by Ellie Hall
He must be busy too because we don’t chat much.
I feel a dash of insecurity, a pinch of sadness, and a hint of loneliness—kind of like looking into a crystal ball at my future.
Yes, this is about the pact-dare, which we, the Fabulous Five, have heretofore dubbed the Forever Marriage Match or FMM for short.
Paisley is engaged, Blakely has guys lined up outside her door, Daisy is as adorable as can be and I have no doubt she’ll find someone solid. Mila, well, she needs to meet her match, but she’s gorgeous in an intimidating way that wards off the losers. I’m betting she already has a boyfriend but hasn’t told us because she’s mysterious like that.
Every family needs a crazy aunt/cat lady. No need to nominate me. I’ll just quietly take on the role because it’s obviously my fate—only maybe I’ll be a dog lady because claws terrify me.
As if I won’t hear the ping of a notification from the HUB or my email I check my phone again. It has an alert when I exceed twenty-five pickups in an hour and tries to guilt me with one again. I realize that I’m more like a puppy waiting on the other side of the door for their person to come home.
How did I arrive at this analogy? As far as I’m concerned, @PacManWizard is Mr. Right, always trying to brighten my day and make me laugh. Even though we haven’t met in person, I can’t think of anyone who could possibly be more perfect for me.
He’s humble and funny and speaks my language aka geek. I feel like I can be completely myself around him. Well, as much as being virtual will allow.
There is the matter of physical attraction and chemistry, but what little bits about him that I’ve gathered from his HUB profile and our convos are that he’s a security engineer, is active, goes to the gym, and has completed three Iron Man competitions.
Unless he was lying.
My stomach swims.
What if the whole thing is a farce and @PacManWizard is actually Bruce Gallo from three cubicles over—he does have a Pac-Man T-shirt.
No, my @PacManWizard works for a different company. I’m sure of it. A few months ago, I was having a hard time closing a loop in my coding to prevent a cyberattack. He came to my rescue. I’ve gleaned that he lives in Silicon Valley, as do so many people in our industry. I think he’s in his thirties because we’ve bonded over growing up with video games that had cartridges, having to rewind VHS tapes, and the musical tone of dial-up internet. Then again, I lived in the sticks in the northeast and my parents aren’t techies. In fact, they only recently recycled their flip phones.
Thinking about meeting @PacManWizard someday is the only thing that gets me to close my suitcase and board the airplane bound for Brazil—better to get this trip over with, so I can return to my desk. Duh, because I love my job and not because it’s a good excuse to message my online-only crush.
Gulp.
I glance around the plane.
Guilty as charged.
I have a crush on a guy I’ve never met in person. Never seen him. Don’t know what his voice sounds like. Ooh. That could be a deal breaker.
Mila would have a field day with this. She’s old-school in so many ways, including when it comes to dating. Even though I doubt she’d ever admit it, I think she’s waiting for someone to sweep her off her feet. I should warn him, she’ll dig her heels in before any sweeping happens. It’s like she wants sweetness and romance in her life but holds it off with a ten-foot pole. Now that I think about it, she’s very cat-like.
Easy for me to analyze someone else’s love life, especially when they’re finicky like Mila.
Which is why it makes perfect sense (no sense at all) that I text the Fabulous Five group.
Me: On my way to Brazil!
Three versions of the same reply come that demand an explanation.
Me: It’s for work. A corporate wilderness retreat to build an alliance between my company and the one we’re merging with. Fingers crossed I can complete the ropes course, eat a tarantula, and survive so I don’t lose my job. Funny/not funny.
Mila: That sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen.
Me: Paisley, care to weigh in?
She’s a lawyer and only sends the bug-eyed emoji in response. I take it that she’s busy.
Me: But that’s not why I’m texting. Anyone make good on the Forever Marriage Match yet?
No one answers.
Me: I take that as a no. Obeekaybee... Anyway, I need advice for a friend. She’s been messaging with a guy. They’ve really hit it off and she thinks she has a crush on him—he’s funny, smart, sweet...all the things. But they’ve never met in person.
Daisy: That’s a big but...
Blakely: Does he have a big butt?
Me: No. I mean, I don’t know. She’s never seen him, meaning neither have I.
Blakely: Has he mentioned anything about his butt?
Mila: What’s with you and butts?
Paisley: She’s a fashion designer, of course, she thinks about the gluteus maximus from an objective standpoint. I’ve got your butt, I mean back, Blakes.
She includes three laughing face emojis.
Daisy: Does “your friend” think he’s cute?
Me: I told you, she’s never seen him.
Mila: Surely, “she’s” seen his profile pic. We’re talking about a dating site and not your company’s email thing, right?
Me: I’ve told you, the HUB is an intercompany support aggregator.
Mila: Oh, so your friend is actually you.
Of course, she’s the one to sniff me out.
Daisy: Hold up. Let me get this straight. Cora, you have a crush on a guy you’ve never seen. Not even a photo?
It takes me a minute to come clean.
Me: More or less.
Paisley: I want to hear more. How long has this been going on?
Me: Um, a few months.
Mila: You should see her smiling after her phone pings with a message.
