she say?”

  I told her Ella wanted to buy Wiser, then told her the number.

  “What?” Mitzy shouted. “When did this happen? Why aren’t you freaking out? Why didn’t she call me?”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond. “Um, I don’t know. Last week?”

  “It happened last week and you’re only telling me now?”

  “I—I’ve just been busy. I wanted to think about it.”

  “Busy with what? Piddling around a bumblefuck town?”

  I frowned. It was true, but I didn’t like it when she put it that way.

  “She should have called me first,” Mitzy said. “I’m your COO. I was the one who set up the meeting. You should have conferenced me in.”

  I frowned. “I didn’t think of it. I was surprised.”

  Mitzy sighed. “It’s done now.”

  I could imagine Mitzy pacing around her living room, wearing a facial mask and holding a green juice.

  Was this a good time to tell her that I was thinking of declining the offer? I had practiced in front of the mirror before the call, trying dozens of different ways to break the news to her, but now that I had an opening, I was scared.

  “You have to come back immediately,” Mitzy said, before I could tell her. “We’ll meet with my lawyers and set up a meeting with her to discuss next steps.”

  “Don’t you think we should think about it first?”

  “What’s there to think about?” Mitzy said.

  “Lots of things.”

  “Well, sure, there’s the money, which we can definitely negotiate up, and the terms.”

  I went quiet.

  “Why aren’t you talking?” Mitzy said, her voice suspicious. “Why aren’t you more excited?”

  “I’m just thinking . . .”

  “What’s with all this thinking? You’ve had a week to think, which is already a mind-blowingly long time to keep this to yourself. And now you want to think more?”

  “It’s a big decision.”

  A long pause. “We’re going to take it, right?” Mitzy sounded suddenly concerned.

  I bristled at her use of the word we. But why? She was my COO. Why shouldn’t she use the word we?

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Wiser is mine. I always figured that when she became a company that I’d be running it.”

  Mitzy snorted. “Who in the world wants to run their own company? The management, the people pleasing, the press releases, the HR scuffles. Why deal with it, when you can do the fun part of creating the idea and then let a big company buy you out and do all the annoying legwork of keeping it running?”

  “I do,” I said softly.

  Mitzy sighed. “Just come back. We’ll meet, we’ll talk it over. It’ll be fine, okay?”

  I nodded, glad that she wasn’t upset. “Okay.”

  Twenty-Three

  I wanted to tell everyone about the Vilbo offer. I wanted them to know that I wasn’t just a flash in the pan; I was the real deal. I was a Founder. But I knew I couldn’t post about it. Not yet. So instead, I posted a teaser. It was a close-up of my lips, a single manicured finger pressed to them like I was saying Shhh. The caption read: Big news to come.

  “So what’s this big news?” Amina asked me at breakfast.

  “I can’t talk about it yet.”

  “Then why’d you post about it?”

  I shrugged. “It’s just a way of talking about things when you can’t actually share the details.”

  Amina rolled her eyes. “I know how online bragging works. I just didn’t think you’d be so into it.”

  “It’s not bragging,” I said, growing irritated. I didn’t understand why Amina was so snippy with me on our first day back.

  Amina raised an eyebrow. “Okay.”

  Before I could defend myself, Mi
tzy texted.

  >Vilbo headquarters in one hour. And don’t even tell me you have class. We’re meeting with Ella.

  I pushed my cereal aside. “I have to go.”

  Amina didn’t even ask me where. Maybe she knew it was Mitzy-related, or maybe she just didn’t care.

  We met in the same conference room we had before. Mitzy and I sat across from Ella Eisner at a long table while she laid out her offer: $1.2 million for the purchase of Wiser and an option for me to be hired by Vilbo as an advisor.

  “Advisor,” I said. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “You would be consulted for development and rebranding advice,” Ella explained. “You could also contribute ideas to the team. It wouldn’t have to be a full-time position, though you’d be compensated not just for your time, but for your expertise.”

  “What do you mean, rebranding?” I asked.

