TOBY
I land late Sunday night at the San Francisco airport, bone-tired and grateful to have a driver waiting to whisk me home to Palo Alto. I spend the thirty-minute drive drowsily going through my public email account.
I have a couple of private ones, too, but all of our customers know they can email me at toby@starfishinstrumentation.org and I will see it. Sometimes only whizzing by in a blur on nights like this, but I have a team of excellent customer service people who ensure that everything there gets properly responded to.
A name catches my eye and I tap the screen. Mike Rodriguez. I roll my neck as I read the message. It’s apologetic in tone. He’s been a customer from early on, but his latest batch of transmitters didn’t pass his company’s internal quality assurance check.
That’s shitty, though it does happen.
But my blood runs cold as I keep reading. It’s the third time it’s happened in the last year, and he’s afraid he needs to cancel the standing order.
Mike Rodriguez. The name is still echoing in my brain, like it should mean something more than just a disappointed customer.
I lean forward and get my driver’s attention. “Sorry, Vince, change of plans.” I rub the heel of my hand into my eye. “Let’s stop and grab some coffee at the first opportunity. Then take me to the office instead of home.”
After we hit Starbucks, I switch over to my personal messages. It’s nearly three in the morning in Toronto, but I still click on her name first in my messaging app.
To my surprise, it shows her as online.
Toby: Landed at SFX. Heading to work now.
Cara: No rest for the wicked. How was your flight?
Toby: Boring. No pretty girls selling me on a long con game.
Cara: Har har har.
Toby: How goes your romantic relationship with Alex?
Cara: I’ve started keeping a journal about him.
Toby: What?
Cara: Okay, it’s more of a log. Just so I can keep the fictional woo-ing straight.
Toby: Smart.
Cara: We had brunch today. It was lovely. And we held hands the whole way back to my place.
Here’s the weird thing about jealousy. It doesn’t matter if the guy is real or not. It doesn’t even matter if the asshole has your middle name, not that Cara knows that.
I’m still burning up at the idea of Alex holding her hand and walking her home.
Cara: I didn’t make a note of whether or not he came in. Nana wouldn’t ask that.
Toby: He didn’t. A chaste kiss goodbye at the door.
Cara: Not that chaste. We have to like each other enough to rush to the altar.
Toby: Right. Because he’s waiting for marriage.
Cara: Ooh, that’s good.
No, that’s called self-preservation.
Toby: Do you have a timeline for when you want this to happen?
Cara: Nana was surprisingly understanding. I don’t think I’m in a huge rush. Maybe in a month or two? Have to let the courtship unfold.
That will get me past the annual shareholders meeting.
Toby: That makes sense. And shouldn’t you be in bed now?
Cara: Maybe I was up late texting with Alex.
Toby: Maybe Alex should respect your need for a solid eight hours.
Cara: LOL
Cara: Good night, Toby