Daisy: So that’s why you hardly flinched when Miranda mentioned Alex Wilder wasn’t able to make it to her wedding.
They know all about the candle I held for my high school crush. Huh. The candle I held, as in past tense, as in the flame burned out. I moved on from my ex, but always felt hopeful about Alex. Not a single butterfly flutters in my stomach at the thought of him. What an interesting development.
Me: @PacManWizard is different. He’s—
Before I can finish, my phone blows up with rapid-fire texts from my four friends. Mostly, they question my sanity about having a crush on someone I’ve never seen whose username is a nod to a popular 1980s video game and a man with magical powers from fairytales.
The flight attendant announces the red-eye’s safety instructions and orders us to turn off our electronic devices for departure.
Me: Thanks for listening and for your commentary about my mental stability. If I survive the next week in the wilderness, I vow to marry the next guy I date per our pact.
My expectations are low. I intend to sleep for the duration of the flight, but have a chatty seatmate and am too polite to tell the older gentleman that I want to rest. He’s a nervous flyer. I tell him I’d rather be in the air all day and night than arrive at my destination—Selva Survival Camp.
After hearing all about how he retired from the automobile industry and now restores antique cars, he says, “In your lifetime there will probably be flying cars and self-driving cars.”
I then tell him about my line of work, confirming that both are on the horizon. I mention the HUB because apparently not an hour can pass that I don’t think about @PacManWizard. “For instance, if I need to know if anyone had already created an efficient way to avoid DNS tunneling in a particular application, I can ask. Which was what happened when @PacManWizard answered.”
The rest is history...and the story that puts my seat partner to sleep. No such luck for me. In place of an image of my e-crush, all of our conversations scroll through my mind. It’s almost like I’m searching for affirmation that he’s the one. After all, I m
ade a vow that if I survive...
Never mind. I don’t want to think about the week ahead. The Forever Marriage Match is a problem for another day.
At last, the plane touches down in Manaus, Brazil, located in the north-central part of the country where the Black River and Amazon River converge. It’s lush, magnificent, and unlike anywhere I’ve ever been. My mouth parts in awe.
I do my level best not to think about the private reserve and the jungle survival course. Instead, I focus on sunshine, food inspiration, and getting home in one piece.
After consulting the email and the meeting location, I board a coach bus with my coworkers, which are divided into two groups. There are those, like me, who are locked in silence and apprehension. Then there are the exuberant, thrill-seeking, adventurous types who won’t shut up about the dangers lurking in the depths of the rainforest.
I pop in my air pods and listen to a podcast about discovery baking—going rogue and not following recipes.
Bliss be mine. This is my happy place.
The bus crosses a seemingly endless bridge and several of the guys glue themselves to the windows, chattering about crossing the Amazon—the river and not the online distribution company. The water churns with the chop from the wind. Anxiety sinks in my belly.
This isn’t the Charles River that I pass on my way to the office. No, it’s a river on steroids...and probably filled with things I don’t want to think about.
At last, the bus stops in front of an eco-resort-lodge made of rough-sawn timbers and a thatched roof. The Knotty Pines it is not. The place glows in the misty early morning light. I slowly, cautiously disembark, watching my every step. My feet swell on flights, so I wore sandals but wish I’d put my sneakers on during the bus ride.
Outside, the sounds of animal life and birds from the nearby rainforest fill the air. It stuns me to silence.
Simon, my boss, stands in front of the bus. It idles sleek, black, and starkly out of place against the backdrop of lush greenery—so does he outside the office. But dressed in adventure gear with multiple pockets and straps, he looks like he made an effort, unlike me in leggings and a tastefully oversized scoop-neck sweatshirt that says Data Whisperer over a tank top—a typical barre-class outfit. I really should’ve read the packing memo in the email.
Half the group wears what looks like the contents of a catalog from a store called Extreme Outdoor Outfitters. They must be from DigiPower—the company AmTech merged with. The other half of the group, my coworkers, are nerds like me and look equally squeamish.
How are we going to survive out there?
I cross my fingers, hoping I’m paired up with someone who can do better than beat the Big Bad in a video game because I certainly don’t know the first thing about wilderness survival.
Will I have to sign a waiver? If I don’t make it out of the Amazon, I won’t sue AmTech. I should have drafted up a last will and testament before leaving Boston.
To my four best friends, whatever is mine is yours.
Blakely, likely, you’ll want to burn my clothing. I’m sorry. I should’ve followed your wardrobe recommendations. But if any of it is salvageable, have at it.
Mila, you can have my music collection (I have a lot of old records—they go along with my attempts not to live a completely digital life).
Daisy, my funky earrings, novels, and collectible figurines are all yours.
Paisley, the cookbooks and cookery I bequeath to you. You’ll learn how to cook out of sheer necessity and I’ll be your guardian angel over your shoulder to make sure you don’t burn yourself (again).
Love,
Cora
P.S. Just be sure not to read my diaries. (They totally would.)
What have I gotten into? Panic seizes me and sweat beads along my already sopping hairline thanks to the thick air.
