Page 23 of Cava with My Colleague

Jade

I wake up at 6:00 a.m. to my phone alarm buzzing. I turn it off and swipe open my notifications. Three texts from my friends, all sent within minutes of each other.

Sara

Good morning! Ready to nail it today?

Emma

You’ve got this. We’ll be cheering you on.

Tessa

Luc and I are up (barely). See you soon! You’re going to be amazing.

I stare at the messages for a long moment, something warm and tight settling in my chest. They’re here. They came all the way to Vienna to watch me give a presentation they know I’m dreading. That has to count for something.

Jade

Thank you for being here. It means everything.

I reach over to the nightstand. Last night, I put the Polaroid of the four of us at Schönbrunn—Sara mid-laugh, Emma’s gray hair catching the light—on the nightstand. I prop it against the lamp where I’ll see it when I get out of the shower. Then I change my mind and put it in my jacket pocket instead.

Then I force myself out of bed and into the shower, trying not to think about the fact that in two hours, I’ll be standing in front of 350 people. Trying not to think about Berlin. Trying not to think about Carlos standing in that elevator, admitting he’s spent months thinking I’m a petty lunch thief.

He took an earlier flight out of Berlin, meeting with some contact yesterday afternoon here, so I was spared having to sit on an airplane with a man I recently told to go fuck himself.

Did I lose my temper? Probably.

But I also am tired of men making me feel like I need to shrink myself or be someone else.

I swing my legs out of bed. In another version of this morning—the version where I’m just a person in Vienna with a few free hours—I’d already be outside. Vienna is a city you have to earn on foot, and I’ve read about a market near the Naschmarkt that opens early. I’d have been there by seven, eating something warm, camera out, making the kind of morning that becomes a Polaroid.

Instead I stand in the shower and run through my opening lines until my fingers are pruned.

I can do this.

I have to do this.

The venue is larger than Berlin—a massive hotel ballroom with rows and rows of chairs, a raised stage at the front, professional lighting that makes everything feel more serious, more real. I arrive at 7:15 a.m., giving myself plenty of time to set up.

Carlos is already there.

Of course he is.

He’s standing near the podium, reviewing something on his tablet. He glances up when I enter, and for a moment our eyes meet. I see him open his mouth, like he’s going to say something—maybe good morning, maybe we need to talk, maybe another comment about professionalism.

I turn away and walk to the opposite side of the stage, pulling out my laptop.

I will not speak to him unless absolutely necessary.

I hear him sigh from across the stage, but I don’t look up. Normally I’d have something to say about that sigh. Something about how if he keeps sighing at me I’ll start charging him by the exhale, or possibly something worse. I let it go. Today is not the day for it, and he is not the person.

I connect my laptop to the projector, pull up the presentation, and check that all the slides are in order. The familiar opening slide appears on the screen behind me—clean, professional, boring.

“Jade—” Carlos’s voice, closer now.

I don’t turn around. “Is there a technical issue?”