  “There’s a chance that Wiser would be rebranded. We’d want to integrate her into our Vilbo family, making her a seamless component of our products.”

  I didn’t like the idea of Wiser being rebranded. What would they do with her? And would I really get a say? Contribute to the team didn’t sound like I would have that much influence. Would I be paid to sit there and watch them dismantle her and rebuild her into something new entirely?

  “Let’s talk numbers,” Mitzy said, cutting in. “One point two is far too low. We all know that artificial intelligence is the way of the future. We also know it’s hard to come across an AI that’s more than just a glorified search engine.”

  Ella’s face remained calm and unreadable. “What were you thinking?”

  “One point eight, with a five-year contract for both Xia and I to be brought in as senior advisors.”

  Why did Mitzy want to be brought in as an advisor?

  Ella folded her hands on the table. “I can do one point five, and a three-year contract with an option for renewal.”

  The problem was, I didn’t want the extra money nor did I want a three-year contract. I wanted to keep Wiser.

  Mitzy leaned back in her chair. “That could work—” she began to say, when I cut in.

  “I don’t want to sell it.”

  The room went quiet. Mitzy shot me a threatening look.

  Ella also seemed surprised. “We can go higher if that’s what you want.”

  “There isn’t a number that I would sell it for.”

  Ella studied me. “Perhaps you want to think about it?”

  “She does need to think about it,” Mitzy cut in. “We have to talk privately and confer.”

  “I don’t want to confer with anyone,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “It’s my idea and I want to be the one that turns it into a company.”

  “Yes, I understand that you don’t want to confer,” Mitzy said through her teeth. “But I’m your COO. We should talk about major decisions before we make them abruptly.”

  “I’m the Founder and the CEO, and I won’t sell it.”

  Mitzy looked at me as though she never wanted to see my face again.

  “If that’s your decision, so be it,” Ella said. She stacked her papers and slipped them into her briefcase, then stood and saw us out.

  Mitzy and I rode the elevator in silence. I opened my mouth, wanting to explain myself, but she held up one perfectly manicured finger. “Don’t talk to me. Not right now.”

  She didn’t look at me when the elevator doors opened. She walked two paces ahead, barely acknowledging my presence. I wondered if she would even give me a ride back or if I should call a car. I planned on the latter. Would I even see her again after this?

  When she got to the curb, she stopped and held her temples, clearly irritated. I waited, bracing myself for whatever came next. But when she turned, she only sighed.

  “It’ll be okay,” she said. “We can spin this.”

  She motioned for me to come stand next to her and held up her phone. “Look happy,” she said, forcing a smile, and took a photo.

  On the ride home, I checked Façade. She had already posted it, with a caption: Big news to announce soon! Stay tuned . . .

  I skipped the rest of my classes that day and went shopping to decompress. It didn’t seem fair that I had just turned down a seven-figure offer and the only person who knew hated me for it. I wanted to feel empowered. When all else failed, shopping helped. I felt immediately powerful, walking into a fancy store and pulling clothes off the rack without a glance at the price tag and seeing the sales assistant’s face as I offered my Vault. I took photos of my day, with cryptic captions—Celebrating some big news, and Stay tuned for something big!—and felt comforted by the likes and comments rolling in, congratulating me on my mystery news and trying to guess what it was.

  I was unpacking the clothes I’d bought and getting ready to order delivery for dinner when my phone vibrated. It was a text from Mitzy.

  >Friday, 8 o’clock. 559 Old Camp Road. Wear something sparkly and bring all your friends.

  >Is it a party?

  >You’ll see

  I called in my food order and considered Mitzy’s cryptic message. I didn’t know what she had planned but I figured it had to be exciting if she wanted me to invite everyone I knew. Before I could change my mind, I forwarded her invite to all of my classmates at the Foundry, along with a message from me so they all remembered who had sent it:

  Welcome back party, courtesy of Mitzy and yours truly.

  By the next morning everyone was talking about it.

  “There she is,” Amina said when I walked into the dining hall. She was sitting with Deborah, eating a bowl of cereal. “The big woman on campus. So big she can’t even be bothered to come to class.”