The bus pulls away, revealing a line of Jeeps. I scramble and put on my sneakers before the porter takes our luggage.
Instead of going to the resort, the off-road vehicles take us over rough terrain and directly into the rainforest. My knuckles are so white after gripping the rollbars, I almost plead with the driver to bring me back. I’ll be of no use in the rainforest without fingers—or to AmTech.
When we arrive at a clearing by the river, we’re told to gather around. The nervousness inside builds so much my heart beats in my throat.
I know my strengths—I can make a mean macaroni salad and build online empires, but outdoorsy stuff isn’t my forte. I shift uncomfortably and swat at a bug the size of my fist—at least I have feeling back in my fingers.
A pair of chestnut-brown eyes land on me, causing me to glance up. The guy wears a cocky, rather than reassuring, smile on his lips. The message there is a challenge.
One that says DigiPower is going to crush you.
Unlike the rest of the office goobers that surround me, he has that rugged, tough-guy, I-can-lift-up-one-of-these-logs-with-one-hand and smoosh you with a single finger look. He’d be attractive if it didn’t look like he was picking out the weak links and identifying who wouldn’t be surviving the week in the jungle.
Namely, me.
8
Shaw
My gaze floats over the group gathered before landing on a pretty woman with a heart-shaped face. She wears her caramel-colored hair in a high ponytail. She reminds me of a warm cookies and milk kind of person rather than a roughing it in the bush kind of gal. The kind of woman who prefers nights in with Netflix watching romcoms to action-adventure movies. She doesn’t belong here in her fitted leggings and sneakers more suited to jogging on a treadmill.
None of them belong here.
Even for me, the Amazon Rainforest with its danger and mystery is out of my depth, but as usual, I relish the challenge.
Simon Westlake, the CEO of AmTech sits on the hood of a Jeep. Along with Rick Stanmore, I had been a founder of DigiPower but stepped down as CEO for more manageable hours and to do consulting work. I opposed the merger with AmTech because Simon is known for being a pusher—he pushes his employees to the breaking point by setting up a competitive environment under the guise of teamwork.
His strategy is to lure everyone into a false sense of confidence and comradery and then pull the swivel chair out from under them.
I’m all for dedicated labor, but not at the expense of burnout. Sure, I work and play hard—extreme adventuring is my thing—but I know my limits. Simon does not. Bringing that group of pale, pasty, and scrawny nerds into the jungle was idiocy. They won’t make it. What point is Simon trying to prove?
The board got my attention once they said the company in question was Simon’s. I voiced my opposition to the merger and of the trip to Rick, my former partner and now head of DigiPower. For better or worse, my vote no longer counts—unless security is involved.
The truth is, as much as I love to travel and am up for a challenge, I’d much rather be on the HUB or in an email chat with @CookClickChick. There’s zero drama there. Just laughter and flirting...
Rick joins Simon in front of the Jeep. They welcome everyone to the Brazilian Rainforest and the Selva Survival Camp. The camp is less of a location and more like a person standing off to the side that is not part of our crew. He has a thickly creased face, wears a red bandana around his neck, and is otherwise all in blue. His pants and top don’t have loads of pockets and straps, but he does look at home in the jungle.
Once more grabbing my attention, Simon says, “I never thought I’d see AmTech and DigiPower come together, but we’re here to celebrate this merger, get to know each other, and challenge ourselves. In doing so, we’ll bond, form alliances, and come out stronger than before.”
That’s the cue for everyone to cheer, but half the group are like deer in headlights—or, more accurately, a bunch of computer geeks plonked down in the middle of the jungle…because they are.
The men and women from DigiPower are slightly more prepared, having gone on several adventures in and around northern California where
the company is based—ziplining, base jumping, and scuba on the coast. Knowing they’d log loads of hours online, during the infancy of the company, I’d set up an employee gym and incentive program for staying healthy. I believe that employee health and happiness increase productivity and creativity. However, since stepping down from my primary role, Rick cut back on the programs. In some ways, I regret losing my ability to have a say, but I’ve gained freedom. On second thought, being here in the jungle, maybe not.
Rick wraps up the spiel, saying, “May the strongest survive.”
My stomach clenches.
That had been my mantra and Rick uses it now, not having any idea what it means to me. I had a tough childhood, and those words got me through.
Rick flashes a smirk. I’ve worked with him long enough to recognize it’s the kind that tells me something more is going on, but I can’t put my finger on what it might be.
Standing in a semicircle, the DigiPower crowd sizes up the AmTech crowd. Ah ha. I see it now. The new company doesn’t stand a chance. The merger is going to be a bloodbath. I glimpse Rick and Simon’s angle.
Survival of the fittest. Cut the fat. Keep the best. Lose the rest.
This whole thing is a power grab by DigiPower and Simon—the latter hardly cares about his employees and it seems like my former business partner isn’t much different. Then again, I knew that.
“Before we turn things over to Carlos, our guide while we’re guests here, we’re going to divide you up into pairs,” Rick says, pointing to the local in blue.
“Each pairing will consist of an AmTech employee and a DigiPower employee. This way you’ll get the opportunity to work together,” Simon the slimeball says.