  She seemed to be joking but also not joking.

  “I had a meeting.”

  “Is that what this party is about?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “Oh, so we’ll just have to stay tuned and see?”

  Was she mocking me? I must have looked annoyed because Amina continued. “You can’t expect to write a caption like that and have me not bring it up.”

  “Are you coming or are you just going to make fun of it?”

  “Yeah, I’m coming. I want to meet this mentor of yours.”

  I looked at Deborah. “What about you?”

  “Definitely not,” she said as Kate and Seema walked past our table.

  “Hey,” Kate said to me, pausing behind Amina. “Thanks for the invite. We’ll be there.”

  Though I could see Amina rolling her eyes, I couldn’t help but beam. “Great,” I said. I could get used to people thanking me.

  I glanced around the room. Arun nodded to me, as if I had personally invited him. The Joshes and Andrews grinned, too. I saw Kate sit down next to Mike and whisper something in his ear. He turned to me and nodded. Even AJ seemed pleased with me, cocking his head back when I passed him to get some juice. It was amazing what a party invite could do to your social status.

  Then I saw Mast. He was sitting with Ravi, chatting and laughing. Though he must have gotten the invite, he didn’t let it show. I lingered on their table, feeling upset all over again. I wanted to tell him about Ella’s offer and make him admit that he’d been wrong about me. He looked up briefly, his eyes meeting mine, and the smile faded from his face.

  Had I not known that 559 Old Camp Road was a private residence, I might have assumed it was a science center. Cars lined the crescent driveway outside and the windows glowed with warm, dim lighting.

  “Whose house is this?” Amina said, as we walked up the front steps.

  “No idea,” I said.

  The party was already crowded with people. It was a much fancier affair than the DrinkMaiden party—caterers walked around carrying platters of hors d’oeuvres and glasses of wine, and a bartender mixed drinks by the patio. There was no ice luge, no Jell-O shots. A DJ played electronic music by the bar, but just loud enough to create a lounge-like ambience.

  The house itself was decorated spar
sely as if no one actually lived there. Everything was monochrome in shades of white and tan. Despite myself, I glanced around looking for Mast but didn’t see him.

  “I’m starving,” Amina said. “Where are the miniature foods?”

  We were about to hunt for hors d’oeuvres, when the crowd parted and Mitzy walked through in a glittering gold dress.

  “Xia!” she said. She was already drunk. “The girl full of surprises.”

  I smiled nervously. I’d wanted Mitzy to meet my friends for so long that it hadn’t occurred to me it could be a disaster.

  “Mitzy, this is my friend Amin—” I began to say, but she cut me off.

  “You would not believe who I just saw,” Mitzy said, ignoring Amina’s presence.

  “Who?”

  Mitzy waved down a caterer and grabbed two flutes of champagne, one for her and one for me. I swallowed and flashed Amina an apologetic look.

  “Jim Fields from the Cheshire Group,” Mitzy continued. “He never comes to parties. I sent him the invite on a whim figuring he wouldn’t show up, but he’s here in the flesh. Come on, I have to introduce you.”

  She grabbed my arm to pull me through the crowd when I glanced at Amina, who had cleared her throat and was clearly irritated.

  “Wait, Mitzy, this is my friend, Amina. I wanted you to meet her.”

  Mitzy gave her a quick once-over. “Hi,” she said, her tone perfunctory.

  “She’s a fellow at the Foundry, too,” I added.

  “Congratulations,” Mitzy said. “Now can we go talk to Jim?”

  Mitzy had no interest in conversation and Amina could tell. “You go ahead. I’ll find you,” I said to Mitzy, who was giving me an impatient look.

  “Fine,” Mitzy said, and downed her champagne before waving to someone she knew and disappearing into the crowd.

  “Does she normally ignore people she’s introduced to?” Amina asked.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “She’s drunk.”

  “So?”

  “She isn’t normally like that.”

  “What’s she normally like then?”

  I searched for the right words. “Supportive. And funny. She never would have acted that way sober.”